A Wooden Horse Full Of Nightmares 3l4z53

A Wooden Horse Full of Nightmares

By Linwood D. Ellsworth

Copyright 2021 Linwood D. Ellsworth

Smashword Edition

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Camilla Ward

The Antediluvian Man

Age of Disbelief

Other Titles by Linwood D. Ellsworth

“There is another class of colored people who make a business of keeping the troubles, the wrongs, and the hardships of the Negro race before the public. Having learned that they are able to make a living out of their troubles, they have grown into the settled habit of advertising their wrongs — partly because they want sympathy and partly because it pays. Some of these people do not want the Negro to lose his grievances because they do not want to lose their jobs.” ― Booker T. Washington

Camilla Ward

“Once again, the interaction between the police and a black man ends with the black man dead,” stated the agitated young woman. “We will not stand for this any longer! As long as there is no justice in this city, there will be no peace!”

“She’s a media darling,” indicated Will Sullivan, a reporter for the Patriot Journal, as he held up his phone for Nora Matthews, a thin ginger-haired woman. He inhaled on his cigarette then slowly exhaled a cloud of white smoke in the directions of moths flittering around the parking lot’s street lamp.

“Trust me; she’s not who she says,” replied Nora, a reader of the Patriot Journal, an independent newspaper dedicated to the truth and facts. “When you wrote that article about the BLF and its founder, I did some research and came across a man named Elliot A. Corbin with information about Ms. Ward.”

“Is he reliable?” Will asked as he looked around the parking lot. He inhaled on his cigarette then exhaled as he dropped it on the ground. He didn’t bother to step on it thinking it would burn out.

“Yes,” responded Nora. “They expelled him for suggesting the BLF should focus on solving the real problems of the black community.”

“Which are what?” asked Will.

“Black on black murder, high dropout rate, teen pregnancies and other stuff that

makes sense,” said Nora as she checked the time on her phone.

“Just four years ago, Camilla Ward and BLF didn’t exist,” said Will as he lit another cigarette. He tended to chain smoke when nervous. “They supplanted the previous black group, becoming the most progressive and radical organization in the country.”

“Supplanted or evolved into something a bit more dangerous?” asked Nora.

“A bit of both, I supposed,” responded Will.

“I this is stuff we use to see in other countries,” said Nora.

“So what information do you have about Ms. Ward?” Will asked.

Nora answered, “Her father is Bobby Ward who met her mother Sun Jun, a Chinese national while at UCLA. They married, and two years later Camilla was born. Three years later, they divorced and the mother returns to China with Camilla. At the age of eighteen Camilla returns to the US and graduates from Berkley. The rest is history.”

“So what kind of indoctrination did she receive while living in China?” Will asked.

Then the headlights of a dark-colored SUV cut across the parking lot. The driver

of the SUV stopped then flashed the headlights twice.

“That’s him,” said Nora. Will put his right hand into his shoulder satchel and wrapped his hand around the grip of his pistol.

Suddenly Nora’s head jerked back before she collapsed to the ground. Will’s eyes widened as he watched Nora spasm. Then he was hit in the throat. He quickly grabbed at his throat as bright red blood spurted. Then he was shot in the forehead, cracking open the back of his skull, sending bone and brain matter across the parking lot.

The SUV exited the parking lot.

The late-model four-door dark color SUV with one headlight cruised down Martin Luther King Drive on a hot, muggy night in Any City.

Any City, nicknamed Big Box by the media since it was the headquarters of Big Box Superstore, had five million residents. However, man citizens of the booming metropolis referred to their home as Death City because of the high murder rate between George Washington Carver Heights and W. E. B. Dubois Park. It was where 29% of Any City’s 33% black population resided.

Inside, three African-American males with semi-automatic weapons searched for another African-American male who slighted them. Loud gangsta hip-hop music blared from speakers occupying the entire cargo space.

“Dat nigga Qwantez wuz tawkin smack ‘bout you all day bro’,” said the rear enger, whose name was Acqwon Jackson, a career criminal. He had seen the inside of Any State Correctional Facility three times before his twenty-fifth birthday. “I wuz like if TreKell wuz here you woodn’t be tawking dat smack.”

“War dat nigga live?” asked Trekell ‘Killah T’ Lloyd, also a career criminal, and like Acqwon, he was familiar with the inside of Any State Correctional Facility.

“Dat niggah stay on Nat Turner Street,” said Qualeek Haynes, who was younger than both Acqwon and Trekell. Like his two older companions, Qualeek discovered that being a career criminal, despite the many pitfalls, produced quick cash to buy the latest fashion and newest tech. He could also buy the newest weapon. “He lives in dat blue house wit da grey thangs on da sides of da window.”

“You tawkin bout shudders, ya idiot,” said Acqwon.

“Yeah, dem thangs,” said Qualeek.

“How you know where his crib is?” asked Acqwon.

“I use ta bang a shorty bout two cribs down,” said Qualeek. “I seent him on the porch tawkin with his grandma.”

“Well, let’s ride on dis nigga,” said Trekell as he increased his speed. “Nobody tawk bout me. My name is my name.”

After three traffic lights, Trekell turned onto Nat Turner Street. Several people walked down the street on the hot summer night while others sat on their porch talking with neighbors. Trekell decreased his speed.

“Thar’s his crib,” pointed out Qualeek. “Look, dem niggas chillin on da porch.”

“Y’all ready?” asked Trekell. He scrolled through his smartphone to find his favorite rap song, Total Destruction. He turned the volume as loud as it would go.

Trekell pressed the gas, and the SUV zoomed forward with the music blaring. As he approached the house, Qualeek and Acqwon lowered their windows. They put out the barrel of their semi-automatic weapons. The pair fired just as the SUV, with the music blaring, became parallel with the house. Glass shattered, and people screamed.

Trekell maintained his speed, running several stop signs. He slowed only to make a tire squealing right-hand turn on Dredd Scott Lane. Inside the SUV, Qualeek and Acqwon gave each other high fives. “We smoked dat fucka!”

Hours later, Detectives Nolan Roberson and Edward Lucas walked under the yellow crime scene tape. Red and blue lights from first responder’s vehicles painted the night as they reflected off the windows of the houses.

“Another night in Death City,” growled Nolan Roberson, a ten-year veteran of Any City’s homicide department. He had seen it all coming up through the ranks

of the AD. Things were worse than when he started.

His partner of six years, Edward Lucas, didn’t respond as they approached a uniformed officer.

“What do we have, Officer Ross,” asked Edward.

“It seems as if the house was the target of a drive-by,” responded Officer Ross, pointing to a blue house.

“Anyone hurt?” asked Nolan.

“Three people,” responded Officer Ross. “A 76-year-old female and three-yearold twins. Their mother said she had just put them to sleep.”

“Did anyone see anything?” asked Nolan.

“No one has come forward,” said Officer Ross.

“Of course not,” sighed Edward. “That damn no snitching code.”

“Where’s your car?” asked Nolan.

“Over there?” pointed Officer Ross. Nolan quickly made his way to the cruiser.

“What are you going to do, Roberson?” asked Edward.

Once at the car, Nolan quickly switched the cruiser’s radio to PA and said, “Somebody killed twin three-year-olds in a drive-by tonight! Innocent children who did no one any harm! Someone’s grandmother and mother was also killed. I know someone saw something! Stop with this no snitching code so we can bring these urban terrorists to justice.”

Weeks later, in the Carver Heights section of Any City, Officers Glen Morgan and Cole Mercer made their final round before their sixteen-hour shift ended. All officers worked double shifts since the city defunded the department.

Glen Morgan, a Caucasian, followed in the footsteps of his father and mother, who were both career police officers. It was all he wanted to be, and now his dream was being realized. He married his high school sweetheart, Zoey Merrill, a teacher at Any City Suburban Middle School.

Cole Mercer, an African-American, was a former Marine who saw action in the Middle East and Africa. After getting out of the Marines, he decided to become a police officer to help clean up crime in Any City. Cole was married with a son and daughter.

“So, are you guys coming over this weekend?” asked Glen as he sat in the enger seat.

“We’re going to ,” answered Cole. “We’re going to a cookout at Kendra’s sister. It’ll be brutal.”

“How so?” asked Glen.

“Her husband is this soy boy who thinks sports are barbaric,” said Cole. “I asked the man to go fishing, and he said he doesn’t participate in the killing of animals.”

“Wow, that is brutal,” commented Glen. “Enjoy yourself.”

“What do we have here?” asked Cole as he motioned to a late model dark color SUV with one headlight driving in their direction.

“Are we going to pull them over?” asked Glen.

“Yeah, let’s just give them a warning about the headlight and call it a night,” smiled Cole. He did a U-turn and followed the car. Glen turned on the light bar and hit the siren.

“Run the plates,” said Cole as he switched on the dashcam.

The SUV pulled over, and Cole pulled in behind it. He checked his side-view

mirror before getting out. “Be careful,” said Glen as he typed in the license plate number.

After switching on his bodycam, Cole carefully approached the car with the thought of the officers killed during routine traffic stops last year. He rapped on the driver's side window with his flashlight. The driver reluctantly rolled down the window.

“Good evenin officer,” smiled the driver, an African-American male. “Can I help you?”

“Do you know why I stopped you?” asked Cole as he shined his flashlight in the car. In the car were two other African-American males.

“I wuzn’t speedin,” said the driver.

“No, you weren’t. Do you have a driver’s license and vehicle registration?” asked Cole.

The driver fumbled around before handing Cole his driver's license and vehicle registration. “I’ll be right back.”

Cole walked back to his car.

“What do we have on the plates?” asked Cole as he got back inside.

“The vehicle belongs to Quivia Pope,” said Glen. “She stays at 1619 HG Complex.”

“That certainly isn’t Quivia Pope. Run his license,” said Cole as he handed Glen the driver’s license.

Glen quickly typed the driver’s information. A few seconds later, the screen populated. “Wow, TreKell Lloyd of 1661 HG Complex has a warrant for a narcotics charge with the intent to distribute and an aggravated assault and battery charge. He beat up a 70-year-old man. He spent the last three years at Any State Correctional Facility, and his license is expired.”

Shaking his head, Cole said, “Let’s go.” Both officers got out and cautiously made their way to the car. Glen positioned himself on the right rear quarter of the car while Cole approached the driver's side and said, “I need you to step out.”

“You nevah said why ya pulled me, ova officer,” said Trekell.

“I pulled you over because you have no left headlight or taillights,” said Cole. “Please step out of the car.”

“Why I gotta git outta my car, officer?” asked Trekell. “Just give me a ticket, and I can be on my way.”

“Not this time,” said Cole. “Please step out of the car. Keep your hands where I

can see them.”

Sighing, Trekell opened the door. With a hand on his Taser, Cole stepped back and ordered Trekell to move to the SUV front. “Place your hands on the hood. You have a warrant for your arrest.”

Trekell reluctantly followed the instructions. Looking at the enger, Trekell smiled then winked. The enger Qualeek Haynes pulled a handgun and began firing at Cole, hitting him in the side and thigh.

“Cole!” screamed Glen. He fired several rounds into the enger side of the car. The left rear enger door opened. The enger exited with his handgun turn sideways, firing at Glen, who quickly ducked.

Although wounded, Cole fought through the pain, removed his sidearm, and fired on the enger who took four rounds. Trekell, watching from the SUV front, ran down the street and into the night.

Glen could hear the enger inside the car gasping for air. Getting up, he carefully made his way to the rear of the SUV. Sweat ran down his face as his heart thumped in his chest. Using his radio called “Officer down! Officer down!”

Glen made his way to the corner of the SUV. Looking around the corner, he could see the back seat enger on the ground. Then his eyes went to Cole. Getting up, Glen went over to Cole.

“Where are you hit?” Glen asked nervously.

“In my abdomen and thigh,” responded Cole.

“Hang in there; help is on the way,” said Glen. “Where’s Lloyd?”

“He ran away,” said Cole. “Let him go; we’ll get him later.”

Soon squad cars, first responders, and the media flooded the entire area.

“Last night in the Carver Heights section of Any City, police shot and killed two black men. Acqwon Jackson, 28, and Qualeek Haynes, 16, after a traffic stop. That is a total of three black men killed by police this month,” reported Alexander Dyster, an anchorperson on Any City News. “After a candlelight vigil in Clinton Plaza, city-wide peaceful protests were led by the Black Liberation Faction along with Reverend Gideon Chambers.”

“FAB basketball superstar Ricky Cash went to Headlines say: I’m tired of young black men being hunted by police as if we are animals. Qualeek was only sixteen, the same age as my son. He didn’t deserve to die at the hands of racist cops.”

“In other news, the AD has no leads to the murders of Will Sullivan, 35, and Nora Matthews, 32. Police discovered their bodies in a Big Box Superstore parking lot in the Jefferson section of Any City two months ago. When we return, we’ll be talking to Ian Weeks about his new app Lynk.”

A day later, six hundred sign wavers wearing black t-shirts with pictures of Acqwon or Qualeek stood outside AD. Out front stood Camilla Ward, the Black Liberation Faction leader, wearing a black tee-shirt with BLF in gold letters and camouflage cargo pants and black boots. Camilla held degrees in feminist studies, gender studies, and socialism. She was a student of Marxist and Communist ideals.

“We the Black Liberation Faction is sick and tired of our young black men getting killed by these racist pigs! Chief Mason and the two officers involved in the senseless shooting of Qualeek Haynes and Acqwon Jackson must resign. We will not stop until they are no longer a part of the AD! I’m calling for all to become more confrontational!”

The mob cheered and applauded. “Now, Tylissa Haynes, the mother of Qualeek will say a few words,” said Camilla.

Tylissa Haynes, a thin woman with multicolored braids who appeared to wear too much makeup, stepped to the front. She wore an oversized black t-shirt with Qualeek’s picture on it. Camilla handed Tylissa the megaphone. “Say what’s on your heart.”

Tylissa looked out at the crowd who waited for her to speak. “Dis cannot continue. Da huntin’ and killin’ of our black men can’t continue. My son may not have been perfect, but he did not deserve to die like an animal. Dey kilt him ‘cause he was a black boy in a nice car. Who’s next? I axed you, who’s next? Which one of you in dis crowd will be kilt by dese racist pigs?”

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause. Then Camilla led them in a chant

with “Pigs must go! Pigs must go! Pigs must go!”

The following day, Chief of Police Wallace Mason, a tall, burly black man, towered over a bank of microphones in the station’s media room. “My officers will continue to arrest those who use this situation to riot and loot. I have requested that the governor send the National Guard to help in this matter.”

“You can’t say riot. You can’t say that,” shouted a journalist.

“A riot is a violent public disorder specifically, a tumultuous disturbance of the public peace by three or more persons assembled and acting with a common intent,” said Chief Mason. “That’s what is taking place. I’ve had several officers injured.”

Chief Mason stared at the reporter before saying, “We are still examining the dashcam and bodycams. We need to discern the sequence of events and correlate that with the statements of Officers Mercer and Morgan. Once we complete that, we will release a full statement.”

“Chief Mason, Phoebe Webb of GSTP,” said a brown-haired female with glasses. “How many more young black men must die at the hands of the police before you resign?”

“I’m not reg. Our numbers show that my officers have killed only three young black men,” answered Chief Mason. “One from three months ago determined to be self-defense, and may I add that two officers died that night. Plus the two from three nights ago. Our number also shows that officers killed five Caucasian men, three Hispanic men, and one Asian man in eight months.

All determined to be in self-defense, yet there was no huge media uproar. Why is that, Ms. Webb? Next question, please.”

“Will the officers involved in the shooting be fired?” asked a black man reporter with a small afro, glasses, and a thick mustache. “Don’t you think that would be the right thing to do?”

“As with our policy, when an officer discharges his weapon, he or she is placed on paid istrative leave,” answered Chief Mason. “Again, when AD officers killed the five Caucasian men, no one asked for them to be fired. You didn’t even hear about it on the news. If we are here to race-bait, this media session is over.”

“I understand there was a third suspect who escaped, is there an active search for this person?” asked a dark-haired female with brown framed glasses.

“Yes, we are looking for Trekell ‘Killah T’ Lloyd,” said Chief Mason. “Mr. Lloyd is considered to be armed and dangerous. Do not approach. Are there any more questions?”

“Yes,” said the dark-haired female. “How is Officer Morgan?”

“He’s in good spirits,” answered Chief Mason. “Thanks for asking. If there are no more questions, this media session is over.”

Camilla Ward and her associates sat in a conference room at the BLF’s Any City

headquarters, planning their next protest.

The Black Liberation Faction was the offspring of Black Lives Matter. Like its parent, the BLF thrived on creating racial division, civil unrest, anti-police movement while claiming they were tackling the issues of the black community. After its parent developed problems within its ranks, the offspring slowly but surely supplanted the parent as the leading voice on issues faced by the black community, namely the police and racism.

“We need to ensure that we coordinate the protests,” Camilla said before taking a sip of her latte.

“Everyone except Provo and Sante Fe is ready,” answered Karah Marshall, Camilla’s second in command. Like Camilla, she was also a college graduate with a degree in feminine studies.

“What’s the problem?” Camilla asked before taking another sip of her latte

“Not enough protesters,” responded Karah.

“Maybe we could bus people from LA,” said Eddie Key, a handsome brownskinned man with dreadlocks pulled into a ponytail. “That always seems to work.”

“Do it. Inform the LA chapters,” ordered Camilla. “Inform them if they do not follow through, then funding for next month will be substantially less.”

