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Kill Shot

By Angela L. Gold

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Chapter 1
April 13, 2078

As her dad wheeled the large monitor into Rory Rydell’s hospital room, she caught a glimpse of the armed soldier stationed outside the door. The soldier’s presence triggered an image of Commander Malvo. Flinching at the commander’s rabid eyes and sinister grin, she spiraled headfirst toward a deep dark pit of disturbing memories.
Someone grabbed her hand. A voice called her name. She jerked and swung her head toward the voice. As a hand tightened around hers, the darkness gradually faded to light. Her mom’s face came into focus. “Rory, are you okay?” Mom’s forehead creased in concern.
Breathing heavily, Rory’s eyes flitted around the room. This was the hospital, not Gibbons. The guard was protecting her. He wasn’t holding her prisoner. She grabbed the neck of her hospital gown as her racing heart slowed. “Yeah, as okay as I can be with these fractured ribs. They hurt when I breathe.” She would deal with the aftershock of trauma on her own. Her parents didn’t need to be burdened with her terrors. It would just take time. Time heals all wounds, right?
“Ruth, could you hold this?” Her dad waved a cord while fiddling with the back of the monitor.
Before Rory’s birth, Mom—Ruth Rydell—had changed her name to Randa. The use of prominent religious names had been forbidden under the United World Order. After knowing her as Randa for twenty-one years, it seemed odd to hear her called Ruth now.
Her parents whispered behind the cover of the monitor. They were probably discussing if they should sabotage the monitor to prevent her from watching the recording.
Rory had experienced a lifetime in the last month. Twenty-four days ago, the United World Order had arrested and accused her of inciting an insurrection under the pseudonym Lion of Judah. She’d been imprisoned and tortured. But then, ten days ago, Jesus had miraculously saved her and her family from execution by firing squad while he defeated the Order in the Western zone—previously known as North and South America. After extensive surgery, she’d been in a coma-like state that had baffled the doctors. Since awakening three days ago, she’d struggled to process the many changes that had taken place during her seven days of oblivion. Freedom to worship God had been the most wonderful of the changes.
The supreme commanders in the Eastern and Central zones were so hotly enraged over the Order’s defeat in the West that they made a solar flare look like a cool front. They had vowed revenge against the Lion of Judah, but in reality, imminent retaliation was highly improbable. While the Order had not been defeated in the Eastern and Central zones, they had suffered significant loss of life and damage to property and services due to widespread natural disasters. Taking no chances, the West’s new government treated the situation as if the Eastern and Central zones posed a present threat, thus the guard posted outside of her room.
Rory’s recollection of the day that Jesus delivered the Western zone—Redemption Day—had been pieced together using her other senses, not her sight. Commander Malvo had covered her head with a hood to hide her injuries from viewers, the injuries that he had inflicted. Though her parents had pleaded with her to postpone watching the recording until she was stronger, she had an inexplicable need to witness the miraculous events. Since the guard outside her room had elicited a panicked episode, they were probably right. But her need to see the events had overridden prudence.
“Are you ready?” Dad—Rydge Rydell—asked as he leveled a remote at the screen.
With a shaky nod, Rory signaled her approval to start.
He hesitated. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“Yes. Will you start it already?”
Mom fired an expression that said, I don’t like this. As Dad pushed a button on the remote, she hurried to Rory’s side.
The screen blinked to life, followed by a shrill beep. An authoritative voice announced, “Attention. It is 10:00 a.m. on April 3, 2078. All citizens are required to watch the execution of Rory, Rydge, Randa, and Ruby Rydell—admitted traitors to the United World Order. All citizens are required to cease duties and watch the execution.”
Beep!
The beep made Rory shiver. The surreal scene unfolding on the screen seemed like an out-of-body experience.
The recording zoomed to her hooded form struggling to climb the steps to the platform with the assistance of her parents. Her stomach cramped. The putrid scent of the hood filled her nostrils just as it had ten days ago.
Her family stood on either side of her on the platform with their heads held high and their eyes gazing toward heaven. Tingles pulsed through her body.
The short and lean Commander Malvo strutted on the platform, decked out in his dress uniform. With a toothy grin, he stared directly into the camera. The pupils of his brown eyes dilated as he introduced the group as traitors and referred to Rory as the Lion of Judah.
A chill settled over her as the crowd stomped their feet and chanted, “Kill the Lion!”
