Sunrise: Wrath & Righteousness: Episode Ten (2 page)

He looked back and pulled his sister to him, then turned to her and smiled.

She felt so beautiful and peaceful. The smoke, death, darkness and fear were gone now. It was just her and the children, and she almost wept with joy.

She knelt down and extended her hands, beckoning to them carefully, but the children didn’t move. She moved forward slowly, afraid that they might flee. They stood their ground as if waiting, and she beckoned to them again.

Suddenly she stopped.

She couldn’t get any closer to them. It was as if she had hit a wall. Some unseen barrier was between her and the children and it wouldn’t let her pass.

She cried in desperation, gesturing for them to come.

“Not yet,” the little boy whispered.

Turning to his sister, he led her away down the street.

“Please don’t go!” Azadeh called out to them.

Their forms started merging with the darkness and they almost disappeared.

“No, no!” Azadeh cried. “Please, do not go. Tell me your names. Tell me who you are! Tell me why I’m here alone.”

The little boy stopped and turned toward her.

“Who are you?” Azadeh cried.

“We are Tomorrow,” he whispered to her, then waved good-bye and turned away.

* * * * * * *

The king of the House of Saud—perhaps the most powerful mortal in the world, for the moment at least—slept restlessly, always turning, sometimes snoring, his eyelids fluttering. Although the thermostat was set at 58 degrees Fahrenheit, the line of powerful, industrial-sized air conditioners that cooled the ancient castle churning out a constant stream of cold air, he was sweating from head to toe. Rolling and mumbling constantly, he continued to sleep, leaving his sheets damp and clammy with drying sweat.

As he tossed and moaned, he dreamed.

* * * * * * *

He was sitting on a throne of gold. Twice the size of a man, it was tall and adorned with precious metals and all the jewels of the Nile. Jagged eagles’ talons were fashioned at the four legs and stone jaguar heads sat below the armrest where he placed his hands. A cavernous hall lay before him, narrow and full of light. Two rows of enormous marble pillars stretched into the distance, but there was no ceiling overhead. A deep, maroon carpet lay between the marble pillars, extending from the foot of the throne for as far as he could see.

The king waited.

He fidgeted.

He swore and cursed.

But still he waited. And he didn’t even know why.

Hours later, he checked the time again. His golden watch was broken. He didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t know how long he’d been waiting, but it felt like days. He was hungry and thirsty, exhausted and angry. Whatever he was waiting for, he was ready to have it done. He tried standing up to leave, but a great weight pushed him down and he fell back, knowing he was unable to go.

Suddenly, far in the distance, he heard an unseen door open on mighty hinges. Footsteps. The click of metal. He squinted into the distance, his heart racing, sweat pouring down his sides.

The American warrior emerged from the last pillar to his right and started walking down the heavy carpet toward him. Young and proud, broad-shouldered and strong-armed, the young man approaching him was wearing modern battle gear. Twenty paces before the king, he stopped, lifted his assault rifle, and aimed at him.

Al-Rahman tried to scream. No sound came out. He tried to flee but couldn’t move.

Uncertain, the young man moved his eye away from the scope atop his weapon, looked at the king, cocked his head as if listening to some unheard voice, hesitated as if resisting, then angrily lowered his weapon and walked a few steps closer. The king felt a growing surge of fear as the young man drew near. It sank into him, deep, penetrating and far more powerful than any emotion he’d ever felt before. Black and consuming, the fear made him sick inside. He felt his stomach rising. He swallowed to keep it down. “Stop! STOP!” he cried in horror.

At the sound of his voice, the young warrior was instantly gone.

The king’s dead brother now stood before him, his face rotted with death and maggot-eaten flesh. He smiled harshly as he spoke, his teeth protruding through split lips. “My son will be the cause of your destruction,” he said.

The king tried to cry out but the breath was frozen still inside him.

His dead brother’s eyes were vacant as he spoke. “My son will cause your ruin.”

