Read Betrayal: Where are our Children (A Serial Novel) Episode 6 of 9 Page 17

him.

  He slid down to his knees in total exhaustion.

  He listened…he waited for either their gunshots piercing or themselves trying to break the door down in an attempt to reach him and finish what he had started.

  But either instance ever came.

  After another minute, Thomas composed himself long enough to turn around…

  And he saw hundreds of people who only had eyes for him.

  Perhaps out of reflex, perhaps in part because of respect for a House of God, Thomas staggered to his feet.

  He felt as if he made personal eye contact with each and every one of those hundred or so people.

  They were all people of color. They were of all ages and sizes. Children were crying. He could see a young mother holding her infant to her breast. Families were huddling together. Some of the elderly looked at him with an air of sourness in their gaze. He even heard two or three people openly curse at him even though they were in this holy house. Another questioned why in the hell would he seek shelter here?

  One balding man whose body had once been a temple but no more stepped out of the mob and asked in a gentle but firm voice for all to remain calm; He said that everything would be alright. He told them that the God he knew never had made a mistake.

  The man’s tone and inflection reminded Thomas so much of his old friend and Editor Bernard Lott. And where are you…and how are you right now, my old friend? Thomas could imagine the man’s sermons booming over his congregation on Sundays.

  Thomas slumped down into one of the bench seats that separated him from everyone else who was inside of the church. He was exhausted. He was spent. He looked behind at the French doors one last time and decided that his pursuers had truly given up the chase. He mouthed a word of thanks to the heavens for that when yet another thought caused him to shudder in his short sleeves: He had truly put every man, woman and child in this Cathedral in danger if that gang had decided that he was worth killing no matter the cost.

  The minister of the church, at least that’s what Thomas had deciphered from the man’s clothing and leadership, cast a rather large shadow on him when he finally stood next to him. Thomas stole one final lungful of air and prepared himself to return from the way he came if and when this man asked him to leave his flock.

  And his banishment would be poetic justice. Outside of a friend’s wedding here and there Thomas hadn’t stepped foot inside of a church since his father’s funeral. He shouldn’t be here…but he should. He needed to be here, especially now.

  Several others joined those who voiced opposition to his presence. Before long those who wanted his vanquished became loud and nearly unruly.

  The minister laid one giant hand on Thomas’ shoulder—and raised the other high so that all who were inside would see it.

  “This is the house of our lord.” He said in that same booming voice that Thomas had found intimidating, that Thomas had found so very comforting. He then turned away from those who had come for God’s protection through him and turned all of his attention to the one who had done the same. “Let your heart not be troubled, son. Everyone here had come for forgiveness, for comfort and for protection during this trying time. The truth teller is not beyond our God’s love. He is covered by the blood as well. ”

  And then the minister embraced Thomas Pepper with every ounce of strength that he had in him. After the larger man released Thomas, he gave him his full measure.

  “I hope that you may find some comfort here, my son; may you find comfort here.”

  Thomas Pepper found the comfort that he sought.

  And then he found tears.

  Seth

  Atlanta was a hell on Earth and ciaos was the devil that reigned supreme over it.

  Dr. Seth Dupree watched partly in horror, partly in awe as his “comrades” in a House in Chains methodically rounded up more of they termed as “Roosters” and executed them in viciously efficient ways over the past few hours.

  Their travels had taken them to the borders of Cobb and Gwinnett counties and back to the home turf in Fulton again. The Zero Hour had long past now. But Seth would never forget what Quincy Morgan and his Peacekeepers when the midnight had arrived: The men and women halted the convoy’s trek through the street and avenues and roads long enough to kill the engines, climb to the rooftops of each car or SUV and fire semi-automatic weapon fire into the already smoky air.

  And then Quincy Morgan said at the top of his voice, “Brothers and sisters, what do you see when you visualize our people’s future?”

  Seth heard the other’s reply in a mediocre attempt at voices trying to sound off as one.

  “We see days filled with misery and pain.”

