Read Scar: Where are our Children (A Serial Novel) Episode 7 of 9 Page 4
you waiting for, Quincy? You should complete my education. At the end of the day I’m just one of them. You’ve murdered plenty of white people over the past few hours. Murdering one more rooster should come easily to you by now.”
Quincy got off of him…and sat down, and rubbed his own chin. He then surprised the Gray Man further—by extending his hand to him, so that he could sit up as well. They both sat there for a time, to Percy’s growing impatience, breathing in the smoky air that was consuming the city now.
“We’ve rid the world of a hatemonger known as James Carter.” Quincy said without preamble and looked ever briefly where the dead man’s head rested on the concrete. “America and the world are better places for it.”
“There are thousands, there are hundreds of thousands of men and women like him still out there, Quincy. And as precise and lethal as your operation and your operatives are, you can’t possibly hope to kill them all.”
Quincy nodded once.
“You’re right, Doctor. You’ve been right about a lot of things since our paths crossed hours ago.”
Seth painfully scooted himself over until he was face to face with Quincy Morgan.
“I understand the need for you to save, especially in front of your people. I do. But is there any way possible for you to stymie the remainder of this operation you are planning. Call of this…Scar of yours, Quincy. I’m asking you. I’m begging you to stop this.”
Quincy turned and his face looked almost apologetic in the moon light and he slowly shook his head in finality.
And for the first time and the last, Seth thought he saw Quincy’s eyes go moist with tears.
“My grandmother was so very right,” Quincy said after a time. “She was a grand old lady before death took her from me.”
“Your grandmother,” Seth searched his memory banks and found the data stored somewhere in his head. “You mentioned her to me in the last minutes before Carter and his men showed. You mentioned Scar. You didn’t finish telling me what the connection was.”
Quincy got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his clothes though the blood, brains and marrow would remain. He once again extended his hand to Seth who rose as well, but not without difficulty. Sporadic gunfire sounded off like someone one was popping another bag of popcorn for the early morning show. Seth could hear screaming.
And then Seth heard something that he hadn’t heard before tonight—or anytime ever in his life.
The Gray Man heard and explosion.
And after he’d turned to see where the noise had originated from, he’d twisted in time to see a mini mushroom cloud rise through the haze of the Atlanta skyline.
“Oh my, God,” The question sounded as if it had originated from someone outside of his own body. “What in the hell are those explosions?”
“Sometimes you have to learn life’s lessons the hard way. That is the lesson that my grandmother left me with. Sometimes life’s lessons leave you with a scar so that you never forget.”
Seth struggled to catch his breath.
He felt his own body losing its equilibrium…its balance and he slumped and fell backwards until he was once again in the seated position that he had started this night in.
He now understood to by definition what Scar truly was.
“All of the indiscriminate killing, the tactical executions, the sniper attacks of the APD…none of that was going to be enough to satisfy your House was it, Quincy?”
“You reminded of something earlier that I already knew, Doctor, that my ultimately people couldn’t possibly win this conflict with Pandora and I agreed with you.” Quincy pointed a long manicured nail towards the due South so that Seth would look in that direction as well. He asked Percy for the time and a third explosion and subsequent fireball appeared like clockwork when Percy replied with the current time. “All of the strife that went on during the Civil Rights Movement and the Watts Riots before our time, Doctor. We lived through the Rodney King, Ferguson and Baltimore riots over the past few years; the fires in the streets of America after the nation’s first Black president were killed. All of this, all of this has or will be forgotten by the residents of this nation eventually. All of the lives, all of the sacrifices, Doctor, how do we dare forget?”
“Maybe they have been discarded, but not forgotten.” Seth said, the hair standing up on his wrist and behind his neck. “I don’t think that anyone has truly forgotten.”
Another explosion lit up the skyline.
“They won’t ever forget this, Doctor. Scar and its aftermath will be remembered forever.” Quincy walked down the street 10 or so steps towards where the explosions were originating rom in Fulton County and his Peacekeepers followed. He turned back one last time one las time to where Seth was standing. “Farewell, Doctor.”