Eddie made a few keystrokes on his pad then waited. “Message is received and understood. LA south is sending three hundred to Santa Fe, and LA North is sending two fifty to Provo.”

“Instruct the chapter leaders to follow our lead unless the situation dictates,” ordered Camilla. Eddie nodded, “It’ll easier now that everyone is using Lynk.”

“What about business ?” Camilla asked. “Where do we stand?”

“Aria Airlines made a statement they have decided to hire more people of color. They will also make a substantial donation to our cause,” informed Karah. “Red Score Cola will have a limited edition BFL cola starting next month. And they want you to be the spokeswoman.”

Smiling, Camilla said, “I’m flattered. Any other businesses?”

“Both the FAB and PFA will throw some our way,” said Karah. “They’re making huge donations to the organization. Commissioner Pierce has stated that players will wear the BFL letters on the back of the helmets.”

“What about the FAB?” Camilla asked. “What are they going to do?”

“Commissioner Sharpe says teams will put BFL on the courts,” responded Karah.

“Now, all we need to do is get the PLB on board,” said Karah.

“What about the PHF?” Eddie asked with a smile. PHL is the Premiere Hockey Federation with a team in Any City.

“You’re joking, right?” Karah asked.

An intercom on the table buzzed, which Camilla promptly answered. “What is it?”

“Ms. Ward,” said the voice on the intercom. “Ms. Purcell is here for the interview.”

Looking at her watch, Camilla said, “Show them to the media room. I’ll be there in five minutes. Alright, Karah will take it from here.”

Getting up, Camilla made her way out the conference room and down the hall of the BFL state-of-the-art facility akin to something out of a sci-fi movie. Her assistant named Eve trailed her.

“Did you give them a list of talking points?” asked Camilla.

“Yesterday,” said Eve. “Ms. Purcell agreed to ask only those questions.”

At the end of the hall, they made a left and entered a fully functional studio. Waiting for Camilla was Zoe Purcell, a dark-haired Caucasian female with grey eyes who worked for Any City Morning, a morning talk show.

“Thank you, Ms. Ward, for granting me this interview,” said Zoe.

“Please call me Camilla,” said Camilla as a makeup assistant touched up her makeup.

“We can get started when you’re ready,” said Zoe. “I love your studio.”

“Shall we get started?” asked Camilla as she pushed past the makeup assistant.

The two females sat on a low back black leather couch. The red light on the camera came on, and a director pointed to Zoe.

“Good morning, and welcome to Any City Morning. I’m Zoe Purcell coming from the Black Liberation Faction Headquarter. With me is its founder Camilla Ward. Good morning. How are you doing today?”

Smiling, Camilla said, “I’m doing fine. How are you?”

“I’m doing great,” smiled Zoe. “We at ACM would like to thank you for having

us in this lovely facility.”

“We’re so happy with it,” smiled Camilla. “It allows us to quickly reach out to the other chapters and direct their actions or hold chapter-wide meetings.”

Smiling, Zoe asked, “What is the primary purpose of the Black People Party?”

Straightening her back, Camilla said, “Our primary purpose is to bring to attention the racism that runs rampant in America. Also, the racism of the police department, including our very own AD. Racism affects black people in so many ways from premature births, making black men age faster, it makes blacks fat, and it also affects our sleep.”

“That is shocking. Now, our numbers show that twelve black men nationwide have been killed by the police so far this year,” said Zoe as she furrowed her brow. “That’s an incredibly high number.”

“You’re right,” said Camilla. “That number should be zero. We at the BLF will no longer be silent in those matters. Our voices will be heard. Reform must happen in Any City and nationwide. It must start with the police.”

“Now Chief Mason has stated he will not resign nor will his officers be fired. What is your response?” asked Zoe.

Sighing deeply, Camilla said, “If Chief Mason doesn’t resign, the BFL will not be silent. Our voices will be heard. We will protest across this nation until he

resigns. All chapters of the BFL will become more confrontational.”

“Why now?” asked Zoe. “Why start this fabulous movement?”

“The movements of the sixties and our parent movement did not do enough,” said Camilla. “We are tired of being marginalized by this racist system. We, as black people, want equal pay and equal opportunity. We want the killing of our black men, women, and children by the police to stop. We will not rest until we achieve our goals.”

Two days later, seven hundred BFL marched down the street on their way to city hall with Camilla and Karah in front, shouting, “He must go! He must go! He must go!”

The same scenario occurred in every major city across the country.

“The BFL has occupied 1732 Washington Avenue,” reported Phoebe Webb of GSTP. “They are on their way to city hall to ask Mayor Smith to relieve Chief Mason of duty. It is my understanding that these peaceful protests are happening in every major city across the country.”

The mob marched until they came to a white six-story marble building with columns and steps centrally located in a plaza. Leaving their chanting mob, Camilla and Karah walked up the steps and into city hall. Once they entered the building, security immediately stopped them. “Do you have an appointment?” asked a security guard.

“No,” said Camilla.

“Then I’m afraid you are going to have to leave,” stated the security guard.

“I’m not leaving until I see Mayor Smith,” argued Camilla. “I want to see her now.”

“Ma’am, please don’t make us escort you out of the building,” said the security guard.

“If you touch us, we will file assault charges,” insisted Karah.

“You are only allowed to enter if you have a scheduled appointment,” said another security guard.

Karah sent a Lynk calling for more to enter the building. Suddenly the lobby of city hall was packed with BFL and reporters.

“BFL have stormed city hall after security denied Camilla Ward entry,” reported Phoebe Webb. “Extra armed security guards have been called in to remove the .”

Upstairs in her office, Mayor Celeste Smith watched the events downstairs unfold on the television screen.

As the first African-American female mayor of Any City, Mayor Celeste Smith was a media darling and a sweetheart of the African-American population in Any City. They loved her so much that they elected her for a second term. Some wanted her to be mayor for life.

“What are you going to do?” asked her assistant, Percy Carrin, a slender Caucasian male with a crop of neatly cut dark hair.

“Let’s just see what happens,” said Mayor Smith as she jammed her hands into the pockets of her pants. “Perhaps I can use this.”

Vice-Mayor Edgar Mills, a tall Caucasian man with brown hair, brown eyes, and a straight nose, entered the office. “So, are you going to grant her a meeting?”

“Not yet,” said Mayor Smith. “I want to see how this plays out. If things get antagonistic, call the police.”

The trio continued watching the events on the television.

“Things have escalated between BFL and security guards in the lobby of city hall,” said Phoebe. “Security guards used excessive force on Camilla Ward and BLF , which caused the escalation. Security guards which are mostly white used racial epithets to escalate the situation.”

“Okay, I’m going down,” said Mayor Smith. Seconds later, she, Vice-Mayor

Mills, and Percy Carrin walked into the lobby and positioned themselves behind the wall of security guards. “Let me through.”

The guards parted and let Mayor Smith through to face the mob of BPP . Camilla held up a hand to silence her followers. Looking at Mayor Smith, Camilla said, “I want a meeting with you now.”

Smiling and interlocking her hands, Mayor Smith said, “Of course I’m going to grant you an interview. I want to reach a peaceful solution. Please follow me.”

The BLF clapped and applauded their success in getting an appointment with the mayor. “Karah, take the back outside, but keep the street blocked until after the meeting.”

Karah instructed everyone to vacate the lobby and occupy the street outside city hall.

Minutes later, Camilla sat in a chair across from Mayor Smith. The two women stared at one another before Camilla said, “I like your natural hairstyle. It shows your blackness.”

“Thank you,” said Mayor Smith as she touched her short, greying afro. “Let’s get down to business now that we’ve dispensed with the pleasantries.”

“My exact sentiments,” smiled Camilla. “We want Chief Mason and those two cops involved in the shooting relieved of duty.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Mayor Smith. “They’re still conducting the investigation.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to satisfy the BFL,” said Camilla. “We want justice for the killing of Qualeek Haynes, age 16, and Acqwon Jackson.”

A smile crawled across Mayor Smith's round face. “Stating his age doesn’t pull on my heartstrings. Save that for the media. Let’s call a spade a spade. We both know that Qualeek and Acqwon were nothing but gangbangers with police records a mile long. When you live that lifestyle, you usually die young. Carver Heights to Dubois Park is full of Qualeeks and Acqwons, and they all end up the same, mostly by another black gangbanger.”

“But that does not give your officers the right to murder them,” said Camilla.

“You’re right,” said Mayor Smith as she leaned back in her chair. “However, my officers are trained to defend themselves when one of those little gangbangers attempts to take their life.”

“I thought a sister like you would understand our movement,” said Camilla. “There must be changes in this city and country.”

“You want to talk about changes,” said Mayor Smith. “Change your group’s purpose. You seem to be a great leader. Use that energy to help keep kids in school, so they don’t become gangbangers. Show them there’s more to life than being a thug.”

“So you’re not going to fire your chief of police?” asked Camilla.

“No,” said Mayor Smith.

“It is black people like you that hurt our movement,” said Camilla. “So I’m going to hurt you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, young lady?” asked Mayor Smith.

Camilla placed her cell phone on Mayor Smith’s desk and hit the play button on the voice recording app. Mayor Smith listened to their conversation.

“Is this some type of threat?” asked Mayor Smith.

With a smirk, Camilla said, “Imagine if those constituents from Carver Heights to Dubois Park heard this conversation. Think of all those lost votes when you decide to run for the 55th Congressional District.”

Mayor Smith gave Camilla a soft clap. “Bravo, Ms. Ward. It appears as if you’ve won this round.”

“We both won,” said Camilla. “After your time here, I will ensure that you get that congressional seat with all those votes from the fine people in Carver and

Dubois.”

Mayor Smith glared at Camilla.

Camilla stood and said, “I can expect Chief Mason gone before the end of the week. By the way, saying thug is racist.” She left a business card on Mayor Smith’s desk.

Two days later, Mayor Smith brought Chief Mason into her office and relieved him of duty. She attempted to fire Officer Morgan and Mercer, but the police union would not allow it to happen. Mayor Smith called Camilla explained why she couldn’t fire the two officers involved in the shooting.

“Well, we can’t win them all,” said Camilla. “Thank you for your effort.”

“You just make sure I get those votes when I decide to run for the 55th,” said Mayor Smith.

“You have my word,” said Camilla.

“Good evening, I’m Paul O’Brien, and you’re watching O’Brien Weekly. With me tonight is Dr. Daniel Jordan. Thank you for ing me, Dr. Jordan.”

“Thanks for having me, Paul,” said Dr. Jordan, an older black distinguished gentleman with round brown glasses. He wore a tweed jacket with a white

pressed shirt and blue polka-dotted tie. His trimmed salt and pepper afro highlighted his narrow face.

“Let’s talk about what’s happening in Any City with the BLF,” said Paul. “Right now, it seems as if they are in control. We saw Mayor Smith firing Chief Mason to satisfy BFL leader, Camilla Ward.”

“Paul, if you look at the BLF and its leader, Camilla Ward, what you have is mixed of Marxism and race hustlers,” said Dr. Jordan. “Any time you can get the mayor of a major city to bow down, then you are in control.”

“That’s quite a mixture,” commented Paul. “Explain that term race hustlers for our viewers.”

“Amazingly, Booker T. Washington spoke of such people more than a century ago,” said Dr. Jordan. “Ward is worth $ 35 million. How does an activist be worth $35 million? By keeping the problems of black people in public. She and Reverend Gideon Chambers make their money selling victimhood. Right now, in Any City, Ward and Gideon Chambers are chasing the menacing specter of racism. They should be chasing the real menaces of the African-American communities, and it’s not the police.”

“What would you consider menaces of the African-American community?” asked Paul.

“Some of the problems are the gangs, single parents’ homes, a high school dropout rate, unemployment, and the incarceration rate,” said Dr. Jordan. “It’s all interrelated.”

“Why aren’t they focusing on these things?” asked Paul.

“One reason,” said Dr. Jordan. “Fixing those things don’t put money in their pockets. As I said earlier, Ward is worth $ 35 million. Last year, Reverend Chambers received six figures from both Ackner-Brauer and Paradox Clothing Company.”

“Yes, Samuel Weaver accused Ackner-Bauer of firing him because of race,” said Paul.

“Yes,” answered Dr. Jordan. “It was Gideon Chambers who led the protest and disrupted the daily activities of the company. I believe, Ackner-Bauer paid Mr. Weaver five years' worth of salary. The truth is Mr. Weaver had a problem with absenteeism. He never showed for work or late reporting.”

“Earlier, you mention incarceration rate,” said Paul.

“Yes,” said Dr. Jordan. “Blacks are only 13% of the population, yet there are more blacks in prison than whites. The black inmate population reflects black criminality, not a racist criminal justice system.”

“That’s not good,” said Paul.

“No, it’s not, and yet people like Ward or Chambers never tackle these issues,” said Dr. Jordan. “A few weeks ago, twin three years old and a grandmother were

killed in a drive-by shooting in Caver Heights. However, they are ‘disqualified’ blacks.”

“What do you mean by ‘disqualified’ blacks?” asked Paul.

“They are black people who don’t fit the narrative of a white cop killing a black person,” explained Dr. Jordan. “Ward and her followers were silent. The bombastic Gideon Chambers didn’t visit the family of the deceased. Instead, they focused their energy on getting Chief Mason fired, which worked. Another matter Ward, her followers, and the media were silent on is that the perpetrators killed by the police are the same involved in the drive-by shooting. Ballistics determined the guns used in the drive-by are the same ones used in the shootout with the police officers. Headline blocked the s of people who tried sharing this information.”

“What do you think about Chinese leader Xiong Ping publicly ing the BLF?” asked Paul.

“I believe it’s dangerous for America,” said Dr. Jordan. “It’s almost as if he’s pushing for a Marxist regime in America, and the BLF is his lightning rod.”

“Dr. Jordan, it has been a pleasure,” said Paul. “I’m sure we will be talking again.”

“I’m sure we will,” smiled Dr. Jordan.

“I believe with Citizen Tracing, we can stop a lot of troubles facing humanity in regards to the population right now,” said Preston Bacchus. “If we do not get the population under control, we will reach a tipping point, and then it will be too late.”

“That was Bacchus Farms owner Preston Bacchus voicing his concerns on the population,” said Alexandra Dyster, a dark-haired female for SCSTV. “Last night, eighteen-year-old Tremon Scott was shot and killed in Dubois Park. He was on his way home from the Elijah McCoy Community Center. The police have no suspect. This morning at Big Box Superstore, Shamone West, a 26-yearold black woman from Carver Heights, was involved in a confrontation with a white employee. Our Roger Bates spoke with Shamone.”

“Alexandra,” said Roger Bates, a sandy-haired, short man. “Shamone says she came to Big Box Superstore in the Jefferson section of Any City to purchase party items for her daughter’s birthday. She had this to say.”

“From the time I entered the store, three different employees followed me,” said Shamone, a heavy-set female. “I felt threaten’. At one time, two employees stood on either side of me pretendin’ to do work. When I moved, they moved.”

Then a video of Shamone’s incident played. “Why can’t I go in the store and shop freely like everyone else?”

“Back to you, Alexandra,” said Roger.

Two days later, Camilla Ward, Reverend Chambers, and several BLF stood outside Big Box Superstore in the Jefferson section of Any City. Media

outlets broadcasted the protest outside the store for all the country to see.

“We want those responsible for hurting and embarrassing Ms. West fired! We want Big Box to compensate Ms. West for the pain and embarrassment they have caused. We are tired of being marginalized. We will not stand for this racist behavior!”

The bombastic Reverend Gideon Chamber took the megaphone. Reverend Gideon Chambers, a tall man with a processed pompadour, a thin mustache, and a booming voice, smiled broadly. Like Camilla, he gained his status through the grievances of black people. However, he didn’t wield as much power as Camilla.

“We are tired of being spat on and treated like common criminals! I am calling on all black people to stop shopping at all Big Box stores! No justice, no shopping! No justice, no shopping!”

The BLF and non- applauded and cheered. Reverend Gideon Chambers handed the microphone to Camilla.

“Today, they will know we are not second-class citizens!” screamed Camilla into a megaphone as she pumped a fist. “No justice, no shopping! No justice, no shopping!”

The crowd followed Camilla in shouting ‘no justice.’ She relished in their iration of her. She felt as if she was the Queen of England with her loyal subjects at her beck and call. The power was addictive, and she craved more.

Big Box Superstore experienced a hit on their bottom line three weeks later as BLF held protested at every store. A week later, the CEO Alan Greer met with Camilla and Karah.

“We’ve met all your demands. We fired the manager and the two employees who followed Ms. West,” said Alan. “Ms. West walks away with a nice $150,000 check.”

“There are a few more things that need to be satisfied before we stop the protests,” said Camilla.

“What are they?” asked Alan.

“We want Big Box to make yearly contributions to our cause,” responded Camilla. “A lot of black people--,”

Holding up a hand, Alan said, “I know where you are going with this. How does $ 300 000 sound?”

“I believe we can work with that,” responded Karah.

“What else?” Alan asked.

“With want a public apology,” said Camilla.

“Okay,” said Alan.

A day later, Alan apologized to Shamone for the imaginary hurt and embarrassment caused by his employees.

Three weeks later, Camilla, Tylissa Haynes, and Reverend Gideon Chambers stood in front of the Elijah McCoy Community Center in Dubois Park. The group stood next to a green tarp-covered sign. A crowd of about six hundred people listened to Camilla. “We’re doing this, so Qualeek will never be forgotten. We do this to honor him. Now Ms. Haynes will say a few words.”