  He remembered them breaking into a Victorian styled house when they had crossed into Cobb County an hour ago. The initial, independent phase of his operation was completed and he had admitted as much to Seth. The Gray Man had somehow somewhere along the way morphed into what amounted to the role of an embedded reporter traveling with the troops witnessed the war on the ground as it happened.

  And now he the doctor/journalist could report that his units were picking homes at random. Number Four, the man Seth thought Quincy refer to as Percy—at least once respectfully reminded their field leader that they needed to wrap this up and return to the Fulton County Theatre of Operations sooner than later.

  Percy said something about Scar being enacted; and soon.

  Quincy acknowledged with a silent but meaningful nod. He told the slightly darker skinned man with the clean shaven head that he had one last household on his hit list before they turned back. Percy winced a little…but reluctantly agreed. Again, he reminded his leader of their limited time available to get it done.

  When the Peacekeepers charged inside the residence they found five white adults sitting in the living area.

  Thankfully, Seth thought to himself, at least there are no children here.

  Seth said for the fourth time in as many trips.

  “Stop this madness now, Quincy. Order your Peacekeepers to leave this place and leave this people in peace. You don’t have to do this.”

  But Quincy Morgan had chosen to ignore him as he the other three times.

  Three of the people present were women and they started to scream as if they had been cued to while one of the two men shouted racial insults and profanities at the invaders. The other man saved his small talk for another time, grabbed a loaded shotgun but Percy proved too fast and equally efficient when he blew a large whole in the homeowner’s temple.

  Just as in the other incursions, the raid didn’t last overtly long.

  A handful of very large unnamed Peacekeepers drug the survivors unceremoniously into the middle of the street kicking and screaming. One of the snipers who had been guarding their perimeter from the far corner picked off an old man who was loaded for bear off of his rooftop. Seth was four more neighbors take to cover behind cars and trees taking shots at the Peacekeepers. Seth ducked for cover. A female Peacekeeper who had been with them since the beginning went down first with a gunshot to her neck. She was bleeding profusely and by the time Seth got to her side she was drowning in her own blood.

  Percy cursed aloud. Quincy Morgan barked out commands with his last one leaving no room for misinterpretation from those who had chosen to follow his path: We will stand or fall, but we will not let these prizes of ours escape our judgement.

  And then Quincy fired two quick shots and killed two men defending their neighbors as best they could. Two Peacekeepers caught the third white man in crossfire and their combatant’s torso exploded in a spectrum of blood and bones. And Percy finished tonight’s latest skirmish by capping the final man in the kneecap as failed to find adequate cover in time. The man’s gun fell out his immediate reach. Desperate and dying he tried to crawl to where the weapon was resting but Percy easily beat him to it. Percy stomped on his back and fired a single round into the base of the fallen man’s skull.

  Percy cursed aloud again soon af
ter his shot was through echoing down the street. He pointed at the dying female Peacekeeper and screamed at Quincy that they should vacate the area now. He said that they didn’t need to lose any more people to these aimless attacks. Scar was on the horizon. There was still much work to do.

  Quincy was unshaken and unmoved. He commanded his troops to bring the four people from the Victorian house to where he was again standing in the middle of the street. Seth tried to put two fingers and pressure on the woman’s wound…but she was already gone.

  Seth heard himself inhale.

  And then he heard Quincy Morgan as he said to the first of the two women who had been shoved down near his loafers. “Do you seek forgiveness for the indiscretions your ancestors have perpetrated against people of color?”

  “What?” She said between wails of agony at the direness of her situation.

  Quincy Morgan stooped down so that she could hear his words better—and put his gun to her temple.

  “Do you seek forgiveness for the indiscretions your ancestors have perpetrated against people of color?”

  “My ancestors,” She sounded baffled. “What do my ancestors have to do with who I am? I’ve done nothing to you people—“

  Quincy pulled the trigger killing her instantly.

  A teary eyed Peacekeeper couldn’t strike his gaze from his fallen comrade. Seth recognized the look in his eye even though most of his face was covered by a mask. He must have loved the girl the way that Seth had