Chapter 2: Visions

Marie snuggled up to her husband Steve as they lay on a blanket on a sandy beach overlooking the southern Pacific Ocean, fronting their coastal New Zealand home.

“It is so lovely to be together again,” she murmured in Steve’s ear. “I see no need to return north for many months. The elders are well and all is quiet at home.” She giggled softly. “I never imagined I could enjoy a perpetual summer, flying north in June and south in January!”

“I never dreamed my life would become so peaceful and filled with love,” Steve answered. “Perhaps some day they’ll let me back in the United States and I can go north with you to visit our friends. No matter. As long as that madman rules in the White House, I’ve no reason to return.”

Steve Barringer was denied re-entry into the U.S. by the Stinson administration as punishment for his role in the Siple Island affair, as it became known. The “terminate with extreme prejudice” order had been rescinded by the Agency, but Steve was still careful to watch his back whenever he traveled away from their New Zealand home. Marie remained heavily involved in tribal affairs at their eastern Washington reserve, and she remained close to her grandparents, the elder Wapato couple, who showed not the least sign of slowing down. They remained active in spiritual leadership and counseling, especially among young men and women who returned to the tribal center to reestablish cultural roots. Marie — “Raven Woman” — captured their hearts and minds. They wished to grow closer to her apparent source of strength and wisdom. The elders were delighted to find themselves becoming mentors to a new generation of seekers.

“I wonder,” Marie said softly, stretching her arm across Steve’s chest, relaxing in the warm sunshine on the soft beach sand. “The elders tell me that we must prepare ourselves for a bad time that is coming. They warn that we are enjoying a brief respite that will soon end. Troubles will come with a conflict that will accelerate as it continues. There will be great turmoil that; it will increase into violence and tragedy. We must be vigilant, they warn, or we may not avoid the worst attacks.”

Steve rolled toward her, and looked into her worried eyes.

“How bad?” he murmured.

“Very bad,” she replied. “They saw a mushroom cloud. Many innocent souls ascended to the spirit world.”

“Oh, shit!” he murmured, and rolled back to stare upward into the clouds. A nuclear attack!

The hot sun burned down upon the tent and a small crowd of people gathered in the dusty pasture on the edge of a north Texas town. Loudspeakers ringed the back of a crude platform inside the tent, facing rows of seats where sweating people fanned themselves with folded programs. A gaunt hawk-nosed man who stood a head taller than anyone around glanced at his watch, and motioned to his assistant.

“It’s time. Is the camera ready? Is the link ready? We’re paying for this TV time! I don’t want anything to go wrong!”

“We’re set, Reverend. The camera feed and the video recorders will go live the moment you turn on the microphone.”

“Excellent, son, just excellent! Well, why don’t you just keep an eye on things, and make sure that nobody trips over a power cord or steps in front of the camera. We don’t want anything to mess up the inauguration of our holy call to arms, now do we?”

The Most Reverend Chase Evans McClayne, founder and minister of the God in Glory Church of The Primal Revelation smiled down at his assistant, his white teeth gleaming a feral smile. The young man felt himself drawn into the man’s hawk-like gaze, into eyes that focused on him with a predator’s hungry focus.

“Uh ... no ... no, sir ... uh, Reverend McClayne. Nothing will go wrong, I promise.”

“Good, young man, very good. Now please go tend to business. I mustn’t keep these good people waiting.”

The tall man glanced again over the heads of the sweating, fanning, fidgeting crowd of people seated inside the sweltering tent. Rows of fans on stands at either end blew hot air in, but at least it forced the stench of sweating bodies out. Reverend Chase Evans McClayne stepped to the microphone, switched it on, glanced at the television camera and was pleased to see its red active light wink on. He began speaking with a low, intimate voice.