Tylissa took Camilla’s place behind the podium. “I just want to say thanks to Ms. Ward and Reverend Chambers for making this happen. Qualeek would love this. I want everyone to say his name.”

The crowd of people said Qualeek’s name in unison.

Camilla, Tylissa, and Reverend Chambers moved to the covered sign.

Adjusting the jacket of his three-piece suit, Reverend Chambers said, “Before we remove this tarp, let’s have a silent prayer for Qualeek.”

After about three minutes of silent praying, Reverend Chambers said, “Amen. Now Ms. Haynes will remove the tarp.”

Tylissa, with the help of Reverend Chambers, removed the tarp from a bronze sign with a relief of Qualeek carved on the right side. On the left side was a quote from Qualeek’s favorite rapper.

“From now on, the Elijah McCoy Community Center is the Qualeek Dashonte Haynes Community Center,” said Camilla. The crowd cheered and chanted Qualeek’s name.

In a mansion, six men sat around a table discussing the future of the country. “Next on the agenda is the election. There is a clear-cut Republican candidate. Who’s the Democratic candidate?”

“I like Senator Ryan from California,” said a white-haired hump-back gentleman with a hook nose. “He has great appeal.”

“We need to move away from the white males,” said a fleshy-faced male. “Let’s give the people someone no one would suspect. It worked once.”

“Who do you have in mind?” asked a thin white male with a wheezy voice.

“Camilla Ward,” answered the fleshy-faced male. “We’ve financed her, and she has the country right where we want it. Our media will turn her into a princess.”

“We did it once,” said a balding gravelly-voiced man. “Perhaps it will work once more.”

“It will work,” said the fleshy-faced male as he eyed his colleagues. The others mumbled their approval of his plan.

Three months later, in BLF headquarters, Karah sat across from Camilla.

“I think you need to confront Dr. Jordan,” said Karah.

“I don’t have time for that Uncle Tom,” said Camilla. “He’s a conservative, selfhating black man. We know none of our ers listens to people like Jordan, Russell Shaw, or Yvonne Middleton. There’s something else I want to do.”

“What is that?” Karah asked.

“I’m thinking about challenging the principles of MLK,” Camilla said before taking a sip of herbal green tea.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” asked Karah.

“I don’t agree with his principles of nonviolence and the God-talk,” said Camilla.

“That’s dangerous ground,” said Karah.

“We didn’t come this far to stop now,” said Camilla.

“Don’t you think this will upset our base?’ asked Karah. “I mean, if you go through with this, we may lose some followers.”

“We will replace the followers we lose with white liberal ,” said Camilla.

Karah leaned in her chair and thought about Camilla’s plan. In her mind, tackling the principles of King could lead to the Faction dissolving. Then Camilla’s phone rang, interrupting her thought.

Camilla let the phone ring two times before answering. “Camilla Ward speaking.”

Karah watched the facial expression of Camilla. The way Camilla arched her right brow told Karah it was an exciting call.

“I would love to come out and talk about that prospect,” said Camilla. “Thank you. I look forward to meeting with you. Goodbye and have a good day.”

“Who was that?” asked Karah after Camilla ended the call.

“You won’t believe it,” smiled Camilla.

The following week, Camilla and Karah found themselves at the stately mansion of the mysterious caller. “Wow,” said Camilla and Karah simultaneously as they stood in the foyer with marble busts of Woodrow Wilson and Lyndon Johnson.

A tall man dressed in a black pinstripe suit with tails and a shorter man dressed in a dark blue suit entered the foyer. “Thy will see only Mistress Ward. Mr. Faulkner will entertain Mistress Marshall in the sitting room. Please follow me.”

Karah watched as Camilla followed the tall man out the foyer and down the hall. “Please follow me,” said Mr. Faulkner. Karah followed him into a room with shelves of books, chairs, a fireplace, and a platter with tea and cups.

Camilla followed the tall man down a hall with cathedral ceilings. On the left side of the wall were paintings of old distinguished white men whom Camilla didn’t recognize. Fixed curved-top frame windows decorated the right side revealing a well-manicured formal hedge garden.

They walked until they came to a set of large doors. The tall man opened the doors and motioned for Camilla to enter the dimly lit large room. She hesitantly entered the room and walked forward. At the rear of the room stood six silhouetted figures of varying heights. Camilla felt as if she was in an interrogation.

“That will be far enough,” said one of the figures. “We are offering you the highest seat in the land, do you accept?”

“How do I know you can do what you say?” asked Camilla as she could feel their stares in the darkness.

“How do you think everyone after Kennedy got into the White House?” asked a different figure. “If we can put a reality TV star and a man with Alzheimer's in the White House, we can put you in the Oval Office.”

“Why me?” asked Camilla.

“Because you have that charisma which creates a certain following,” said another silhouetted figure.

“Because you turned out like we thought you would,” said the tallest of the figures.

“So do you accept the offer?” asked the first figure.

Camilla peered into the darkness, trying to see the faces of these supposed king makers, but in her case, queen maker.

“We don’t have all day, young lady,” growled a figure with a deep gravelly voice.

“Of course,” said Camilla. “I’ll accept your offer. I want to be president of the United States.”

“Very well,” said the first figure. “Our people will be in touch. Please see yourself out.”

Letting her curiosity get the better of her, Camilla asked, “Who are you?”

“We’re the ones who financed your little group,” growled the figure with a deep gravelly voice. “And we’re the ones who will put you into the White House. Now excuse us, we have to discuss population control.”

Camilla slowly retreated out of the room where the tall man waited. “Please follow me, Madame President.”

Camilla smiled. The sound of Madame President had a nice ring.

Months later, the news of Camilla as a Democratic presidential hopeful flooded the news cycle. Her base grew overnight. The other Democratic candidates mysteriously dropped out then urged their ers to Camilla.

“Good evening, I’m Paul O’Brien, and you are watching O’Brien Weekly. With me is Dr. Daniel Jordan. It’s a pleasure to have you here again.”

“Thank you, Paul,” said Dr. Jordan.

“Explain how a person with no political experience becomes the Democratic presidential nominee?” asked Paul.

“That’s a good question,” smiled Dr. Jordan. “It leads one to wonder if there are other factors at work here. As you said, she has no political experience. She has no experience in foreign policy making. I think this is a dangerous situation for America.”

“I agree,” said Paul.

“Another question we should ask is why more qualified candidates like Senator Akkerman or Senator Berger drop out the Democratic race? Then turn around and urge their ers to and vote for Camilla Ward,” said Dr. Jordan. “It seems as if something dishonest is going on in the Democratic Party, and the American people will pay for their deception.”

“This would be almost Hollywood-like if she won the presidency,” stated Paul.

“From race hustler to President,” said Dr. Jordan. “Most definitely a Hollywood movie.”

“What do you think about Headline and other social media sites locking people out of their s? Most of these people used the sites to criticize a Ward presidency?” asked Paul.

“We’ve seen this behavior by big tech for many years. This is nothing new,” said

Paul. “Big tech along with the PC culture is single-handedly responsible for the destruction of the First Amendment. As long as you agree with them, there’s no problem. What we’re seeing is Communist behavior which goes hand in hand with the Marxist attitude of Ward.”

“Speaking of Communist, Xiong Ping called Camilla Ward and congratulated her on her nominee as the Democratic presidential hopeful,” said Paul. “No Communist leader has never called an American presidential hopeful.”

“These are dark days ahead for America if we can’t turn this thing around,” added Dr. Jordan.

*~*~*~*

“If the freedom of speech is taken away, then dumb and silent we may be led, like sheep to the slaughter.” ― George Washington

The Antediluvian Man

Cameras clicked and whirred as newly elected President Camilla Ward, the forty-ninth United States president, sat behind her desk in the Oval Office. Video cameras zoomed in on her thin caramel-colored face. President Ward wore her shiny dark hair pulled back into a bun.

Eighty-five million US voters voted for her, making her the first African American female president in the United States. Controversy marred her trail to the White House. Accusations and allegations of Chinese collusion, a big tech conspiracy, her affiliation with the Black Liberation Faction, and her work in the race grievance industry.

Despite all of the accusations and allegations, the media dubbed her “Barrier Breaker.” She would forever hold a spot in United States history.

Sitting at her desk, she was on the verge of making history once more. In front of her lay a single dark color folder with the golden emblem of the United States, which contain her first executive order as president. Next to the folder lay a case with a single pen.

“Before I sign this executive order, I would like to say I do it to protect us from those who seek to divide this nation,” smiled President Ward. Cameras continued to click and whir. People in the room lightly applauded.

President Ward opened the folder, followed by the pen case. Picking up the pen, she quickly signed her name to the order. She then held it up for the media to

see.

“The g of this executive order will also create the Domestic Crime Service and State Fact Checkers,” smiled President Ward. “Today will mark the beginning of a new chapter in American history.”

Months later Cory Holt, sat on his couch with his wife Mia watching a police drama titled Bishop and Hawkes about two detectives that stepped outside the rules to hunt down criminals in the futuristic city of Euphor.

Cory, a science teacher at Any Inner City High School, married his college sweetheart Mia, a history teacher at Suburban Middle School. Mia urged Cory to her at Suburban Middle School or work at Suburban High School. He would smile and say it was his duty to help uplift those less fortunate than him. Despite the ongoing threat of violence and high dropout rate, Cory stayed the course, never wavering for greener pastures. In his six years at AICHS, he lost twenty students, male and female, to gang violence. One year he started with a class of thirty-five students and ended the school year with only ten students.

“Okay, I’m going to bed,” said Mia. “The white cyborg did it.”

“Why’d you have to spoil it for me?” asked Cory.

“Sorry,” smiled Mia as she leaned and kissed her husband of three years on the forehead. “I’ll see you in bed. I love you Cory Holt.”

“I love you back times infinity,” smiled Cory. Mia blew her husband a kiss.

“Let me catch the score between Fresno and Olympia.” A huge basketball fan, Cory change the channel to ASEN, the major sports network. “I’ll be to bed shortly.”

“When we return, we’ll have more basketball scores for you,” said one of the hosts. The commercial that followed started with a female voice saying, “Fighting for truth, I ride the streets of the city.” The revving of a car engine followed the voice.

“I am a champion of justice. I am the night. I am the Masked Stranger!”

Cory moved to the edge of the couch with excitement. He pumped his fist for several seconds. “Aw crap! A new Masked Stranger movie!”

His excitement quickly faded when a slightly overweight black female appeared on the screen wearing the costume. He sat in silence, trying to process what he was seeing.

“Coming to theaters in April,” said an announcer.

Cory ran his hands down his face. “What in the hell is that?”

The first three Masked Stranger movies were about Lewis Blake, a scientist who

created a renewable energy source. One day while hiking with his wife, the couple was ambushed. Blake’s wife succumbed to her injuries. A mountain man named Jaeger nursed Lewis back to health. Learning how to hunt and fight from Jaeger, Lewis adopted the identity of Masked Stranger to hunt down those responsible.

“What in the hell is that?” asked an angered and confused Cory. Picking up his cellphone, Cory tapped the icon of the number one social media app, Headline. He quickly typed what was known as breaking news for s of the app.

What in the hell is that? The Masked Stranger is now an overweight black female! How dare they replace Ty McNeil with a chubby female! There they go ruining another franchise! It makes no sense!

At 8 PM at Headline headquarters in San Jose, an algorithm pinged as it identified certain words no longer allowed. The tech on duty read the algorithm message.

The algorithm identified Cory Holt’s breaking news text as hate speech. The tech went to another computer and forwarded the entire message to the Domestic Crime Service.

At 4 AM, two black SUVs and a white van pulled up to a beige cookie-cutter townhouse. Seven armed men dressed in black tactical gear quickly exited the SUVs and made their way up the sidewalk and to the front door. One of the men drilled through the door lock. He pushed the open door and entered. The others quickly followed.

The commander pointed as one man remained at the door, and another went into the kitchen. The remaining five men made their way up a set of carpeted stairs. Once on the landing, four proceeded to the first bedroom door. The point man gently twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door.

Then suddenly, the team commander shouted, “Out of the bed! Out of bed! Out of bed!”

A startled Cory and Mia sat up in bed with lights at the end of automatic weapons shining at them.

“Don’t move! Don’t move!” ordered the commander loudly.

Two of the armed men went to Cory’s side of the bed and forcibly pulled him out of bed and onto the floor. Another man restrained Mia. “Get your hands off her! Take your hands off her!” screamed Cory.

The men bounded Cory’s hands and lifted him to his feet. “Get him out of here,” ordered the commander.

“What’s going on?” asked Cory. “What’s going on? Who are you, people?”

The men dragged Cory out his bedroom, downstairs, through the living room, and out into the cold early March morning.

“Why are you doing this?” sobbed Mia. “Why? Who are you?”

Peering at Mia, the commander said, “Your husband violated Executive Order 178992.”

Sobbing, Mia asked, “What is that? I don’t understand.”

Without responding, the commander left the room with his men in tow. Getting out of bed, Mia quickly followed the men downstairs and into the cold morning. There she saw the two men holding Cory in front of a news camera. “Cory! Cory!”

“Get her back inside,” ordered the commander. Two of the armed men made their way to Mia and shoved her back inside the townhouse. One of the men aimed his weapon at her as a warning. Mia stood sobbing and shivering, not understand what was transpiring.

Neighbors either ventured outside to see what was happening or peered from behind their blinds.

One of the men placed a black bag over Cory’s head before shoving him into the back of the SUV.

“The man you just saw was Cory Holt, the first violator of President Ward’s executive order,” said a blonde female into the camera. “We do not know the exact nature of his violation as of this moment. We do know that it violated the

executive order issued by President Camilla Ward. We will have more information as this develops. I’m Rose Krauss reporting for GSTP news.”

Hours later, the tactical apprehension team turned Cory over to Domestic Crime Services, the newly formed task force under the Ward istration.

“Who are you, people?” Cory asked repeatedly. “Where am I?” All of his questionings went unanswered.

After he was photographed and cataloged, two burly medical staffers strapped Cory to a chair. A DCS medical team of nurses quickly drew blood and injected him with something that burned. Then the two burly medical staffers held his right hand while a doctor quickly tattooed a barcode between his thumb and index finger. The medical staffers ushered him to another station that issued him a set of steel grey pajamas and running shoes.

Once Cory was dressed, the medical staffers turned him over to two blackgarbed security personnel. They escorted him to a dimly lit interview room with a two-way mirror. They bounded him to the sole chair in the middle of the room then left.

Cory quickly surveyed the room with domed CCTV cameras in the upper corners. Above the two-way mirror sat a domed speaker.

“Good morning Mr. Holt. I’m Director Kingsley Fischer,” came a voice from the speaker. “You’ve been brought here because you are a criminal, Mr. Holt.”

“What are you talking about, man?” asked Cory. “What did I do that makes me a criminal?”

On the other side of the two-way mirror, Director Kingsley Fischer stood behind a technician sitting at a control board.

Director Fischer, a short square-headed man with a lined face and small eyes, studied Cory. He wore his greying hair slicked back. Director Fischer, a former CIA Middle East operative, also worked at Guantanamo Bay. “How’s his vitals?”

“The tattoo is recording everything perfectly,” replied the technician. “It seems as Mr. Bacchus's Citizen Tracing works.”

“Cory, do you know what Executive Order 178992 is?” asked Director Kingsley.

“No, what is it?” asked Cory as he stared at the two-way mirror.

“It was signed by our President when she came into office,” replied Director Kingsley.

“She’s your president,” retorted Cory.

“That’s right, you voted for the other guy, the conservative,” said Director Fischer as he accessed Cory’s information via a pad. “It doesn’t matter to me, liberal or conservative, they’re all the same. They all have aa agenda to push.”

“Why am I here?” asked Cory.

“That’s right, Executive Order 178992,” said Directory Fischer. “You see, the president wants to put an end to all the hate speech and bullying people as you do from the comfort of your home. You see, you posted this statement on your Headline last night.”

Cory's statement concerning the new Masked Stranger movie appeared on the two-way mirror, which served as a monitor. “So what?”

“Is that all you can say for yourself, Cory?” asked Director Fischer.

“Yep,” smiled Cory.

“Chubby black female is considered hate speech,” said Director Fischer.

“It’s a fact, the female playing Masked Stranger is overweight,” said Cory. “You can see it for yourself.”

“The actor does not identify as female. To say otherwise is considered hate speech,” said Director Fischer. “So is calling the genetic material overweight or chubby. Executive Order 178992 makes saying those things a criminal act, thereby reprimanding you into my custody.”

“This is crazy,” said Cory.

“No, this is the new America,” said Director Fischer.

“I can’t believe this,” said Cory.

“Believe it,” smiled Director Fischer.

“So what is this, the beginning of your New World Order?” Cory asked.

“That started years ago,” said Director Fischer.

“What happens next?” asked Cory.

“You go to trial,” said Director Fischer.

“I need to speak to my wife,” said Cory. “I am entitled to one phone call.”

“Not in this instance,” said Director Fischer. “This isn’t Bishop and Hawkes.”

Meanwhile, back at the townhouse, a befuddle Mia sat on the couch waiting for

the police. She had called them over five hours ago. Then the doorbell rang. Taking a baseball bat with her, she cautiously made her way to the door. Peering through the peephole, she saw their best friend Brian Mack outside.

Mia ripped open the door held shut by duct tape and fell into Brian’s arm sobbing heavily. He walked her back inside and sat her on the couch. “Calm down, Mia, we’ll get to the bottom of this. I came over once I saw it on the news.”