The king felt his heart quake again inside him. He tried to cry. He tried to run. He tried to turn away. But all he could muster was the smallest movement of his head. “Not if I kill him first,” he finally had the strength to answer in defiance.

“Especially if you try to kill him.”

The king forced himself to sit up straight upon his throne. Raising his fist, he cried out to the corpse, “This is my world. You are gone now. There’s nothing you can do to stop me!”

“Beware, my little brother, or you’re going to stop yourself.”

The dead brother glared at him, howled like a banshee, then lowered his eyes and disappeared.

* * * * * * *

Sara’s dream was short and intense and she wakened with a start.

Her eyes shooting open, she looked around anxiously, taking in her surroundings: the bright sun to her right, the dry leaves on the passing trees, a long line of brown grass below a razor-topped fence. They were riding in a military van, heading southeast along the main aircraft parking ramp at Offutt Air Force Base. She turned her head against the backseat and glanced toward Ammon and Luke, who were sitting at her side. Ammon looked at her and forced a smile. “You doing OK, Mom?” he asked.

She had dreamed. It was important. But it was fading . . . .

It wasn’t until then that she remembered where she was going. Her heart leapt inside her chest.

The military vehicle sped along the airport taxiway. The driver kept his eyes ahead, taking in the sentries who were posted at the entrance to the aircraft parking ramp. The major in the passenger’s seat turned and spoke over his shoulder. “Just about there, Mrs. Brighton.”

She nodded but didn’t answer.

“Have you got everything?” he asked her for the second time.

She nodded again.

Ammon shifted in the seat and looked ahead. “The aircraft is waiting for you.”

Sara followed his eyes. The military jet was blue, white and had no markings other than a small USAF emblem and U.S. flag on the tail. Her personal ride to Raven Rock. A fresh surge of adrenaline rushed through her and she took a deep breath to keep her heart from racing.

She turned to her sons and whispered so the men in the front seat couldn’t hear. “I had a dream,” she told them.

They looked at her. Something in her voice told them it was important, and they waited for her to go on.

“A young man came to me. He was bright and beautiful.”

Ammon cocked his head, his eyes solemn, his face expectant. “Who was it, Mom?”

She looked away and thought for a moment before she turned back. Her two sons waited. A reverent feeling filled the car.

“I don’t know, I don’t remember. It’s right there, so close, sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite remember. If I just had time to think about it . . . .”

The major turned around again. “This is it,” he announced. The van was slowing down. “They radioed ahead and the flight crew is waiting for you.”

The vehicle came to a stop and a waiting guard slid the side door open. “Mrs. Brighton,” he said as he extended a hand to help her out.

She glanced anxiously toward her sons. The door at the rear of the van was opening as well, and another guard was standing there.

There wasn’t time to think about the dream now. It would have to wait.

She shrugged, and stepped out of the van and into the light of the bright sun reflecting off of twenty acres of white cement.

Her sons came around the van to talk to her. There were a lot of men around so Ammon pulled them all aside.

“You don’t have to do this, Mom,” he said again.

She patted his arm reassuringly. “I know that, son.”

“You could come back to the hangar.”

She cut him off. “I know about my options.” Stepping toward her sons, she pulled them close. “It’s going to be OK,” she said.

Ammon’s face was hard. He wasn’t certain. Luke’s cheeks were wet with tears. He bent down and held on to his mother—he was six inches taller than she was now—and kept his face buried in her shoulder. Ammon watched his brother’s forehead turning red.

They held each other until Luke pulled away. A cold wind blew across the empty tarmac and a spatter of dry leaves danced around their feet. Ammon started to say something, hesitated, then glanced at Luke. Luke acknowledged his darting eyes and nodded back. Ammon took a breath as if steeling himself, looked up and down the runway, then turned back to his mother. “Mom, Luke and I’ve been talking.”

Sara cocked her head. The introduction was familiar. It was common for them to stand together when they had some news to bear.

Ammon glanced again at Luke. “You’re going, Mom. Sam’s already gone. We feel useless here. Useless and alone. There’s nothing for us here. Fact is, we’ve been pretty much useless since this whole thing started. We’ve been baggage, someone you had to worry about, that’s about all.”