Threatening dark clouds rolled across the sun, casting a shadow over the platform. The camera closed in as she straightened to full height, but she didn’t stop there. She continued to rise until her feet left the platform, as if she were a hot-air balloon. While her parents clung to her hands, she levitated about a foot above the stage. The military personnel on the platform froze like statues.
Sitting forward suddenly in the hospital bed, Rory flinched and then moaned. Pain radiated in her fractured cheek and ribs. The injuries had been compliments of the commander. He had pistol-whipped her for attacking him after he had delivered the fatal blow to Jaxon.
Onscreen, a tiny glow flickered through the hood, then grew in size and intensity. An eerie hush settled over the crowd at the sight of a beautiful woman’s countenance shimmering through the burlap hood.
“Pause it, please.”
Dad pointed the remote at the large screen and the picture stood still.
The alluring image held her in a trance. She was the hooded woman, yet the captivating countenance wasn’t hers. After several moments, she asked, “Who is that?”
“You,” her parents replied in unison.
She delicately touched her tender cheek. “But that face is perfect. Mine was swollen and bruised. I mean, it still is. Do you think,” she said as a chill swirled up the base of her spine and then splintered throughout her brain, “this is what my glorified face will look like in heaven?”
“I think”—Mom searched for the right words—“God temporarily healed you. And this is your healed face shining through for everyone to see. It’s your beautiful face, minus the injuries.”
Dad agreed. They were her parents, so of course, they weren’t objective. She might be bruised and battered, but she wasn’t blind. The shining face on the screen was lovelier than she could ever hope to be, except for maybe in heaven.
After studying the image a few more minutes, Rory waved her hand. “Okay, start it.”
The camera panned out to capture Malvo and the four prisoners.
“What the—” The commander’s mouth dropped open.
The glowing woman’s voice—her voice—rang loud and clear, despite the hood and the absence of a microphone. “I represent the Great I Am, the God of heaven and earth. He loves you with an undying love.”
Her voice sounded different. Was it the difference of hearing it from the outside, or was it because the Holy Spirit had taken control? Probably the latter.
As she continued sharing the love of Jesus, a gasp ascended from the crowd, followed by a foreboding silence. A thick darkness choked out the daylight. A rumble in the distance, like a freight train, broke the silence and launched the crowd into mass hysteria. Voices screamed and feet pounded. Fierce winds whipped the clothing and hair of those standing on the platform—except for her. In fact, she anchored her parents and sister. They clung to her.
Her voice carried above the din. “I praise you, Lord. You are my protector and deliverer. Your love anchors me. Your peace surrounds me.” It was as if she were the eye of the storm while the wind howled viciously through the prison yard.
Rory shivered under the white sheets as goosebumps popped out on her arms. The fact that the Spirit had spoken through her blew her mind.
“Turn off the PA system!” Malvo shouted.
The spectators covered their heads with their arms and sprinted toward shelter. Baseball-sized hailstones knocked many individuals to the ground. The storm drowned the screams. Hail ricocheted around the prisoners on the platform. Some of the crowd kneeled with their heads bowed. They appeared to be praying. The hail did not strike those who kneeled.
“The Lord hurls lightning on those who persecute his followers. Accept his mercy. Repent and worship him.”
The hair of those on the platform rose and stood on end. A loud crack was immediately followed by a flash of light. The screen went black. A blood-chilling howl shrieked from the speakers.
Nausea churned in Rory’s stomach. Hugging her knees to her chest, she jerked from the pain from her ribs.
The picture returned to reveal a scorched and smoldering Commander Malvo crumpled on the platform. She closed her eyes.
The memory of the sickening stench of burned flesh made the contents of her stomach ebb and flow like angry ocean waves. She took slow deep breaths.
Malvo had incorrectly believed that he had controlled whether she lived or died. His arrogance had resulted in his demise. There had been a time when she would have considered his death an appropriate consequence. But the tormented expression on his charred face clawed at her heart. And his death had not lessened the pain of losing Jaxon. Vengeance was best left to the Lord.
Her onscreen image slowly lowered until her feet touched the platform. Colonel Fortis sprinted from the edge of the stage. He snatched her up, hoisted her over his broad shoulder, and bounded down the stairs two at a time until he was out of the frame. Pain pulsed through her cheek and ribs as she viewed her body bouncing over his shoulder. The surviving officers on the platform gathered her parents and Ruby and escorted them down the steps.
Rory gasped. As the camera swept the area to reveal the ground littered with bodies, she trembled and threw up a little in her mouth. How this scene must have shattered Jesus’s heart.