Sobbing, Mia tried her best to recount the early morning events. Brian could make out only a fourth of what she said.

“Did these people say who they were?” asked Brian.

Mia shook her head. “The one-man said something about an executive order.”

“Executive order?” asked Brian. He removed his cell phone and quickly researched the executive order. “It says President Ward signed an executive order in January that prohibits internet hate speech and bullying. It’s also punishable.”

Looking at Brian with teary eyes, Mia said, “That doesn’t make any sense. Cory would never bully anyone or write anything hateful.”

Then Brian tapped on the Headline app, located Cory’s last post, and then showed it to Mia. She quickly read the post. “There’s nothing wrong with what

he wrote.”

“It may not seem that way to us, but he certainly offended over 20 000 people on Headline,” said Cory. “We need to find out where they took him. Get dress, and then we’ll go to the police department. In the meantime, I’m going to make me some coffee.”

Thirty minutes later, Brian and Mia stood in the police station.

“I want to know where my husband is,” demanded Mia. “I want to know who took my husband!”

“Who is your husband?” asked a tired-looking desk sergeant.

“Cory Holt,” said Mia. “I called you guys, and no one came to take a statement or do an investigation.”

A tall bald, muscular man dressed in a grey pinstripe suit and red tie approached the desk. “I got this Sergeant Cartwright. Hello, I’m Detective Collier. Follow me.”

Mia and Brain followed Detective Collier to the office of Captain Nicolette Paget, a dark-haired female with a stern-looking face and dark eyes.

“Captain Paget,” said Detective Collier.

Captain Paget stood and said, “Come in.”

Mia pushed past Detective Collier, asking, “Where is my husband? I want to know what happened to my husband.”

“Mrs. Holt, please have a seat,” said Captain Paget.

“I won’t sit down,” said Mia. “Why won’t you people do something?”

“We can’t do something because it’s above our level,” said Captain Paget. “Your husband violated a presidential executive order.”

“That’s bullshit!” protested Mia.

Picking up a pad, Captain Paget showed her the trending topic in the media. “It’s all here.”

On the pad was an animated square-faced Caucasian man with brown wavy hair. “Social media posts such as the one by Cory Holt are hurtful and insensitive. This type of rhetoric has no place in American society. I’m glad that President Ward enacted this executive order to protect people from these types of hurtful remarks. In my opinion, I hope he gets what’s coming to him!”

Mia flopped down in the chair. She could not believe what she was hearing about her beloved Cory, a man who volunteered at the local youth center and delivered food to the elderly on the weekends. “What did he say that was so wrong?”

“He referred to an actor as overweight and chubby,” said Captain Paget. “He also called the actor black and female. The actor identifies as a man, and as Roger Machin said, that’s hate speech.”

“What in the hell is going?” asked Brian. “A man is condemned for commenting on a social media site. Then taken out of his home in the early morning. The last time I checked, we lived in the United States of America.”

“Things have changed,” added Detective Collier.

“Apparently,” said Brian.

“I’m sorry, we can’t help you here, but if you called the Domestic Crime Service, they could assist you better,” said Captain Paget. “Good day.”

Detective Collier opened the door and showed Brian and Mia out of Captain Paget’s office.

Cory still sat in the small room at the DCS facility. On the other side of the twoway mirror, Director Fischer continued studying Cory. “Mr. Holt, you’ve been busy on social media. You’ve made your dislike for President Ward known.

Here’s the post that got you your first red flag.”

The tech sitting at the control fingers moved quickly across his keyboard, bringing up a Headline post from Cory concerning a Camilla Ward presidency.

She’s going to be bad for the country. There are far more critical things to be discussing. Still, she seems to think that allowing males to identify as female and compete in female sports is the most pressing matter in the country. Shouldn’t we talk about the education system or why the Teacher’s Association wants a bill to end charter schools? Why aren’t we discussing unemployment? What about the steady flow of illegal immigrants? She will be harmful to this country. Have you not forgotten how dangerous she and the BLF were?

In the interview room, Cory smiled. “I’m merely stating facts. U.S. education is more about indoctrination, not teaching people what they need to know to succeed. Why would the teacher’s association want to end charter schools?”

“You’re a bright one,” smiled Director Fischer. “Just imagine if you were blue and not red.”

“I’m neither,” retorted Cory. “I’m American, which is something people forget. People either became red or blue or Liberal or Conservative.”

“And that brings us to your second post,” said Director Fischer.

Again the technician pulled up another of Cory’s post.

The media lies to you daily. The press is the unofficial mouthpiece of the Liberals. The media is there to scare you and manipulate your emotions. If a white cop shoots a white suspect, nothing is said because it does not feed the liberal agenda of division. Suppose a white cop shoots a black suspect. In that case, it becomes the trending topic in the media, with the race hustlers pouring gasoline on the media fire. I don’t understand how people, especially black people, do not see this for the life of me.

“Wow, that was well written,” said Director Fischer. “Did you think of that all by yourself?”

“It’s a fact,” said Cory. “I know when people speak facts which are easily ed, people get upset.”

“What fact, Cory?” Director Fischer. “All I see, like so many other social media posts, is a man who has no idea about anything. This type of behavior goes back to 2019.”

“How about when police killed La Dorian Hodge after he fired at them trying to leave the Burger Hut he just robbed?” asked Cory. “Black people destroyed Any City for four days, and technically I wouldn’t call that the behavior of black people. People did not wait to hear the truth. As soon as GSTP news mentioned a black man killed by white police officers, everyone took to Headline and claimed it was racist cops. Let’s not forget Reverend Gideon Chambers fanning the flames.”

“That doesn’t prove your theory of the media being the unofficial mouthpiece of the Liberals,” said Director Fischer as he looked at Cory’s vital sign. So far

through their entire interaction, Cory showed no signs of becoming angry.

“In Any Town, police killed Jake Henson after he savagely beat an officer with his baton who pulled him over for drunk driving,” said Cory. “Not one peep from the media. Besides, the top news organizations are contributors to the Democratic party.”

“Take him to cell,” ordered Director Fischer.

The same two black-garbed security personnel entered the room and took Cory to a cell with a bunk, sink, desk, closet, and toilet. Change of clothes laid on the bed. Sitting on the bed, Cory examined his right hand with the tattoo. “Damn mark of the beast. These fuckers gave me the mark of the beast.”

Mia paced back and forth as she listened to the elevator music. She had been on hold for the last forty-five minutes. Picking up the remote, she turned on the television. Perhaps the talking heads were talking about Cory. She first turned to the conservative news FVR. On the split-screen was the host, Faye Kramer, and her guest, Senator Allan Donaldson.

“What do you see as the problem here, Senator?” asked Faye, a dark-haired woman with a narrow face, large dark eyes, and pointed noise.

“Faye, President Ward used an executive order to imprison an innocent American for a social media post,” stated Senator Donaldson, a fleshy face Caucasian man with greying hair, small eyes, and a dimpled chin. “If she wanted this to be law, it should have gone through the normal process of making laws in this country. She used the executive order to by the judiciary process to

satisfy her base.”

“A lot of people saw the post by Cory Holt on Headline as hate speech,” said Faye. “When I say a lot of people, it was more than 300 000 people who said the post was hate speech and insensitive.”

“That shows you the path that this country is walking where everything continues to be offensive,” said Senator Donaldson. “It’s all part of this Socialist agenda that has weakened this country.”

Mia changed the channel. This time she stopped on SCSTV, a liberal news media outlet. On the screen was a caramel skin African-American male named Robert Bentley.

“ing us now is Darrisha Barnes, the star of the new Masked Stranger,” stated Robert. “I’m glad you could take time out of your busy schedule to us.”

“Thanks for having me, Robert,” said Darrisha, a tall, thick amber-skinned female with a rotund face and sparkling dark eyes. She wore her flaxen hair in Bantu knots.

“I wish we could have you talk about your new starring role,” said Robert. “However someone out there decided to attack you. Could you talk about that?”

“I wish we could talk about the new Masked Stranger because I think it will do well at the box office,” said Darrisha with a smile. “You’re right; someone

decided to attack me. A friend of mines made me aware of the post. After reading it, I was devastated. I thought as a people we were beyond such hurtful thing.”

“Well, it seems that some people, namely Cory Hurt, think it okay to make degrading statements,” said Robert.

“Thankfully, I have such a great fan base that immediately came to my defense in condoning those hurtful words,” praised Darrisha. “I would like to thank them for all their and caring words of s.”

“More than 300 000 people came to your defense against this bully,” said Robert. “Which shows that this type of behavior is no longer acceptable.”

“I hope others learn that you can’t say whatever you want so we can avoid these types of conversations,” added Darrisha. “We need to educate the Cory Holts of the world.”

“That’s going to take a mountainous effort to get those types on board with the program,” said Robert.

Mia changed the channel then said, “You are black, female, and overweight.”

She stopped on DCTV, another liberal news media outlet. On the left side of the split-screen was Jessica Cantrell, an oval-faced female with a straight nose, thin lips, and a dimpled chin. She wore her dark hair short and spoke with a throaty

voice.

On the right side of the screen was President Camilla Ward, who wore her dark hair loose.

“President Ward, what did you hope to accomplish when you signed Executive Order 178992?” asked Jessica.

“I hoped to stop the kind of behavior we witnessed from Cory Holt. There is no room for that behavior in American society. So I would say we got the desired result with the apprehension of Mr. Holt.”

“I’m sure before it’s all said and done, more will violate the 178992,” said Jessica.

“I agree, but we have the technology in place to remove these people from society,” smiled President Ward.

Mia turned off the television. The elevator music still played in her ear as no one from the DCS answered. She clicked end, terminating the call. Mia curl on the couch and began sobbing until she fell asleep.

The following day Cory ate a breakfast of eggs, sausage patties, toast, and orange juice. After breakfast, guards escorted Cory to a different windowless interview room. However, it was the same setup as the previous room except for two chairs. He was free to move about the room.

The door to the interview room slid open. A nervous-looking dark-haired short man with a jowly face, a hawk nose, close-setting onyx eyes under heavy eyebrows entered. He wore a dark blue two-piece pinstriped suit. In his right hand, he carried a Manilla classification folder.

“Good morning. I’m Hamilton Bender, your attorney assigned by the DCS.”

With a confused look on his face, Cory said, “You’re not my attorney.”

“In this matter, I’m your attorney,” said Hamilton as he took a seat at the table. He placed the folder in front of him and opened it.

“What happened to my civil rights?” asked Cory.

Removing a pen from his pocket, Hamilton said, “You forfeited your civil rights when you made that post.”

“That’s crazy,” protested Cory. “This is the United States of America, not Communist China.”

Hamilton chuckled.

“What exactly is going on?” asked Cory. “I haven’t heard anything from my

wife. They denied me my one phone call. No one read me my Miranda rights. Where in the hell am I?”

Again, Hamilton chuckled. “President Ward’s executive order supersedes all of that. I have a statement of apology and an ission of guilt statement for you to sign.”

“What?” Cory asked with a look of confusion.

“Sign the apology and it your guilt,” said Hamilton.

“I’m not g anything,” said Cory. “I’m not apologizing for anything because I’m not guilty of anything.”

“That’s not according to the executive order,” said Hamilton.

“Fuck President Ward’s executive order,” roared Cory.

Sighing, Hamilton said, “Sign the papers and go back home with conditions.”

“Conditions?” Cory asked.

Hamilton flipped through the papers attached to the folder. “No social media

s, a ten-year internet ban, no more political association, a public apology to one Darissha Barnes, and two to three years of sensitivity education.”

“If I don’t?” asked Cory

“I inform Director Fischer you refused the offer, then you go to court tomorrow,” said Hamilton.

Leaning on the table, Cory said, “Tell Fischer I refuse.”

Hamilton closed the folder and stood. “You should have taken the offer.”

“Fuck you,” said Cory.

Shaking his head, Hamilton tapped the door. The door slid open again, and two black-garbed guards escorted Cory back to this windowless cell.

Mia attempted to call the DCS once more with the same result of elevator music. She didn’t turn on the television. Going upstairs, she showered and dressed.

She walked through the kitchen and entered the garage. Opening the garage door, Mia discovered a horde of reporters outside the townhouse in the street. Her first instinct was to back out into the mob, hopefully taking out a few of the vultures in the process. She closed the garage door. Her first instinct would neither do her or Cory any good.

Mia went into the living room and opened the blinds. She could see reporters from GSTP, SCSTV, and DCTV standing just on the edge of the lawn. She picked up her phone and called Brian.

“Could you get over here, please?” pleaded Mia.

Thirty minutes later, Brian arrived at Cory’s and Mia’s neighborhood. Because of the news vans and other spectators, he couldn’t drive to their townhouse. Picking up his phone, Brian called Mia. “Open the garage. I can’t get through.”

Parking his car on the roadside, Brian walked to Mia’s and Cory’s townhouse. Once he approached the house, reporters swarmed him, bombarding him with question after question. “Mia! Mia! Open the garage!”

The garage door had opened halfway before Brian crept under it. Mia opened the kitchen door then press the garage button, closing the garage.

“Are you okay?” asked Brian.

“Yes,” said Mia. “I was on my way to see our lawyer hoping he could help me.”

“You should have just backed over them,” joked Brian.

“That was my first instinct,” said Mia. “But killing a reporter wouldn’t help Cory.”

“It would have been one less mouthpiece talking about him,” joked Brian.

Then Mia’s cellphone rang. Looking at the number, she answered. “Hello, Elizabeth.”

“We’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday!” exclaimed Elizabeth Holt, Cory’s mother. “What’s going on? Where’s Cory?”

“They say Cory violated some presidential executive order. Armed men took him away, and I don’t know where they took him,” said Mia. “I’ve been trying to call the DCS to find out where they took him.”

“Gerald and I are on our way,” said Elizabeth. “We’re getting to the bottom of this. See you tonight.”

“Who was that?” asked Brian.

“The Holts are on their way,” said Mia. “Hopefully, they’ll be able to help me get some answers.”

“Okay, but I’m calling the police to see if they can get these reporters out of here,” said Brian.

Cory lay on his bed, looking up at the ceiling and thinking about something his father said long ago. His father warned him that these days were coming when people faced imprisonment because they didn’t believe the same as those in control. He saw the changes happening with the rise of cancel culture and Big Tech censorship. However, he didn’t think he would be the first casualty of the changing times. Yet here he was, confined in a windowless cell with only his principles.

A slot on his cell door opened, and a tray with a burger, fries, and a soft drink appeared in the box. “Eat up. It’s fresh from Bacchus Farms,” said the server.

Cory removed the tray from the box and inspected the food. The door on the box closed.

He had heard about the food from Bacchus Farms. Internet conspiracies said gene-altering chemicals laced the food. Computer genius and philanthropist Preston Bacchus preached eugenics owned Bacchus Farms that supplied all the meat used at fast-food restaurants.

Cory inhaled and took a bite of the burger. “One burger won’t hurt,” said Cory.

The door on the box opened once more. Instead of food, it was the folder Hamilton Bender presented to him earlier.

“This is your last time Cory,” said Hamilton. “Director Fischer wanted to give you a second chance.”

“Tell Fischer he can take his second chance and shove it,” insisted Cory.

“Are you sure about this, Cory?” asked Hamilton.

“I’m sure about this. Now leave me so I can enjoy this chemical-infested burger,” said Cory.

The outer door of the box opened, and Hamilton retracted the folder. “The tribunal will convene at nine. Be sure to wear the black two-piece tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you at nine,” said Cory.

Minutes later, Hamilton walked into the office of Director Fischer, who stood at a window looking out at the Denali Mountain range.

“Mr. Holt has refused the offer for a second time,” informed Hamilton as he dropped the folder on the director’s desk. “He has decided to face the tribunal.”

“Very well,” said Director Fischer. “This is an opportunity to make an example that hopefully will deter others from making the same mistake.”

“If they don’t?” asked Hamilton.

“Then we will be busy,” said Director Fischer as he turned around. “We will cleanse America of those who doesn’t want to get with the program.”

Later, Gerald and Elizabeth Holt made their way to Mia’s and Cory’s.

Gerald, a retired college professor, and high school teacher, sat across from Mia at the dining table. Gerald taught Any State University for twenty years before deciding to retire after seeing the curriculum change from focusing on the sciences to a curriculum focused on social and liberal studies. A year after retirement, he and a friend formed a charter school focused on helping underprivileged students. Elizabeth left her fifteen-year position as principal of Any Suburban High School to become the Director of the Holt-Bowman Charter School.

Gerald and Elizabeth's influence led Cory to become a teacher. They offered him a position at the charter school, but he decided on a job at Any Inner City High School.

Sitting next to Mia, Elizabeth asked, “Have you talked to Cory?”

“No,” responded Mia silently. “I spoke with our lawyer who made a few calls, and he wasn’t able to get an answer as to Cory’s location.”

“This is disturbing,” said Elizabeth. “Since when did a man taken into custody not allow counsel?”

Shaking his head, Gerald said, “I tried telling you these days were coming. I knew it as soon as they canceled Dr. King because of his nonviolent approach, belief in God and stopped playing the national anthem at sporting events. Just what did Cory say that was so offensive?”

“They deleted his , thereby deleting all his posts. I have no posts from him,” said Mia.

Mia started to sob, and Elizabeth put an arm around her daughter-in-law to comfort her.

Getting up, Gerald turned on the television. On the television split screen was Roger Machin. The other person was a round head balding heavy-set African American man with small eyes. The caption named him Dr. Harold Sheppard, Principal of Any Inner City High School.