Seth said quickly, “Alright, Quincy…alright, Scar contains even more destruction than Pandora or anyone else who have believed a House in Chains was capable of. I get it, Quincy. I get the symbolism. Ok, you’re blowing things up. It’s bold. It’s unprecedented. I still don’t get what’s so damned memorable about it? What makes these pipe bombs or car bombs or whatever explosive devices you are using do different, so special?”
Quincy started to walk away but stopped. He looked towards Seth preparing to spring his final surprise but his eyes held no joy in the coming presentation.
“Go to the gymnasium near Bel Air Street.” Quincy asked Percy for the time once again. “From here it is a good twenty minute run. If you hurry you’ll see all of the fruits of my people’s labor there. You will see for yourself why history will never forget a House in Chains. They will never forget the Vision of our Future.”
Seth ran as hard as he could manage considering his age, injuries and lack of everyday exercise. He would pause and lean on a light pole to catch his wind, glance around him to see if he were still angling in the right direction and start again. He wouldn’t have believed that he was capable of coming close to completing this run without passing out, but he’d survived so much this night—
He had proven Roxanne Sanchez wrong.
He ran and then he ran some more.
He’d owed all of those who’d died in his place tonight and over the years to make it to Bel Air. He owed them all that he should be there to bear witness to what Quincy Morgan and a House in Chains had plotted for so very long.
He finally had the gymnasium in his sights…before his legs went wobbly and he tumbled down the hill. He struggled to his feet again—his ribs aching. He was cut and bruised as well, but otherwise he was no worse for the wear. What do I do now? In all of the time that it took to get here, he never gave it much thought to what he would do if and when he reached this place.
The city was using the gym and other buildings of its size for shelters and would welcome people of all colors and races who wanted to escape the dangers of the streets. By the shape and size of it, Seth estimated that if could easily fit 200 to 250 people inside comfortably. He mostly saw people of his skin tone entering and leaving. One man had brought in a two bags of food.
The Gray Man gathered his thoughts: Somewhere inside that gym or in this nearby he came to the quick conclusion that a House in Chains had an explosive planted in the vicinity.
So now what? Do I got down there and publicly announce my belief that there is a bomb somewhere nearby? Good luck with explaining that.
Even worse…they may believe him after all. Would they exit in an orderly way or would they more than likely trample one another while they fled the building for the lives.
And how did Peacekeepers know that the city would use this or any other specific building for a shelter anyway?
The Gray Man was still missing a very large piece of the puzzle and time was short.
Seth checked the watches that Quincy had one of his men give him before he began his travels.
He sighed. Time had indeed run out.
Nothing…nothing but…wait…Seth watched a young black girl; she couldn’t be any older than 17 or
18 at the most, arrive at the front entrance. She was a pretty thing too but he could only see her face because the rest of her body was wrapped in a trench coat.
Why is she wearing—?
Dr. Seth Dupree knew that the nights in this part of Georgia at the base of the Smoky Mountains could get cool like this night one was, but not to that extent.
Obviously the two men tasked at welcoming the refugees inside felt troubled as he was feeling at that same exact moment.
Oh my, God, Seth had put it all together. Oh my God in Heaven, she’s wearing some type of devise underneath that coat.
She’s a suicide bomber.
It all made sense to him now…if unadulterated killing ever made sense to a human being.
Quincy Morgan was correct after all.
They both knew that never before in the history of the United States had Americans seen such brutality…such sacrifice. The country would awake in a few hours and read stories on their tablets and phones and newsstands how hundreds—maybe even thousands of young people of color strapped bombs to their chest and killed thousands and thousands of mostly white civilians.
Regardless to how this conflict ended over the days and weeks to come, this would leave a scar on the national conscious that would never be forgotten.
Seth yelled and waved his hands and arms in the air as he charged down the hill with only the gym in his sights. He increased his speed…but it was as if the world had been reduced to moving in slow motion and his