“Rydge, turn it off.” Mom grabbed Rory’s hand.
“The best part’s coming up.” Dad pointed to the monitor.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people kneeled with eyes closed and heads bowed as the storm raged all around.
A freezing sensation flowed through her brain as she pointed at the screen. “I recognize this. I saw this in a vision. The people kneeling and praying during the storm. I saw it when Gabriel touched me in the park.” At the time, the angel’s words had seemed cryptic, but in hindsight everything became clear. She missed him. Would he ever visit again?
Mist filled Mom’s blue eyes. “He gave you a vision of what was to come. The number of people who chose to believe is truly a miracle.”
Jesus had defeated the Order by raining fire and brimstone. Actually, he had hurled lightning bolts, rained hailstones, and shook the earth with earthquakes and other natural disasters. But most incomprehensible of all, he had used her to help claim his people. She hadn’t deserved such a privilege, yet he granted it.
Dad shut off the monitor, removed the data drive, tucked it in his pocket, and then wheeled the stand and monitor to a corner of the room. Carefully stretching her legs to avoid sudden movement, Rory leaned back against the pillows. “I often questioned why God needed us to make the Order fall. I just realized that he didn’t need us. He only needed someone to introduce him to the people.” She sucked on her bottom lip. “I wish they all could’ve believed. Do you know how many died?”
“We’re still tallying, but it wasn’t as many as it seemed on the footage. We believe about one percent of the people here in the West perished. It was closer to fifteen percent of personnel at Gibbons and those in the grandstands. Thankfully, the vast majority of people chose to believe.” Dad stretched his neck to the side.
Her mom stroked her hand. “We should have waited longer to let you see this. This was too much too soon.”
“I’m okay. I needed to see it. Even if it was hard … seeing all those who didn’t survive.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “How did they not believe? They saw me with their own eyes hovering over the platform and that face shining through the hood. Only God could make that happen.”
Her dad’s eyes clouded. “Some people would rather die than surrender control.”
That statement had described Commander Malvo. He had violently rejected each of her attempts to share Jesus’s love.
Dad pulled a chair beside Mom and sat. “Are you okay?” His brow creased. He was almost unrecognizable since the Order’s defeat. As a former Christian minister, the Order had kept a close eye on him and assigned him to a labor-intensive job. They had crushed his spirit, and he had lost his way. Rory’s arrest stirred something deep inside and rekindled his faith. A newfound pride now straightened his posture. Since he had surrendered his bitterness, he appeared years younger.
“Considering everything that’s happened, I suppose I’m as good as can be expected.” She massaged her temple.
Her parents glanced at each other, and then Dad said, “We’re sorry that Dawson visited you before we explained that he had been a believer for many years.”
Rory’s head pounded at the mention of his name. Her prior experience with Colonel Dawson Fortis had been less than favorable. She knew him as her arresting officer as well as an interrogator during her time at Gibbons Maximum Security Prison. Her parents knew him as a former secret believer who had protected believers whom the Order arrested. He and Sergeant Strom Thacker—her other arresting officer—were among the highest ranking military officers to survive Redemption Day, so they had assumed leadership roles and recruited and organized the surviving former Order military personnel. In addition to preparing the troops to protect the new nation, the two men had formed task teams to assess the damage that the West had incurred from the widespread storms and natural disasters on Redemption Day.
Rory exhaled. “I guess I should have realized the fact that he survived Redemption Day meant he was a believer. I was just so shocked when he waltzed into the room. It threw me back to Gibbons with him gyrating over me.” She shuddered and closed her eyes. “I had smarted off to some transport guards, and they, uh, came to my cell to … have their way with me.”
Mom whimpered.
Rory opened her eyes. She stroked a hand across her clavicle. “It’s okay, Fortis threw them out. He claimed that I was his or something like that. But then, he pushed me onto the cot and positioned himself over me … grunting …” Choking up, she couldn’t finish.
Mom stood, leaned over, and embraced her. Tears dripped from Mom’s eyes onto Rory’s green hospital gown, leaving damp circles.
“He told us about the incident.” Dad gathered them both into his arms. “He was sending a message to the guards posted at the cell monitors not to touch you. Plus, he couldn’t risk letting them know that he was protecting you. If Malvo had caught wind of that, he’d have been reassigned. But he didn’t touch you, right?”
“Rydge!” Mom exclaimed.