“Dr. Sheppard,” said an animated Roger Machin. “Discovering a beloved teacher at Any Inner City High School, who posted such hurtful and degrading words must be shocking,” said an animated Roger Machin.

“Roger, it was shocking to find out it was Cory who posted such appalling things about Ms. Barnes,” responded Dr. Sheppard.

“For you who do not know what Cory Holt posted, here it is once again,” said Roger. “I hope we don’t have to show this again.”

Cory’s post appeared on the screen, finally giving Gerald a chance to see what his son posted. Gerald read the post. “How is that offensive and hurtful? I would say he should have used a better choice of words, but how is that offensive? Who was he talking about?”

Mia pulled up a picture of Darrisha Barnes. Looking at the picture, Gerald said, “She’s black and has a few extra pounds. What’s the big deal?”

“The female identifies as a male,” said Mia. “That’s offensive these days.”

“What is this world coming to these days?” asked Elizabeth.

Gerald turned his attention back to the two men on the television.

“Roger, we’re now offering counsel to many students who experienced hurt by those hateful words,” said Dr. Sheppard.

“Is Cory Holt still a member of the faculty at Any Inner City High School?” asked Roger.

“The school board fired Cory immediately after discovering it was him who posted those hurtful words,” responded Dr. Sheppard. “I their decision 100%. We cannot have teachers such as Cory Holt among our students influencing them to behave in such a manner. We feel that he does not uphold the values of Any Inner City High School.”

“Thanks, Dr. Sheppard,” said Roger. “I’m sure parents can sleep a little better knowing that Cory Holt will not be able to influence them again. When we return, we’ll be talking to Xaevan Covington and his mother, who Cory attempted to convert to Christianity. A little later in the program, we’ll be talking about the DCS raid on several independent media outlets and the recently signed bill that replaces paper money with cryptocurrency. Stay tuned to hear how this will affect your bank .”

Gerald turned off the television. “This is madness!”

“Xaevan is a kid Cory mentored after school,” said Mia. “Cory even had him over to help paint, and he paid and fed him. I believe Cory asked Xaevan to come to church with us once.”

“Everyone trying to get their fifteen minutes,” said an angry Gerald.

“That’s just ungrateful,” said Elizabeth. “Why would a young man do something like that?”

“It’s obvious, Elizabeth,” said Gerald. “They need as much bad stuff on Cory to push their agenda that he’s this awful person who should not walk amongst the normal people.”

Sobbing heavily, Mia broke away from Elizabeth and ran upstairs.

“Why’d you say something like that?” asked Elizabeth.

“It’s the truth,” said Gerald. “I don’t understand why people are hurt by the truth or afraid of it. I’ll apologize in the morning.”

The following day, the meal server woke Cory with his breakfast. He was tired since he hadn’t slept well since being interned. “Good morning Mr. Holt,” said the meal server. “I have a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, and juice.”

Cory could hear the outside door of the box open and close before the inner door opened. Cory removed the tray of food and placed it on the room’s desk.

“Enjoy, Mr. Holt,” said the meal server.

“Wait,” said Cory. “Tell me, where am I?”

“You’re in your room,” answered the meal server, who sounded uneducated.

“Not that,” said Cory. “What state is this facility located in?”

“Yes,” said the meal server. “This facility is located just outside the Denali. I wish you could see it.”

“Where’s that?” asked Cory.

“Denali is in Alaska,” replied the meal server. “I must go now.”

Cory stumbled back to his bunk.

Then a guard came to the door, “The tribunal will convene in an hour. Be sure to wear the black suit.”

Cory lost his appetite. The only thing he could do was think about Mia and his parents and sister. Then he did something he hadn’t done since arriving at the facility. He got down on his knees and prayed.

“Dear God,” started Cory. “Thank you for this beautiful day. Thank you for giving me the chance to see this day. Thank you for loving me despite my sins. Forgive me for all my sins, even the ones committed unknowingly. As I start this day, I pray for your guidance and your protection. Direct my path and teach me the right thing to do. Let my words and my actions bring honor to your Holy Name. Thank you, Lord, for an answered prayer. Through Jesus Christ, I pray. Amen.”

Cory continued to pray. He prayed until his cell door whooshed opened. “On your feet, Holt, the tribunal is about to start.”

Cory slowly came to his feet and turned to see four black-garbed armed guards. None of the guards had a name or number on their uniform.

“You’re not wearing the black,” said one of the guards. “Change now.”

Cory quickly changed into a black version of the grey two-piece. Two guards shackled his hand and feet. As he stepped into the hall, the chains rattled, reminding him of his situation. Two guards walked in front and two behind him. They walked until they came to a platform where they would wait for a shuttle. Minutes later, a driverless shuttle arrived, and a guard shoved him inside.

A guard sat on the left and right of Cory while the other two stood at the door.

“Are four guards necessary?” asked Cory. “Isn’t it overkill? I’m shackled, on a shuttle, most likely in the middle of nowhere.”

“It is protocol,” answered one of the guards.

“I notice you guys don’t have names or numbers on your uniform,” said Cory.

“We’re all tattooed,” answered another guard. Their voice was the only different thing about them. “Control knows of our location at all time.”

“No more questions, no more chatter,” said a guard in a deeper voice.

Seconds later, the shuttle came to a stop in the center of the complex. Cory

stood, and the chains rattled. The guards escorted Cory off the shuttle into a more populated area. Black uniformed people with uncovered faces stopped to look at him. He smiled at them.

The guards quickly shoved him down a hall that leading to an elevator. One of the guards placed his hand on a palm reader. The doors dinged open, and the guards shoved Cory inside. Once inside the elevator, another guard held up his palm in front of a scanner. The elevator began to ascend.

“Wow, that tattoo operates everything,” said Cory. None of the guards answered him.

After fifteen seconds, the elevator stopped on the twentieth floor. The doors dinged open, and four more guards waited on Cory. They removed him from the elevator; a guard scanned Cory’s right hand then look at the information on the scanner’s screen.

“He’s been checked in. Take him to the holding area for room 9846,” ordered a guard with two red stripes on his left shoulder.

“This is the only way we may be able to get answers,” said Gerald. “It’s not too late to back out.”

“I’m not backing out,” insisted Mia. “I want to find Cory.”

“Alright, we go two minutes,” said a producer from FVR. “Let’s get the wife in

the middle flanked by the parents.”

Gerald called FVR to schedule an interview and give Mia a chance to tell her side of the story. Gerald thought that they could get some in finding the location of Cory and hopefully bring him home.

“You’ll be speaking to Don Slater,” said the producer. “Alright people, were on in 3, 2, 1.”

“ing us from Any City are the wife and parents of Cory Holt,” said Don Slater, a white-haired jowly faced man with a straight nose. He spoke as if he were the spokesperson for an auto commercial. “It’s so good that you reached out to us.”

“We wanted to do this so that people are aware of the dangers of speaking out,” said Mia.

“President Ward’s executive order did make it dangerous to express your First Amendment rights,” said Don. “Or what’s left of it.”

“Don, I honestly don’t believe my husband did anything wrong,” said Mia. “People today are offended by everything. What he wrote wasn’t hate speech, but the liberal media will make people believe otherwise.”

“We here at FVR agree that your husband did nothing wrong,” said Don. “It seems that this is part of the liberal media’s agenda to silence people.”

“You’re right, Don,” said Gerald. “This has been going on for some time, and President Ward’s executive order enabled this.”

“Right you are, Mr. Holt,” said Don. “Have you spoken to Cory since he was taken away in the early morning two days ago?”

“No, we haven’t,” answered Mia.

“It’s as if we are living in Communist China,” said Gerald. “They whisk your loved ones away in the middle of the night, never heard from again.”

“If we don’t turn this thing around, we will be Communist America,” said Don. “So the DCS has not reached out to you.”

“No,” said Mia. “They took him away. It can happen to anyone who violates Ward’s executive order or they disagree with.”

“We at FVR will assist you in finding the location of Cory,” promised Don.

“Don, I would like to say that President Ward used the executive order to by the judiciary process to censor and imprison innocent American people,” said Gerald. “I fear before it is all said and done, many more Americans will go through what my son is going through now.”

Cory sat alone in a dimly lit holding area awaiting his trial. Again he silently prayed. The door to the room slid open. “On your feet, Holt,” ordered a guard with two gold stripes on his left shoulder. Cory slowly stood, and the chains rattled, irritating him. He hated the sound of the chains.

Cory exited the holding area surrounded by four guards with gold stripes. They escorted him down a dimly lit long hall with smooth grey walls. The escort stopped and stood before a tall door with columns on each side. Above the door, the inscription “Our Truth” glowed.

The door opened, revealing a dimly lit courtroom with vaulted ceilings and gray walls. Two podiums stood twenty feet from an elevated judges’ bench with three seats. Ornate red, yellow, green, and blue banners hung from the walls. In the gallery on the left side of the room sat reporters from the three major media outlets. Behind the right podium stood Prosecutor Ruth Estella Sterling, a medium-height dark hair female with dark eyes. She wore a dark dress suit with matching black shoes.

A door on the left side of the judges’ bench opened, and a guard in a charcoal grey uniform entered the room. “All rise for the first Tech Tribunal. This court is now in session.”

Three men dressed in black suits, known as Tech Justices, entered from the left side of the room. Tech Justices, the former heads of big tech companies, was authorized by President Ward to judge internet and social media matters.

High above them, inscribed into the wall, were the words “Our Way.”

Tech Justice Prem Sarkar, a medium-height man with ruddy skin and dark hair who wore dark frame glasses, pressed a button. “This court is now in session. Bring forth the accused.”

The door to the courtroom opened, and the guards escorted Cory to the left podium with a small monitor. The cameras from the gallery zoomed in on Cory.

Tech Justice Sarkar said, “Cory Holt, you stand accused of violating Executive Order 178992. Violation of this executive order is lifetime confinement in the Sunset Valley Penal Facility with a two to one vote. Violation of this order is death with a unanimous vote. Prosecutor Sterling, what are the charges against Mr. Holt?”

Prosecutor Sterling put on a pair of dark frame glasses then accessed her tablet. In a nasal tone, she said, “Mr. Holt is guilty of one charge of hate and one charge of transmitting disparaging language using the internet.”

“What is the evidence against Mr. Holt?” asked Tech Justice Ian Weeks, a tall man with brown curly hair, light blue hooded eyes, and a long goatee.

Again Prosecutor Sterling accessed her tablet. The three incriminating Headline posts by Cory appeared on the judges’ tablets and Cory’s monitor.

The Justices read the post from Cory. “What do you have to say in your defense?” asked Tech Justice Sarkar.

“This is a joke, right?” asked Cory. “Where’s my counselor?”

“This isn’t a joke,” said Tech Justice Isaiah Mendenhall, a tall man with short sandy hair, a long face, large blue eyes, and a long nose. “What do you have to say in your defense?”

“I was merely expressing my First Amendment rights. These charges are ridiculous. Before I went to bed two nights ago, I was living in the United States of America. Now it seems as if I’m living in a Communist country. When in the United States of America, a man could be taken out of his home in the early morning hours and not see his family or have competent counsel.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holt,” said Tech Justice Mendenhall. “Prosecutor Sterling.”

Cory turned to look at her as the cameras zoomed in on her. “Tech Justice Mendenhall, Sarkar, and Weeks, Mr. Holt is an antediluvian man. The State has no use for people like Mr. Holt in our society. We believe the removal of Mr. Holt is in the best interest of those who adhere to the State. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Prosecutor Sterling. We will take a short recess. When we reconvene in fifteen minutes, we will render our verdict,” said Tech Justice Mendenhall. “Please escort Mr. Holt back to holding. The media can now transmit.” The three Justices exited the room the same way they had entered.

The guards forcibly and quickly escorted Cory out of the courtroom as the media reported the trial.

“I’m Rose Krauss of GSTP reporting from the Nexus Facility in Alaska. The Tech Justices have taken a break and will reconvene to render their verdict in the State versus Cory Holt case. As you may know, Mr. Holt is the first citizen to be taken into custody for violating Executive Order 178992. Mr. Holt's charges are first-degree hate and one crime of transmitting disparaging language via social media. We will have that verdict live for you once the Tech Justices reconvene.”

“I’m Giles Nader of SCSTV reporting from the Nexus Facility in Alaska. The Tech Justices have recessed and will reconvene in fifteen minutes to render their verdict in the State versus Cory Holt. Mr. Holt is the first citizen to violate President Ward’s executive order. His charges are first-degree hate, but his main charge is transmitting disparaging language via social media.”

“I’m Charity Fisher of DCTV reporting from Alaska at the Nexus Facility. The Tech Justices are in recess to decide the fate of Cory Holt, who violated Executive Order 178992. Cory Holt faces charges of first-degree hate and transmitting disparaging language via social media. We will have that verdict live in about fifteen minutes.”

A teary-eyed Mia sat on the couch, hugging her knees. At the same time, Gerald repaired the door. Elizabeth sat at the breakfast bar sipping coffee.

“You guys are taking this well,” said Mia as she lifted her head to look out the window.

“That’s because we’re leaving this in the hands of the Lord,” said Elizabeth. “This is beyond us.”

“Where is the Lord now?” asked Mia.

“Forgive her, Lord, for she knows not what she says,” said Elizabeth as she got up and sat next to Mia. “Whatever Cory is going through is the will of the Lord. Trust me; Cory knows this.”

“The Lord has a funny will,” commented Mia.

Then Gerald’s phone rang. “Hello. What? Okay. Thank you.”

“What is it, Gerald?” asked Elizabeth.

“Turn on the television,” instructed Gerald. “They’re talking about Cory. Turn to GSTP”

Mia turned on the television then turned to GSTP. “What is this? What’s going on?”

A camera zoomed in as the black-garbed gold striped guards escorted Cory back into the courtroom and positioned him behind the podium. Off-camera, Rose Krauss whispered, “That’s the accused Cory Holt being escorted back into the courtroom by Onyx Guardsmen.”

Mia gasped, “That’s Cory! Where is he?” His head was down, and a gag covered his mouth.

“What have they done to him?” asked Elizabeth. “What have they done to him?”

The camera then turned to the Tech Justices as they entered the courtroom and took their seats. Off-screen, Rose Krauss said, “Here we see the Tech Justices Isaiah Mendenhall, Prem Sarkar, and Ian Weeks with their verdict. Their verdict will be the first of its kind. We are witnessing history in the making.”

The lights in the courtroom dimmed with only Cory highlighted. A camera zoomed in on Cory. His eyes showed fear.

“What is this?” asked Mia as she moved to the edge of the couch. “What is this? Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“Tech Judge Prem Sarkar will now speak,” whispered Rose Krauss off camera. A camera zoomed in on the Tech Justice.

“Mr. Holt, how do you plead?” asked Tech Justice Sarkar. “Swipe the red button for guilty and the blue button for not guilty. You may make your selection now.”

Cory looked down at the screen on the podium and swiped the blue button. His decision appeared on a screen on the bench.

“Cory Holt just stated he is not guilty of the charges levied against him,” whispered Rose Krauss off camera. “We will now hear the Tech Justice’s verdict.”

“The court acknowledges that Cory Daniel Holt refused to sign an ission of guilt and refused to apologize to the victim Darrisha Barnes,” said Tech Justice Sarkar. “Before I read the verdict, I would like to say to Mr. Holt that the State no longer has use of your kind. Antediluvians such as you are a disruption to the State and a danger to society. Now to the verdict. Mr. Cory Daniel Holt, the Tech Justices, have ruled unanimously on the charge of first-degree hate. We, the Tech Justices, have ruled unanimously on the charge of transmitting disparaging language via social media. Mr. Cory Daniel Holt, for violating Executive Order 178992, you are as a result of this sentenced to death.”

“What!” Mia exclaimed. “They can’t do this! They can’t do this!”

“Gerald, what is going on?” asked a teary-eyed Elizabeth. “What’s going on?”

Gerald embraced his wife and said, “We’re truly in the end times.”

“There you have it,” said Rose Krauss off-screen voice. “The Tech Justices have sentenced Cory Holt to death. He will be the first human in US history to be put to death for violating Executive Order 178992.”

After the guards escorted Cory back to his room, he paced as the words ‘sentenced to death’ echoed in his head. He kept telling himself there was no way any of this could be real. He has simply fallen asleep and was now in a bad dream. He would wake up and be back in his bed next to Mia. Then he heard a familiar voice.

“Well, Mr. Holt, your name will forever be a part of American history,” said Hamilton Bender. “You will have one full day with your family, then the following day, you will be executed by guillotine. Have a good evening.”

There was silence then Cory could hear his heartbeat rapidly in his ears. He fell to his knees as if someone punched him in the gut. The words ‘executed by guillotine’ covered him with fear.

In his job as a teacher at Any Inner City High School, he had faced students with knives or box cutters, but there was no fear.

Cory started to pray. “May your will be done.”

The Holts and Mia sat silently. They had exhausted all of their attempts to prevent the execution of Cory. Amnesty International USA would not entertain the idea of helping Cory.

Then the doorbell chimed, interrupting the silence. Gerald went to the door peered through the peephole.

“Who is it?” asked a puffy-eyed Elizabeth.

“A man in a black suit,” answered Gerald before opening the door. “May I help you?”

The man didn’t respond as he held out a thick Manila envelope. Gerald reluctantly opened the screen door and accepted the envelope.

“Please read and follow the instructions,” said the man before turning and walking away.

“What is it?” asked Elizabeth.