“No, Ammon, that’s not true.” She shot a terrified look at Luke then turned back to Ammon. “Don’t think that. It’s not true. Think of all the good you’ve done.”

“We could argue it, Mom, but we don’t have time and we don’t want to anyway. But what I said is true. We haven’t contributed anything; we’re just a couple of young guys who’ve been along for the ride. We feel compelled to do something useful now.”

“What, what are you saying?”

The two young men didn’t dare look at her until Luke finally shrugged his shoulders. “Mom, we just want to help.”

“What are you thinking?”

“You’re leaving. Sam and Azadeh are already gone.” He was repeating himself now. “If we stayed here, we’d just be hanging around and hoping they like us enough to feed us.
Everyone
is doing something. We think that we can do something useful, too.”

The wind blew again, gusting a strand of blonde hair in front of Sara’s eyes. She swiped at it quickly, brushing the tears away at the same time.

Ammon gritted his teeth. “We were talking to one of the sergeants at the security desk. You might have noticed him. Tall, black guy. Young. Anyway, he found out who we are, so he came to talk to us. Seems they’re looking for—”

The two jet engines on the military aircraft started turning. A low grumble erupted from their cores as the fire within them started, the sound growing instantly louder and more powerful. They were standing fifty or sixty feet in front of the transport aircraft and they had to almost scream to hear each other now. A sergeant in camouflage fatigues ran toward them. “They’re waiting for you, Mrs. Brighton,” he said in Sara’s ear.

She nodded to him, then lifted a single finger. He acknowledged her request for more time and stepped back, giving the family a final minute to say good-bye.

“What are you thinking?” Sara demanded again.

They huddled close together, Luke and Ammon continuing to shoot anxious looks between themselves. What were they going to tell her? How was she going to take it? They didn’t know. “The military is looking for volunteers. Of course, they always are. But it’s different now. Kind of like after 9/11, but way more. They need people to go around and help some of the most devastated regions,” Ammon said. “They’re sending men to Washington—”

“Back to D.C.?”

“Apparently.”

“Is it even safe to go back there?”

“I guess so, Mom.

“Mrs. Brighton,” the sergeant cried, taking a step toward them. She tried to brush him off again but he was pulling on her arm now. The aircraft was starting to slide forward, closing the space between them. Ammon took a step toward his mother and she pulled out of the sergeant’s grasp. “Don’t worry about us, OK, Mom?” he said. “Luke and I will stay together. We’re going to be all right. But we want to do something—we
need
to do something to help. We know where to find you. We’ll let you know that we’re OK.”

The sergeant was becoming agitated now. “Mrs. Brighton, we
really
have to go!”

“Go, Mom. Be careful. Don’t worry about us. This is what we’re supposed to do—this is our time to help now, our calling,” Ammon smiled at her proudly. “We’ll be all right. And we’ll be back.”

The sergeant tugged on Sara’s arm again, almost dragging her away. She went with him for a step or two, then pulled away and ran back. Grabbing her sons, she drew them close and held them tight. All of them were crying now, but they were no longer tears of fear. The Spirit settled on them. “I love you both so much,” she said. “I love you more than anything. I’m so proud of you. So proud. There’s never been a mother more grateful for her sons.”

She pulled away and looked at them, her eyes opening wide now in surprise. “My dream! It just came to me! I remember it all so clearly now. The messenger who came to me, I remember every word he said.”

“What is it, Mom? What did he tell you?”

She brought her hand up to her mouth and leaned toward them, her face peaceful and full of light. She closed her eyes and smiled. “He said he wanted to remind me that the power that binds families is real. It’s real here on earth and it’s real in heaven, too.”

The tunnel was narrow, with a slippery cement floor and gray cinder-block walls. It sloped gently downward, leading toward the access door. There were at least six other entries into Raven Rock, most of them hidden inside various administration buildings scattered around the surface complex. There were also two deep tunnels that ran for many miles to the presidential compound at Camp David.