Heat oozed up her neck and across her cheeks. Her voice came out shrill. “Even though he didn’t touch me, I felt violated! Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
Dad stepped back and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.” He stared at the floor as he rubbed his forehead. Then he looked at Rory. “I’m just trying to say that he walked a fine line between protecting you and blowing his cover.”
If his charade hadn’t been so convincing, she might have suspected his double-agent status when he hadn’t touched her during the assault ruse. Now she grappled to overwrite her first impression of him with the hero that her parents touted.
“After your arrest, he tried to find opportunities to help you escape, but every time an occasion presented itself, something derailed it. When Malvo moved up the execution date, Dawson was desperate. Despite the danger, he recruited those he suspected of believing and strategically placed them on the platform and in the firing squad. Half of the armed officers at the execution were handpicked by him. They all knew it was a suicide mission unless God intervened.” He pointed to Mom and then to himself. “And we complicated things by turning ourselves in a few days before. He had hoped to rescue us all. Luckily, God stepped in.”
It was difficult to comprehend that so many people who didn’t even know her had risked their lives. Then again, they hadn’t really done it for her. They had done it in hopes that her survival would lead to freedom from the Order.
Mom brushed Rory’s hair to the side. “Dr. Glynn—Carmen—waited in a vehicle on the slight chance that Dawson would be able to get you out. She stabilized you while he drove to the hospital. Other officers brought us later.”
Battered and malnourished, Rory had been raced to University Hospital and rushed directly into surgery to repair her cheek. The doctors had expressed concern when she failed to wake up after the effects of the anesthesia should have worn off. It turned out that she had experienced a Jesus-induced deep sleep to aid her body’s healing. But even after the divine healing period, her body would continue the healing process for months to come.
“The two of them and Dr. Bourland waited with us through the time that you should have woken up from the anesthesia,” Mom added.
While a physician student, before her arrest, Dr. Bourland had been her supervising physician at University Hospital. She’d been told that as soon as he heard that she’d been admitted after the failed execution attempt, he had appointed himself as her medical liaison and kept her family informed of her prognosis. He checked on her daily, even on his days off.
“By the way, Carmen is Dawson’s sister.”
A light bulb flipped on. That explained why the prison doctor had looked familiar when Rory first met her at Gibbons. Her tall stature, dark eyes and hair, and the strong, sharp angles of her face held a familial resemblance to Fortis.
“Did she believe too?” Rory asked. “Before I floated above the stage, I mean.”
“She did. Dawson believed first and led Carmen to Jesus.” Her mom nodded. “We’ve gotten to know Dawson quite well. That young man really loves the Lord.”
“You guys really love him. Maybe you should marry him,” she quipped.
Her parents shot an odd look at each other.
Dad cleared his throat. “We have come to respect him. You know, it’s time to stop rehashing the past. Let’s concentrate on the future.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
Who was this optimistic man showing affection? In any case, it looked good on him.
While Rory was in the coma, Jesus had brought twelve men and women of various backgrounds together who became instrumental in keeping essential services operating. They called themselves the Kingdom Advisory Council. Dad was one of the twelve. The public recognized that God worked through the group. Citizens requested that they serve as the core governing body of the new nation with Rory as the head.
The council had appointed thirty-year-old Colonel Fortis as acting president. He had quickly proven himself as a capable leader with the military thriving under his guidance. His physical presence at six feet one and two hundred pounds of solid muscle aided in earning the public’s confidence. The people encouraged the council to appoint Rory and Fortis to serve as co-presidents. After much prayer, the council agreed.
Initially, Rory had rejected the idea of serving as co-president with Fortis. But when Jesus had impressed on her that she should lead the nation, he had also indicated that he would send her a helpmate. Could Fortis be that helpmate?
Many citizens in the West questioned why Jesus defeated the Order there but allowed it to survive in the rest of the world. Theories abounded. Perhaps the responsibility of suddenly being forced to form a new government would have been too onerous for survivors of the other zones. Or perhaps without an adversary, believers might foolishly think they no longer need God and turn their backs on him. Of the numerous theories tossed about, those two seemed the most plausible. While the question nagged at the majority of citizens, she didn’t spend a lot of time on it. God’s reason was probably far more complex than human minds were capable of understanding.
The questions that nagged her revolved around Henry Leeman. She had trusted him, but he had turned her in to the Order as the Lion of Judah. She could not rest until she understood why he had betrayed her and why he had survived Redemption Day.
 

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