“It’s for Mia,” answered Gerald. He handed the envelope to Mia, who quickly opened it and removed the contents, which contained a letter and three tickets.

“What is it, darling?” asked Elizabeth.

“If we want to see Cody, we are to take the 9 PM flight to Juneau and check into the Sheraton. From there, someone will pick us up and take us to Cory,” said Mia.

“Let me read that,” said Elizabeth. She read the letter, then said, “I suggest we get to the airport.”

The following day after a breakfast of eggs, toast, bacon, coffee, juice, and fruit, guards took Cory to a large room with a television, couch, snack bar, and dinner table.

Cory turned on the television. The coverage of his trial played. He heard Tech

Justice Sarkar say the words ‘sentenced to death.’ He changed the channel, and on the screen was President Ward.

“President Ward, we here at SCSTV applaud what you have done,” said Robert Bentley. “What Cory Holt said to Darrisha Barnes has no room in our society.”

“Robert, that was the point of the executive order,” said President Ward. “I believe we have seen a zero rise in this type of behavior.”

“Society is far better without the Cory Holts of the world,” smiled Robert Bentley. “One more question before you leave us, Madame President, will you attend the execution of Cory Holt?”

“Unfortunately not,” smiled President Ward. “I have a beauty appointment on that day. I do believe that Attorney General Harper and Secretary of State Chamberlain will attend.”

“I know Darrisha Barnes said she would attend to face her acc. Madame President, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule for this interview,” smiled Robert.

“Thanks for having me, Robert,” smiled President Ward.

“Be sure to us right here tomorrow at 7 pm for the execution of Cory Holt,” said Robert. “When we come back, we will be talking about why reformation of the Second Amendment must happen now to protect us from gun-carrying

ers of the Republican Party. We will also be discussing the role the Federal Fact Checkers or FFC played in getting Senator Donaldson removed from office.”

Cory surfed the channels until he came to ASEN.

The door to the room whooshed opened. Cory turned to see Mia and his parents standing in the doorway. Mia ran across the room and embraced her husband. She planted kisses on Cory’s face before his parents came over.

“Why Cory?” asked Mia. “Why didn’t you sign the ission of guilt?”

“Because I’m not guilty,” said Cory. “Why would I it to something that I didn’t do? If I had signed that thing, then I would be saying I’m guilty.”

“But you would be alive,” said Mia.

“Alive with the stigma of being the guy who offended Darrisha Barnes,” said Cory. “I would rather go through this. Besides, I believe this is God’s will for me. Who am I to go against God’s will?”

“You’re selfish,” argued Mia.

Taking hold of Mia, Cory hugged her. “I love you. Let’s just enjoy our remaining time together.”

Later, Cory, Mia, and his parents sat at the dinner table eating a steak dinner with steak fries, salad, wine, and chocolate cake for dessert. They talked about the past. They laughed and cried, then laughed some more.

Around 10 PM, the doors to the room opened. “Visitation is over,” said the guard. Two green striped guards entered the room to take the Holts and Mia back to their transport. Before leaving, Gerald said, “If I had the power to remove you from this place.”

“I know you would,” smiled Cory.

Next was Elizabeth, who said, “I love you.” She gently stroked his cheek. “Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it; and whosoever shall lose his life shall preserve it, Luke 17:33."

Then came Mia. “Cory Daniel Holt, you’re the bravest man I know. I love you with all my heart. For better or worse.”

Smiling Cory, said, “Until death do us part.” Mia planted a long deep kiss on Cory’s lips.

“Okay, time to go,” said one of the guards.

“Come, Mia,” said Elizabeth.

“Go,” said Cory. “, I love you.”

“I love you too,” said Mia.

As the guards escorted them out of the room, Mia screamed, “I love you, Cory Holt! You’re a good man!”

The door closed silently, leaving Cory alone. Seconds later, the door whooshed opened as the same four guards escorted him to the room and escorted him back to his room. Once back in his cell, Cory got on his knees and prayed until he was tired.

The following day, Mia sat in the shower and cried as she thought about seeing Cory for the last time. She screamed at the top of her lungs. Minutes later, Mia got out of the shower and sat at the foot of the bed staring at the wall.

Then came a knock on her door. Gathering herself, Mia made her way to the door. She opened the door to see a dressed Gerald.

“Are you okay?” asked Gerald.

“No, not really,” said Mia.

“I just stopped by to tell you that we won’t be going with you,” said Gerald. “We want to Cory just the way we left him yesterday.”

“I don’t think I can do it by myself,” said Mia.

“You can,” said Gerald. “Spends some more time with him. Give him this letter from his mother.”

“Okay,” said Mia. “How’s Elizabeth?”

“She’s not doing so well,” itted Gerald. “That’s why I’m taking her home.”

“What about you?” Mia asked.

“I knew something like this was coming, except I didn’t think it would be me going through this,” said Gerald.

An hour later, Mia sat in the back of a black driverless SUV arriving at the Nexus facility two hours later. In the distance, the Denali Mountains loomed in the background.

A green light scanner moved across the front grill of the SUV. Seconds, later the gates opened, and the SUV pulled forward into a parking lot in front of an istrative building. Two black-garbed guards with white stripes on their left shoulder exited the building and removed Mia from the SUV.

Once inside the building, they took her phone and purse then placed an ID bracelet on her right wrist. Then two green stripes escorted her to a different room where Cory waited. The two embraced.

“Where are my parent?” asked Cory.

Reaching into her jacket pocket, Mia handed Cory the letter from his mother. They sat on the couch while he read the letter. After reading the letter, Cory sat at the table and wrote a letter to his parents and his sister Charlene.

“Why are you in this room?” asked Mia.

“This is the conjugal visitation room,” said Cory with a smile. He folded the letters and handed them to Mia.

Then the door opened, and two servers rolled in trays of food and beverages. “Let’s eat then have a conjugal visit,” said Corey.

“Sounds like a plan to me, Mr. Holt,” smiled Mia.

“The countdown has begun,” crowed Roger Machin. “The time is drawing near when there will be one less hate monger in this country. I’m talking about the pending execution by beheading of Cory Holt, the Antediluvian man. We now go live to Rose Krauss inside the Nexus facility. What’s the mood inside the facility?”

The screen split with Rose on the right side. Behind her was a grey wall with the words ‘Our Way’ highlighted. “Roger, to the employees at this newly erected multi-billion dollar facility, it’s just another workday. This facility can hold and dispose of five hundred inmates.”

“What about the accused, Cory Holt? Do you know anything about him? What’s he’s doing?” asked Roger as he leaned forward into the camera.

“We do know that he was visited by his parents and spouse yesterday until 10 Pm,” responded Rose. “Today, his parents did not visit him, but his wife is here. She will be allowed to visit him up until an hour before the execution.”

“That’s very generous,” Roger.

“Roger, I’m getting word that Darrisha Barnes has arrived at the Nexus facility,” said Rose. “I’ll be speaking to her after she tours the facility.”

“It’ll be great to hear from her,” said Roger. “Speaking of the facility, have they shown you the room where the execution will occur?”

“Yes,” responded Rose. “However, we’re not allowed to show it. The decapitator is of Chinese design. Once the accused is in place, the device, a spring-loaded heated blade, comes from the side separating the head at the base of the skull and sealing the cut, stopping the splatter of blood.”

“Thank you, Rose,” said Roger. “We will see the see the end of the Antediluvian man.”

Brian Mack turned off the television. In a few hours, he would lose his best friend. He cried uncontrollably.

Hours later, Cory and Mia lay cuddled on the bed.

“I can’t believe it’s going to end like this,” said Mia as she nestled against Cory.

“Don’t think about that,” said Cory. “Think about the times we spent together. our trip to Italy. how good I looked when we got married.”

Mia smiled.

“I’ll always be with you,” said Cory. “Nothing, not even death, can stop me from loving you.”

Mia started to sob. “You’re taking all of this with a grain of salt.”

“Don’t cry for me,” said Cory as he wiped a tear off her cheek. “I had a great life. We had a great life. I met and married the best girl in the world. What more can a man ask for?”

The door to the room opened, and Mia covered herself. “Sorry,” said the guard. “But the time is up.”

“Give her time to get dress,” fumed Cory.

“Five minutes,” said the guard. “Not a minute more. You’re on the clock.”

“Thanks,” said Cory. The guard closed the door.

Both Mia and Cory got dressed. At precisely five minutes, the guard plus three more appeared in the doorway. “Time’s up.”

A sobbing Mia planted a kiss on Cory’s lips before being forcibly removed from the room. “Is that necessary?” asked Cory.

“Time’s up,” repeated the guard.

“I’m Roger Machin, and we are just minutes away from the execution of Cory Holt. Right now, we’re going to take you to Rose Krauss, who is standing by with Darrisha Barnes.”

“Thank you, Roger,” said Rose as she stood in front of a light grey stone wall with ‘Our Way’ chiseled into the stone and highlighted. “Darrisha, what are your

thoughts right now?”

“I’m just thankful that this nightmare will be over,” said Darrisha wringing her hands. “I would like to say thank you to everyone who ed me through this ordeal.”

“Will you be viewing the execution?” asked Rose.

“Yes,” said Darrisha. “I just want closure so that I can move on with my life.”

“I can’t imagine the pain and suffering you have experienced,” said Rose. “But there will be closure for you tonight. Back to you, Roger.”

“Thank you, Rose,” said Roger as he shuffled some papers on his desk. “When we return, we’ll take you inside several football stadiums where people have gathered to watch the end of the Antediluvian Man.”

Cory was moved from the conjugal room to a smaller, dimly lit room with a table and chair. They had fulfilled his request for a Bible. Dressed in dark grey scrubs, he sat reading his favorite Bible verse. A digital clock hung on the wall behind him, with the time ticking down before the guards would come and get him. After reading Psalm 23, Cory got on his knees and began to pray.

In a control room, Director Kingsley watched Cory via cameras situated in the room. “The people and their religion are sickening. The only God is the State.”

“Sir, the networks are ready to start broadcasting,” said an operator sitting at a control .

“You may send the signal,” said Director Kingsley. The operator pressed several lit buttons that sent a feed to GSTP, SCSTV, and DCTV. FVR, the conservative channel, did not receive the signal.

“There you see Cory Holt, the Antediluvian Man, praying,” said Roger Machin of GSTP. “In about five minutes, guards will come and take him to the room with the decapitator. Why is he praying?”

In a large football stadium in New York, over a hundred fifty thousand people gathered to watch the beheading of Cory. Instead of a ive mood, the atmosphere was as if they were watching a football championship.

“You are now seeing Cory Holt, dubbed the Antediluvian Man,” said Robert Bentley of SCSTV. “In less than five minutes, guards will come and take him to be decapitated. I honestly think praying is a little too late and a waste of time.”

“Here we see Cory Holt, the Antediluvian Man praying. I hope he’s praying for forgiveness,” stated Prescott Forester, the primetime anchor of DCTV. He was a thin man with silver hair, a long straight nose, and piercing blue eyes. “In a few seconds, the doors will open, and guards will take Cory Holt to the decapitation room.”

The doors to Cory’s room opened, and five black stripes entered the room. “Time to go, Mr. Holt,” said the guardsman in front.

Corey stood. His legs felt weak, but he would not give them the pleasure of seeing him falter. Two of the guards rushed over and shackled his hands behind him.

“Move it,” said one of the guards, shoving Cory.

Cory took a few steps then stopped. “Keep going,” said the guard with a harder push in the back. Taking a deep breath, Cory moved through the door and into a much dimly lit hallway.

“There you see Cory Holt with his escort,” whispered Prescott Forester like the commentator of a golf game. “From my understanding, the decapitation room is down the hall; they’ll make a left then a right. Standing by is DCTV correspondent Charity Fisher. Charity, where is Mrs. Holt?”

“In a holding area until after the execution,” replied Charity.

“Will she view the execution?” asked Prescott.

“No,” answered Charity. “However, Secretary of State Chamberlain, Attorney General Harper, and Darrisha Barnes along with Director Kingsley will view the execution from a viewing box.”

In football stadiums across the country, spectators excitedly watched as Cory and the guards made a left, walked down a wide hallway then made a right. They

walked down another wide hallway until they came to a large door. The guard in front removed his glove then placed his hand near a scanner. The door whooshed open, and the spectators in the stadiums cheered.

“There you see the device which will behead Cory Holt, the Antediluvian Man,” said Roger Machin. “We just received word that the door will open. There it is! The door has opened, and we are all witnessing a historic moment. Before the execution, Cory Holt will have one last chance to address the public.”

Cory looked around the hexagonal room with white subway tile walls as the guards escorted him inside. His eyes darted to the stainless steel decapitator in the center of the room. He then looked to a booth with a set of tinted windows overlooking the hexagonal floor. Two guards escorted him to a small raised platform with a microphone. “You have one minute.”

Cory stepped to the microphone then cleared his throat. “First, I would like to give all the honor and glory to God. Second I would like to say that I love my wife, Mia Chantal Holt. I want to say to my parents, thank you for everything, and to my sister Charlene, never give up and keep praying. To my best friend Brian, stay strong. I know people are watching want me to beg for my life or hear me apologize. I will not apologize, nor will I bow down to your rhetoric.”

In the many football stadiums around the country, the audiences booed and hissed. Many chanted, “Chop it off!”

“I challenge all those who feel like me to stand up and not bow down. I say do not be afraid! Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it; and whosoever shall lose his life shall preserve it, Luke 17:33," said Cory. “Show them that they can no longer suppress or cancel our First Amendment rights. Stand up and fight.”

In the booth overlooking the floor, Director Fischer frowned. He despised it when someone talked about their First Amendment rights. In his opinion, the First Amendment should have been repealed to reflect the country's current state.

“Well, it looks as if you won’t get your apology, Ms. Barnes,” smiled Secretary of State Chamberlain.

“I wasn’t expecting one,” said Darrisha as she looked down at Cory.

“Is there any way we can speed this up, Director Fischer?” asked Attorney General Harper. “We can’t expect to go through this every time there’s an execution?”

“No, Mr. Harper,” answered Director Fischer. “This is all for show.”

“It appears as if Cory Holt will not offer an apology to Ms. Barnes,” reported Robert Bentley. “Expected behavior from someone like him who does not understand that his kind is a thing of the past.”

Two guards removed Cory from the platform and placed him behind the decapitator.

“Do I even get a minister to give me my last rites?” asked Cory.

None of the guards responded. A guard raised the lunette on the decapitator. Two other guards walked Cory towards the decapitator and placed him face down on the padded bascule. The guard lowered the upper portion of the lunette onto Cory’s neck.

“They’ve placed him in on the bascule and secured his hands and feet,” whispered Prescott Forester. “A spring-loaded blade will come from the left, removing his head and cauterizing the neck.”

Cory closed his and silently prayed.

In stadiums and bars across the country, people gasped as the blade shot from the left at blinding speed. Some people clapped as the perceived greatest threat to society was no more.

“We have seen one of the greatest threats to modern society neutralize,” said Robert Bentley. “I hoped parents let their children watch this so that they may know what happens if they behave in such a manner. We can no longer have people like Cory Holt walking among us. It’s going to be our way.”

“I hoped parents used this as a teachable moment,” said Roger Machin. “We cannot have another Cory Holt walking among us. We go now to Rose Krauss. What happens next?”

“Roger, you’re correct,” said Rose. “This was a teachable moment. Cory Holt was cremated and his ashes given to his spouse.”

“When we come back, we’ll be talking to President Ward and Citizen Tracing designer Preston Bacchus.”

Two months later, fifty more people were incarcerated or executed for violating Executive Order 178992. Many more would follow. Xiong Ping, the Chinese leader, applauded President Ward’s stance on the internet and social media.

~*~*~*~

“Religion and morality are the essential pillars of civil society.” – George Washington

“Religion is a private affair between every man and his Maker, and no tribunal or third party has a right to interfere between them. It is not properly a thing of this world; it is only practiced in this world; but its object is in a future world; and it is not otherwise an object of just laws than for the purpose of protecting the equal rights of all, however various their belief may be.” – Thomas Paine

The Age of Disbelief

Representative Wilson Kellogg, a brown-haired man with a thin face, stood before his fellow Representatives and sponsored the State atheism bill. “I believe this bill is the only way to unite us as a people. If we all have this single commonality, there is nothing that can stop us from achieving our goal of peace and unity.”

Surprisingly the bill ed the House then went to the Senate, where many thought it would die. Religious organizations and churches warned that the bill would destroy the moral fabric of the country. They warned that it would create another “Reign of Terror.”

Not heeding the clergy’s warning, in another surprise turn, the bill ed the Senate with a vote of 52 to 99. Christian leaders pleaded with President Ward not to sign the bill.

Eight days later, President Camilla Ward sat in the Oval Office preparing to sign the Kellogg Bill into law live on TV before the whole nation. She had received calls from many celebrities urging her to sign the bill. Many celebrities made commercials urging their fans to get behind the Kellogg Bill. Social media sites such as Headline helped promote the law while blocking the of those who went against the bill.

Streaks of grey hair highlighted a once lustrous head of black hair as the stress of being President painted her face. The pounds gained showed around her neck. A makeup artist put makeup at the corner of her eyes to hide the crow’s feet.

“Madame President, we are ready whenever you are,” said a producer.

President Ward shooed away the makeup artist and said, “I’m ready.”

“Once the light comes on, you can speak,” said the producer.

“I am aware of what happens when the light comes on,” said President Ward.

“Sorry,” said the producer.

The light on the camera came on. “Good evening. I know many of you are celebrating Christmas with family and friends. I would like to apologize for interrupting the annual Christmas football game. I selected this time because we are all family and friends. The bill I am about to sign is the start of the country walking down a path that will lead us to the Great Unification when all people and nations are one. Many countries in Europe and South America have adopted similar bills. By g this bill, we will be at the tip of the spear. I will now sign the bill.”

An aide appeared and handed President Ward a gold pen. Taking the pen out of the black case, she opened the folder and signed the Kellogg Bill into law. She turned the bill to the camera for all to see then handed it to the aid.

“Today, December 25th, marks the beginning of a new path for our country. The old ways are no more,” smiled President Ward.

By June of the following year, seventy-five percent of the people recognized the Kellogg Bill. However, the remaining twenty-five percent rebelled against the law decrying it as unethical.

Those who rebelled against the bill, the media dubbed them Objectors. They soon became the target of the newly authorized State Security Police headed by Jacob Drabek. With the help of citizens turned informants, the SSP located pockets of Objectors and held them at the Nexus facility, where they faced execution.

Unlike the other clergy who accepted the Kellogg Bill, Pastor Samuel Collins stood firm against the Kellogg Bill. Despite the threat of imprisonment, he spoke out against President Ward and the Kellogg Bill.

“The Kellogg Bill is the work of demons! Ward is attempting to supplant God. You shall have no other gods before me, Exodus 20:3. You have let Ward and her ilk take you captive with their philosophy and deceit. The men and women who ed this bill did not take the time to pray to see whether this was from God. I will tell you this is not from God! Some people have fallen on their knees to Ward and worshiped her. Instead of fleeing from idolatry, you have run with open arms to her. You have said, “Deliver me, for you are my god!”

“You shall not go after other gods, but many of you have placed Ward before the Almighty. Instead of seeking the face of God, you have sought the face of Ward and worshipped her. I solemnly warn you that you shall surely perish because you loved the darkness and not the light.”

The past two weeks, Samuel evaded the SSP heading to Texas, where the resistance to the Kellogg Bill was strong. Because they had stayed off the highways, the trip to Texas took longer. Now he and his twelve followers were

holed up in a safe house in Tennessee along a route determined to be free of SSP.

In the rear room of the house, Samuel knelt praying. He prayed to the point that sweat drenched his clothing. Samuel, an ex-Army sergeant, attended seminary school. He said God told him to train himself up to lead his sheep through the coming tribulation through a dream.

In a central room in the two-story farmhouse, Samuel’s parishioners watched the news.

On the screen was Roger Machin of GSTP. Grey hair and lines contributed to his now distinguished look. He was less animated than in his earlier years.

“Good evening, you’re watching GSTP. Today the White House issued a statement saying it is working with Preston Bacchus to implement the Citizen Tracing program to ensure compliance with the Kellogg Bill. Preston Bacchus had this to say.”

The scene switched to Preston Bacchus, a ginger-haired man with a long face and a large straight nose. He covered his blue eyes with a set of round metal frame glasses. “Citizen Tracing is the best supplement to help with compliance of the Kellogg Bill. We can see the success in similar programs in China, Russia, and some European countries. This application has so many other uses. We can determine someone’s health or locate them if they’re lost. Citizen Tracing has been successful in our Any City trials, and we look to implementing it nationwide.”

The program switched back to Roger Machin. “Today, the SSP conducted raids

of twenty Objector safe houses in Virginia and West Virginia netting over three hundred insurrectionists. SSP’s Director Drabek had this to say.”

“Obeying this law is the only way we as a nation can truly unite. As long as Objectors roam this land, they threaten peace and unity.”

Again the program switched back to Roger Machin. “ Pippa Harper a little later in the program as she takes you behind the scene of the raids. Now for my commentary.” Roger Machin, at the end of every program, delivered a commentary segment on the headline story.

“Those citizens who Reverend Samuel Collins are at risk of being judged and imprisoned. Do the right thing, turn away from this man who is nothing more than an insurgent. For this nation to achieve peace and unity, eliminate Reverend Samuel Collins and his disciples from society. Tonight, I’m asking all who are not Objectors to do their part and alert the authorities if you come in with any of these scourges of society. Be like actor Grant Banner or musician Marisa Raines who have dedicated their free time to root out these people. If they can do it, so can you. Do your part.”

Caleb Cooke, a tall, bearded Caucasian man, turned off the television. He was the group’s captain. “Well, it seems as if the persecution of Christians is beginning.”

“What did you mean beginning?” asked Phillip Joseph, a bald black man with glasses. “It started when Kellogg introduced this State atheism bill. With Ward in her third term as president, something like this was bound to happen.”

“That technically makes her a dictator,” stated Janie Meyer, a short, brownhaired female with large grey eyes. “We’re on the path to becoming China number two.”

Marvin Vaughan, the host of the safe house, entered the central room and said, “Dinner is ready.”

“I’ll let Samuel know,” said Cassie Keith, a smallish, raven-haired female with eyes to match.

After everyone was seated at the dinner table, Samuel said, “Thanks to Marvin and Diane for hosting us during these turbulent times. Could you lead us in prayer, Marvin?”

After prayer, they enjoyed a dinner of fried chicken, mash potatoes, string beans, rolls with sweet tea. “What time will you be leaving in the morning?” asked Diane, a slightly heavyset woman with brown hair and rosy cheeks.

“Before sunrise,” answered Caleb. “We need to stay ahead of the SSP.”

“Then I better pack a meal for you to avoid stopping,” said Diane.

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Samuel.

“Especially with Roger Machin asking people to report any us,” said Phillip

Joseph.

“Well, after dinner, I’ll show you what route to take,” said Marvin. “It’ll take you into Mississippi. Make sure you stay close to the Arkansas border, then cut across southern Arkansas, and that’ll take you into Texas.”

“Why don’t you people come with us?” asked Janie.

“We’re gonna stay here and help people like you get to safety,” answered Marvin. “Don’t worry bout us. We’re in the good Lord’s hands.”

“Let’s enjoy this meal, then we’ll talk about travels later,” smiled Samuel. “We’ll concerns ourselves with tomorrow when tomorrow comes, God willing.”

In the former FBI headquarters, now the home of the State Security Police, Jacob Drabek held a late meeting with his commanders.

Director Drabek, a tall man with a stern look, was a former Naval Intelligence commander who President Ward handpicked for Director of the newly formed SSP.

Behind him stood a touchscreen map of the United States with most of the southeastern states highlighted in red. “We’re still sweeping Virginia and West Virginia for pockets of Objectors. We will sweep Kentucky and North Carolina next. We will use old social media posts and go from there, monitoring current social media sites and phone calls. Headline has volunteered its assistance. We

will hit the major cities then move to the outer lying areas using drones. Any questions?”

“Can we expect resistance?” asked Commander Hobson Tiller, a medium height Caucasian man with a thick mustache.

“Of course,” said Director Drabek. “These people love nothing more than their guns and Bibles. You have the shoot to kill order.”

“What about Collins?” Commander Matt Palmer, a bald, muscular Caucasian man with deep-seated dark eyes, asked.

“If Collins is in the area, he is to be brought in alive,” said Director Drabek. “President Ward says she wants to watch him executed. We go hot at three a.m.”

The following day before dawn, Samuel and his parishioners waved goodbye to Marvin and Diane. Sticking to the secondary roads, they crossed over into Mississippi by noon. They stopped to eat a lunch of chicken sandwiches provided by Diane.

“Do we have any safe houses in Mississippi?” asked Samuel.

Caleb called out to Jason Beasley, the group’s navigator. “Any safe houses?”

Jason Beasley, a thin black man with glasses, unfolded a map and placed it on

the hood. Caleb forbade the use of navigation systems since the SSP could track them.

“There’s a family in Rosedale,” said Jason. “It’s about thirty miles from here. We could be there in about forty-five minutes.”

“Okay,” said Samuel. “Enjoy the food.”

Samuel walked into the forest and stopped until he came to a clearing. He tuned out the sounds of the forest, knelt, and started praying. “Dear Father God, thank you for watching over as we travel these highways. Thank you for not letting our enemies claim a victory over us. Thank you for keeping us safe from harm. I forgive my enemies for killing my wife and children.”

The SSP killed his wife and children in an early morning raid of The Church of God encampment. Samuel and two other pastors created it a month after President Ward signed the Kellogg Bill. Designed as a place where Christians could freely worship, they had over eight hundred . The SSP apprehend over half the compound’s parishioners. Those that initially evaded capture eventually found themselves in the hands of the SSP. The SSP later burned the encampment to discourage others from gathering.

Then someone shouted for him. “Pastor Samuel!”

Getting up, he quickly ran back in the same direction from which he came. Once back on the road, Samuel saw his people in a standoff with armed men in two pick-up trucks.

“We’re just ing through,” said Samuel. “We’re just trying to get to Texas.”

A heavyset bearded man wearing a t-shirt and jeans, holding a shotgun, eyed Samuel. “Who are you?”

“I’m Pastor Samuel Collins,” replied Samuel calmly. “As I said, we’re trying to get to Texas.”

“Well, Pastor Collins, I think y’all should git in ya cars and follow us,” said the heavyset man as he signaled for his men to lower their weapons. “Dese parts ain’t safe.”

Samuel looked at Caleb, who nodded. Everyone got into their vehicles and followed the pickup trucks to a two-story house, barns, and silos surrounded by a moat and a makeshift rampart. The convoy of cars stopped at a fortified gate with armed men. After a few seconds, the gate opened, and the vehicle proceeded through. Scattered over the property were RVs, cars, and more pickups.

“How do you know we can trust these people?” asked Caleb.

“They could have killed us, taken our bodies to the SSP, and collected the bounty,” said Samuel.

The vehicles came to a stop and everyone dismounted. The heavyset man met

Samuel. “I’m Ray, short for Raymond.”

“Please to meet you, Ray,” said Samuel.

“Follow me,” said Ray. Samuel followed Ray, who cradled his shotgun as if it were a baby. Looking around, Samuel saw people of all skin colors at the complex performing some type of task. The people stopped doing their job to stare at Samuel.

“What is this place?” asked Samuel.

“A haven. We call it Brown’s Landing,” said Ray. “We hear dey swept Kentucky and North Carolina dis morning.”

“Yes,” said Samuel. “It appears as if they targeting the so-called Bible states.”

“If dey come dis way dey will be met wit da wrath of God,” smiled Ray as he patted his shotgun.

Ray led Samuel into the house and up the stairs. In a room to the right, a brownhaired unshaven young man taught math to a group of school-age children. They made a right at the top of the stairs and went down a hall. Ray stopped at the second door on the right and knocked. A female voice said, “Enter.”

Ray went inside. A few seconds later, the door opened, and Ray signaled for

Samuel to enter.

Samuel entered the room to find a thin female silhouetted by light standing at the window. Turning, the woman said, “I finally get to meet Pastor Samuel, the Great Objector.”

“And who might you be?” asked Samuel calmly.

“She’s Annie Brown,” answered Ray.

Smiling at Ray, Annie Brown said, “Please leave us Ray and ensure that we extend our best hospitality to Pastor Samuel’s people.”

“Yes, ma’am,” responded Ray before leaving the two alone.

“Please have a seat, Pastor Samuel,” said Annie, motioning to a worn wingback chair. “Would you care for tea, coffee, or water?”

“Tea if it’s no bother,” said Samuel as he looked around the unadorned room, which contained a desk, a wardrobe, a table, and a small worn cloth-covered couch. There were no pictures of any kind on the water-stained walls, but a small flat-screen television occupied an upper corner. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you trying to get to Texas?”

“I’m from Mississippi,” said Annie as she went to the small table to prepare the

tea. “I was born here, so I shall die here.”

Annie turned on the television.

On the television screen was Director Drabek talking about the Kentucky and North Carolina raids. “This morning was very successful. We were able to take our targets into custody without incident. We will continue searching for more Objectors until they are all in custody.”

“That was Director Drabek of the SSP talking about the successful raid netting hundreds of violators of the Kellogg Bill,” said Pippa Harper of GSTP. “In other news, President Ward said she would allow Chinese telecommunications to access US telecommunication networks despite push back from conservatives. Yesterday, a total of twenty thousand people received the Citizen Tracing barcode. More citizens will receive the barcode in the coming days. A little later, we will be taking you through the new Big Bay Facility expected to house more than seven hundred citizens who disobey the State.”

Annie turned off the television. “Damn fools have accepted the mark of the beast and don’t know it.”

“We’ve all known these days would come,” said Samuel.

“Why couldn’t people see it?” asked Annie as she poured hot water over a teabag. “I hope you like honey in your tea.”

Annie handed Samuel the cup of tea then sat behind her desk. “I saw it when I was a college professor. The students became so radicalized. Everyone was so easily offended. Let’s not mention the censorship and cancel culture. Then they executed that poor boy on national television as if it was a sporting event. How did Ward become president for a third term?”

Samuel studied Annie. He could see anger and rage behind her dark hooded eyes. “What happened?” asked Samuel. “What happened to make you so angry?”

“Aren’t you angry at what’s happening?” asked Annie. “You should be. After all, they killed your wife and children and burned your church.”

“Whoever is slow to anger has great understanding,” responded Samuel.

Annie smiled at Samuel. “My anger stems from when they took my husband away for criticizing Ward while she was still head of the BLF. They said there was the possibility of him doing it again. I haven’t seen him since that awful night. I suspect they took him to the Nexus facility.”

“I’m sorry,” said Samuel after taking a sip of tea.

“I got on my knees and prayed that God would deliver my John from out of their hands, but he didn’t,” said Annie. “I prayed some more. Not one word from God. So I decided to come here with others whose loved ones the SSP took away.”

“Humble yourselves, therefore under God’s mighty hand, and he will exalt you in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you, 1 Peter 5:57.” recited Samuel. “Due time” may seem to be taking a long time. But the point of your trial is to trust God, casting your anxiety on him and finding his grace sufficient for you.”

“I trust God. Thank you for your inspirational words, pastor,” said Annie. “So what does it feel like being an enemy of the state?”

Samuel took a sip of tea then said, “It’s a faith builder. It teaches me to trust God to handle everything.”

Director Drabek sat at his desk in a mobile command center in Raleigh, North Carolina. He went over the number of Objectors captured in the early morning raid. Operation White Horse was going as planned because of his reward system. People, who were barcoded, would receive a cryptocurrency reward for information leading to the apprehension of an Objector. The bonus was more significant if the report led to a group of objectors.

Commander Tiller entered the command center. “We still didn’t find him. I think he’s way ahead of us.”

Director Drabek leaned back in his chair. President Ward would not be happy he hadn’t apprehended Samuel yet. He pulled up a map on his laptop then cast it to a large board behind him so Commander Tiller could see what he was seeing.

“His last know location was in Central Tennessee,” said Director Drabek. “He’s trying to get to Texas then make his way to Mexico or one of the South

American islands.”

“Then we need to stop him from getting to Texas,” said Commander Tiller.

“I’ll initiate Phase II of White Horse,” said Director Drabek. “Commanders Waller, Candler, Brewster, Shields, Stokes, and York will come up through Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama with air . A second wave led by Commanders Lucas, Riggs, and Foreman will follow, picking up stragglers. Commanders Glover and Sexton will us as we continue sweeping the upper Bible Belt states.”

Then Director Drabek’s phone rang. Looking at the number, he signaled for Commander Tiller to leave the room. He answered the phone, and President’s Ward face appeared on the large board behind him. He twirled in his chair so that he could see her.

“Director Drabek, I would like an update,” said President Ward.

“We netted over six thousand objectors in our first sweep,” said Director Drabek. “We are still sweeping the areas.”

“That’s not what I’m enquiring,” said President Ward in a matter fact tone.

“No, we have not apprehended Samuel Collins yet,” stated Director Drabek. “I’m initiating phase two of the operation.”

“Director Drabek, do not fail the American people. As long as that man is alive, he is a threat to everything,” said President Ward, wagging an arthritic finger.

“I won’t, Madame President,” replied Director Drabek.

Later that evening at Brown’s Landing, Annie and her followers prepared a meal for Samuel and his parishioners outside under the setting sun. After Samuel prayed, they enjoyed a meal of chicken, potatoes, cabbage, green beans, dinner rolls, and pecan pie.

“We grow all of our vegetables and raise our chickens and cattle,” said Annie before taking a bite of chicken. “We have few of the men and women who hunt and fish for the estate. We’re pretty self-sufficient.”

“I guess you would have since Ward has made this a cashless society,” said Caleb.

“I like the speech you made condoning the Kellogg Bill,” said a brown-haired unshaven young man.

“Yes, this is my son Cooper and his wife Elis,” said Annie. “They teach the children who are under eighteen. They are former public school teachers.”

“Yes,” said Jacob. “Because we didn’t go along with their indoctrination curriculum.”

Samuel leaned in his chair and said, “We allowed it to happen, myself included.”

“How so?” asked Annie.

“We didn’t confront their narratives,” answered Samuel. “We were all told to accept this or that. We all remained silent. They used race and a pandemic to divide and control us. They used gender to destroy a generation of children. After they executed Cory Holt, it was only a matter of time before they came for freedom of religion.”

Everyone enjoy the meal and conversation well into the evening. “I think it’s time for us to retire,” said Annie. “Tomorrow will be upon us before we know it. Pastor Samuel, I have a bed for you in the main house.”

“Thank you, but I will sleep with my parishioners in the barn,” said Samuel.

“Suit yourself,” smiled Annie. “Good night, Pastor Samuel.”

Samuel and his parishioners went to the barn where others slept.

“Samuel,” said Caleb. “I think we need to talk.”

The two men left the barn and walked about fifty yards to the wood line were two of Annie’s people did a roving patrol. Stars filled the clear night sky.

“What is it, Caleb?” asked Samuel as he looked up at the stars.

“I think we should leave,” urged Caleb. “We could be in Texas before sunrise.”

“Why should we leave now?” Samuel asked as he continued looking at the stars. “We will travel like we always have traveled, during the day.”

“I’ve got this strange feeling since we arrived here,” said Caleb. “It’s a feeling doom.”

“You worry too much, Caleb,” smiled Samuel as he continued looking up at the stars. “God did not bring us this far to have us get captured. And if we did, it is the will of God to serve a higher purpose. So rest easy, my friend. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

In the mobile command center now in Atlanta, Director Drabek looked at images of a large compound in the northwest corner of Mississippi gathered by a drone. “Who’s in Mississippi now?”

“Waller and Brewster,” responded an aide.

“This is one the largest compounds we’ve seen,” said another aide. “They’re usually holed up in a church which makes easy pickings.”

“Something that large has to have firearms and people ready to die for this notion of God,” said the first aide.

“I want Waller and Brewster on that compound within the hour,” ordered Director Drabek. “Something tells we may finally get our prize.”

At Brown’s Landing, the occupants slept peacefully while armed SSP troops in black assault gear crept around the southern perimeter.

Commander Horace Waller, a medium height black man, peering through a set of night vision binoculars chomped on a Cuban cigar.

“Alright, Sergeant, get your men in place. We’re going to go for shock and awe.”

The sergeant nodded.

A communication soldier whispered, “Commander Brewster has his men in place.”

“Do it,” ordered Commander Waller.

With that command, simultaneous rocket fire destroyed the two towers, followed by the barbican. More rocket fire struck the battlements. Hundreds of men dressed in assault gear charged the wall.

Annie sat up in the bed then ran to the window. She could see the towers in flame as armed men breach the wall. Going to her office, Annie sounded the klaxon. Quickly getting dressed, she grabbed a bug-out bag and her two.45 A handguns.

As she exited her room, she could see the panic in the other occupant’s eyes. “Remain calm! Remain calm! Get to the cellar, then head for the tunnels! Move! Move!”

“Mom!” screamed Cooper. “We’re under attack!”

“I know,” said Annie. “Take Elis and get to the tunnel, now!”

Meanwhile, in the barn, many of the occupants took up arms behind defensive positions. Ray directed the women and children to an opening leading to a tunnel. He kissed a woman and hugged a little girl and boy before sending them into the tunnel. He then took a position behind a stone barricade as other armed men did.

“I knew we should have left,” said a red-faced Caleb before multiple explosions rocked the barn. “Now, what are we going do?”

“Take a gun,” said a bearded armed man. “We will defend this place.”

The gunfire around the barn increased. Samuel could hear helicopters hover

overhead. He could also hear the screams of the men who decided to defend the estate.

A bloodied man staggered through the rear door of the barn, shouting, “They’re everywhere! They got Troy and Earl! Retreat to the tunnels!”

From inside the main house, Annie fired at that charging men. She quickly reloaded and continued firing. Suddenly the entire front of the house was peppered with rounds from a large automatic gun.

Annie got as close to the floor, and low crawled. She ed the bodies of several people on her way to the cellar door, hanging on one hinge. She opened the door and slid down the steps on her belly.

Finally standing, she quickly made her way to the tunnel entrance where Cooper waited. “Go!” ordered Annie.

She pulled a cord attached to a connected to two empty steel drums. She then flipped a cover on a red button. With an open palm, she pressed the button that started a three minutes timer. They had determined that three minutes was more than enough time to get out of the blast zone.

Armed SSP men finally entered the house and began a search. Commander Waller, chomping on his cigar, entered the house spouting orders. “Collect files and removed the dead to be photographed for the website. Treat any wounded.”

Men behind the barricades and makeshift bunkers quickly retreated into the barn.

“Caleb, get into the tunnel and take the others,” ordered Samuel. “As long as I’m running, they won’t stop searching.”

“No,” said Caleb.

“It has to be this way,” said Samuel calmly. More men retreated into the barn, returning fire to the advancing SSP troops.

Caleb hugged Samuel then called out to the others to get into the tunnel. Caleb quickly followed. Samuel watched as two men, one of them Ray, go down.

He knelt and prayed. Then there was no more gunfire. Suddenly there was a loud explosion that shook the barn. However, Samuel didn’t stop praying for the protection of those who escaped and for his enemies who sought to do him harm.

“Call Commander Waller,” said an SSP trooper.

“Commander Waller is dead,” said another SSP trooper. “The main building exploded.”

“Get communications to Commander Brewster and tell him we got Samuel Collins,” said the first SSP Trooper.

“Good morning, if you are just ing us, the SSP captured the fanatic Samuel Collins in a raid of a compound in Mississippi,” crowed Pippa Harper. “We now go live to Teresa McCarty in Mississippi.”

“That’s right, Pippa,” said a thin blonde woman with rosy cheeks. “The SSP came to this compound to ask questions. Once they came to the front gate and identified themselves, Commander Theodore Brewster said that’s when of this Objector compound begin firing at them. ing me now is Commander Brewster.”

Commander Theodore Brewster, a tall man with salt and pepper hair, grey eyes, and a cleft chin, stood next to Teresa McCarty. “Could you give the viewers a description of what happened?”

“We, myself and Commander Waller, along with ten troopers, came to the compound to ask questions because we received word that Samuel Collins was seeking refuge here. Once we identified ourselves, several Objectors fired on us, striking and killing Commander Waller. I immediately retreated and called for . Once the arrived, we assaulted the compound, killing and wounding twenty of the Objector faction while losing thirty SSP troopers.”

“So was Samuel Collins here?” asked Teresa.

“We apprehended Mr. Collins. He is currently being transported by air to Washington, D.C.,” answered Commander Brewster.

“There you have it,” Teresa. “Enemy of the State, Samuel Collins is apprehended and on his way to Washington, D. C.”

“Thank you, Teresa,” said Pippa. “Today, two hundred objectors arrived at the Nexus Facility before being sent to Big Bay. A little later in the show, we will be talking to Xiong Ping, the Chinese Communist Party Leader.”

At the State Security Police Headquarters in Washington, D. C., Samuel, dressed in form-fitting dark grey scrubs, sat in a dimly lit interview room.

The door to the room opened. Director Drabek entered carrying a folder and sat across from Samuel. “Samuel William Collins, you are being charged with crimes against the state. You are to be reprimanded at the Nexus Facility, where you will await execution by beheading. Do you have any questions?”

“What crimes have I committed against the state?” asked Samuel.

Director Drabek opened the folder. “Criticizing the President and inciting an insurrection, both punishable by death.”

“I thought this was the United States of America where I can voice my opinion,” said Samuel.

“The First Amendment means nothing now,” said Director Drabek. “You either get on board or lose your head.”

“I would rather lose my head,” said Samuel calmly.

“That I can guarantee,” said Director Drabek after getting up and heading to the door. “You will be transported to Nexus in the next hour.”

“I don’t get a trial?” asked Samuel.

“You judged yourself when you criticized President Ward,” said Director Drabek before closing the door behind him.

Just as promised, the SSP transported Samuel to Nexus, where an aging Director Kingsley Fischer, greeted him. “Do not get too comfortable, Objector; your stay here won’t be long or comfortable.”

They placed Samuel in the same cell as Cory Holt. However, he wouldn’t get the same treatment. Once in the cell, Samuel got on his knees and prayed.

“Lord be with us right now, wrap your arms of love and grace around us and fill us with your love, peace, joy, rest, stillness, and inner strength. I pray that we are removed from this place if that is your will. Encamp your angels all around us. Encamp your angels around Caleb and the others. Amen.”

“Today, another twenty thousand people receive the Citizen Tracing barcode,” said Roger Machin. “Tomorrow, right here on GSTP, a few other anchors and I will receive the barcode live on television. Right now, we are going to take you to a Hollywood site where Grant Banner and Marisa Raines will receive the

barcode. Teresa, what do you have for us?”

“Roger, I’m at the Phoenix Clinic in Hollywood, and with me is Bionic Mercenary star Grant Banner,” said Teresa. “Grant, why did you decide to get the barcode?”

Next to Teresa stood a tall, muscular dark hair man with dark eyes. A former football star turned pro wrestler, turned actor, Grant had it all, the looks, the charm, and physique.

“Teresa, getting the barcode is important. It means I have my freedoms back. I can travel and shop as I please. The barcode also keeps me protected. If I get sick for some strange reason, it alerts my doctors and can get me the help I need. I’m also doing my part in bringing the country and world together. So to everyone, get out there and do your part to help unite the world.”

“Thank you, Grant,” said Teresa. “I’m going to turn to Marisa. What do you think about the barcode?”

Teresa turned to Marisa Raines, the world’s leading pop singer.

Maria tossed her green hair as she said, “Getting the barcode is freedom. Besides, it cool. Not having the barcode is uncool. If you don’t want to be uncool, get the barcode.”

“Okay, who’s first?” asked Teresa.

“Lady’s first,” said Grant as he motioned to a white-coated technician standing next to a box on a pedestal.

Marisa stood in front of the box and followed the technician’s director. She placed her right hand, palm down, in the box. The technician entered a series of numbers on a on the side of the box. “You will feel a small pinch,” said the technician.

The box hummed quietly, and Marisa grimaced. After a minute, the process was over. Marisa removed her hand and looked at the barcode tattoo between her forefinger and thumb. The technician used a scanning device to inspect the barcode. “You are in the system.”

Three days later, President Ward entered the Nexus Facility, where Director Fischer greeted her. “It’s a pleasure to have you in our facility once more, Madame President?”

“It’s nice to be back,” smiled President Ward.

“Please follow me,” Director Fischer. He led President Ward and her entourage to the facility’s central hub, which led to a large maintenance room.

“I believe this will satisfy your requirements,” said Director Fischer, motioning to a large wooden crucifix.

President Ward walked over and inspected the crucifix. She gently ran a hand across the smooth wood. “What kind of wood is this?”

“Black spruce,” answered Director Fischer.

“Will it hold up?” asked President Ward.

“Yes,” smiled Director Fischer.

“I can’t wait to see it,” said President Ward.

“Yesterday, three hundred Objectors were executed at the Nexus Facility,” said Pippa Harper. “More are scheduled, including Samuel Collins, which President Ward will observe. We will have that execution right here on GSTP.”

“In other news, another twenty thousand citizens received their barcode,” said Pippa. “I got mines, and you should get yours to do your part. Preston Bacchus says he hopes to have more than sixty percent of the people coded before the end of the year.”

Pippa held up her hand to the camera. “In other news, the SSP swept through Florida, netting three hundred Objectors. Director Drabek said the sweeps would continue throughout the year.

A beaten and bruised Samuel sat in his cell, waiting for his execution. He

enjoyed a final meal of a hamburger, fries, cola, and ice cream with pie.

The door to his cell opened, and five black striped guards entered the room. “Time to go, Mr. Collins,” said the guardsman in front.

Hurting, Samuel stood, and two of the guards rushed over and shackled his hands behind him.

“Move it,” said one of the guards, shoving Samuel who winced in pain.

Samuel took a few steps then stopped because of the pain in his lower legs. “Keep going,” said the guard with a harder push in the back. Taking a deep breath and summoning his remaining strength, Samuel moved through the door and into the dimly lit hallway. He prayed as he walked.

“There you see Samuel Collins with his escort,” whispered Roger Machin like the commentator of a golf game. “We’ve been told that Mr. Collins will not be beheaded but crucified. Standing by is our correspondent Marlene Montgomery.”

“That’s right, Roger,” said Marlene Montgomery, a short brown-haired female. “President Ward, who will view the crucifixion, selected the method of execution.”

“Where will the execution take place?” asked Roger.

“Outside in a grassy field,” answered Marlene. “I’ve just been notified that in a few seconds, they will come through those doors.”

A set of doors behind Marlene opened, and the five guards with Samuel walked through it. They continued walking until they came to a group of security doors. “Open twenty-two!”

The doors opened, and sunlight poured into the room. Samuel paused and let the warmth of the sunlight wash over him. A bald eagle flew overhead in a cloudless sky.

“Keep going,” said one of the guards. Marlene Montgomery and her crew followed them.

“There you see President Ward and Director Fisher,” pointed out Marlene. Behind them stood other dignitaries, mostly corporation CEOs.

The guards led Samuel to the base of the crucifix. Chains connected to the crucifix went to the hook of a crane. One of the guards turned him to face the viewing audience. Director Fischer approached Samuel. “Samuel Collins, you are convicted of crimes against the State. You are sentenced to death by crucifixion. You will have one minute to make a final statement.”

In football stadiums across the country, spectators excitedly watched as Samuel stood before the crucifix.

“Samuel Collin will make his final statement,” said Roger Machin. “Let’s listen to what he has to say.”

A slight breeze blew from the east as Samuel looked around. He held his face up to the sun and smiled. Finally, he said, “First, I would like to thank God Almighty for allowing me to see another of his wonderful days. President Ward, I forgive you just as the Lord has forgiven me.”

President Ward glared at Samuel then spat on the ground.

Samuel smiled and continued with, “To the believers of God, I say love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you. Let not your heart be troubled by what is about to happen. Believe in God.”

In the many football stadiums around the country, the audiences booed and hissed. Many chanted, “Crucify! Crucify!”

Then Samuel’s tone changed. “Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.”

Tired of hearing Samuel speak of the Bible, President Ward nudged Director Fisher, who signaled the guards. A guard removed the shackles. Two others placed Samuel on the crucifix and held him in place. A fourth held his left hand

in place. Then a masked man with a specially made pneumatic spike maul appeared and knelt beside Samuel.

“It appears as if the first nail will be driven into his left hand,” said Roger Machin from the studio. “I want to reiterate to those watching, especially the children, that this is the punishment for being an enemy of the State. Follow the laws of the States.”

Samuel cried out in pain as the spike entered his hand. Tears rolled down his cheek as he recited Psalms 23 aloud. The masked man quickly moved to his right hand.

Again Samuel screamed in pain. “Forgive them, God! Forgive them!”

“They’ve just nailed his right hand to the crucifix,” whispered Roger. “If he had just accepted the edicts of the State, he could have avoided this. Again, I say follow the laws of the State.”

Finally, the guards and the masked man moved to Samuel’s feet, placing his left foot atop his right foot. The masked man knelt and squeezed the trigger of the pneumatic spike gun.

Samuel screamed from the bottom of his soul. He sobbed, “People of God, hear my voice. Follow him, and he will give you eternal life, and you will never perish, and no one can snatch you out of his hand. God is greater than all, and no one can snatch you out of the Father's hand.”

“Get someone to gag him,” ordered President Ward. Director Fisher motioned for a guard to gag Samuel. Going over to Samuel, the guard ripped off his sleeve and placed it in his mouth. Another guard tightened a belt around Samuel to keep him from slipping.

Everyone stepped away from Samuel, and the masked man motioned to the crane operator who raised the crucifix. Another group of men came over and poured concrete into the hole. As the crane operator lowered the crucifix, guards guided it into the concrete-filled hole.

In the many stadiums and bars across the country, people cheered as Samuel hung on the crucifix.

“It is done,” said Roger. “The Great Objector is finished. We now see President Ward and Director Fischer, and other dignitaries make their way to the crucifix. I hoped parents used this as a teachable moment.”

President Ward and the others stood at the base of the crucifix, looking up at Samuel. “Let’s see your God take you off that cross,” mocked President Ward. “I can have you taken down in an instance. Can your God do the same?”

“President Ward will make a statement,” said Roger. “Is that true, Marlene?”

“Yes, it is Roger,” said Marlene. “Here she is now.”

President Ward turned to face the camera. “Today, we have witnessed the end of

dissent with the State. Let the action you have witnessed be a reminder that the State is above all. Let your conduct glorify the State so you can avoid the same fate. Thank you.”

Three months later, the SSP carried out a full-scale assault on Texas. The Texans fought valiantly against the SSP despite their numbers. They pushed the SSP out of Oklahoma and New Mexico and gained ground in Colorado and Arizona.

Angry at Director Drabek’s failure to cleanse the Objectors from the State, she promptly relieved him of duty. She then appointed Alan Hull to complete the job. Director Hull immediately requested for outside help be brought in to quell the situation.

“Who do you have in mind?” asked President Ward.

“We can bring Chinese advisors who have experience in these matters,” answered Director Hull. “I’m sure Xiong Ping would be more than happy to accommodate us.”

President Ward thought for a moment then said, “Very well.”

Three months later, after a small contingency of Chinese advisors and soldiers arrived, the SSP gained ground in Oklahoma, New Mexico, Colorado, and Arizona. They pushed the Texans back into Austin, where they ultimately defeated them.

After the victory, President Ward held a State of the Union address. “The Objectors are no more. I want to thank Leader Xiong Ping for assisting the State in defeating the Objectors. A warning to all who embrace the ideals of the Objectors, we will find you. Not even the God you pray to can save you. I call on those who adhere to the principles of the State to expose them, whether it’s a family member, friend, or loved one. Now that we’ve achieved peace and unity, we can move forward to the Great Unification. One World, One People.”

Fin

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won’t you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer? Thanks!

Linwood D. Ellsworth

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Eli Morningstar Book II: The Hunted

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Goose City: Unhappily Ever After

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