Chapter 1:
Arrest
When the last teenager left, Jenna Hall peered at the disaster that hid her kitchen table from view. She loved her husband, but his idea of fun always translated to monumental messes. Ice cream sundaes struck her as a crazy idea anyway at the end of February, but the kids had enjoyed themselves. Admittedly, traditional vanilla ice cream with hot fudge and maraschino cherries was delicious year round. Remnants decorated large portions of the table, and even part of the chairs and floor. She swiped at a melted patch of ice cream oozing toward the table’s edge and tried not to look at the counter where the bulk of ice cream making had taken place.
“The mess will still be there later,” David called from the family room. “Come sit with me. I’ve missed you.”
Jenna wanted to start on the cleanup, but he was right, a few minutes wouldn’t make a difference. She missed him too. They’d hardly seen each other this week. She’d always considered herself a tax-season widow, but this week, two of her graphic design deadlines had contributed to the lack of time together.
After rinsing her hands, Jenna made her way to the family room and plopped down on the couch beside her husband. He opened his arms, and she settled with her back pressed to his chest, resting her head under his chin. Her wavy, golden brown hair that had charmed many a video and hologram camera in the past formed a cushion for her head. David turned and rested his head on hers.
“You smell like vanilla,” he said, sounding amused.
“That would be Brie’s fault. She had trouble pouring the vanilla flavoring. I think more ended up on me than in her ice cream bag.” Jenna couldn’t smell it anymore. It was so overwhelming that her nose simply stopped registering it.
Despite having several respected brands of store made ice cream available, a few of the teenagers had insisted on making the stuff from scratch, which meant milk, heavy cream, sugar, vanilla, ice, and copious amounts of table salt. Rock salt would have worked better, but Jenna figured table salt would be easier on their stomach should some slip into the wrong bag.
David made a low appreciative noise.
“Me likes,” he said softly. “Remind me to invite her to all the ice cream parties.”
“Don’t talk like that. You sound like a caveman.”
“Caveman catch good-smelling woman,” said David, affecting an awful, cringe-worthy accent. Tilting her face for better access, he kissed her softly. “Caveman keeps her forever,” he whispered with a smile.
Chuckling, Jenna cupped his face briefly before sliding her hand down his neck to his shoulder.
“I think caveman’s delirious,” she commented.
“Probably,” David admitted, “but the crazy schedule won’t last forever. What’d you think of the discussion?”
“I thought it went well,” said Jenna. “Ephesians 6 always gets me fired up, especially verse 12 where it talks about spiritual warfare.”
An image of Adira came to Jenna unbidden. This time, the angel’s white-gold hair was pulled back with a blue cord. Her emerald green eyes stared sadly at Jenna as if a grave piece of news weighed heavily upon her. Jenna didn’t want to make her husband uncomfortable, so she refrained from mentioning the short vision. He tried to be supportive and patiently listened to her recount weird dreams, but talk of sword-wielding angels usually led to long discussions where they ended up theologically agreeing to disagree. Jenna didn’t know if she had the energy for a long discussion. Right now, she merely wanted to enjoy David’s presence. She’d tell him about the latest recurring dream later.
David smiled.
“I do love it when you’re fired up. Maybe next time—”
A huge crash followed quickly by the sound of breaking glass and slamming doors cut him off. Feet thundered toward them from the kitchen. Confusing shouts filled the room. Jenna barely had time to sit up straight before several sets of hands landed on her arms and legs.
“Hey! Let go of—”
David’s words ended abruptly in a grunt of pain as metal hands clamped around his arms.
Jenna wanted to scream or cry or protest, but pure terror had moved her beyond any outward reaction. She’d dreamed about this moment several times over the past few years. It wasn’t a dream like a wish, more of a vision of her future. She’d spent many hours pondering brave speeches to air when real danger came calling, but suddenly, words wouldn’t form themselves into sentences for her.
Several seconds into the drama, her mind cleared enough to absorb the situation.
The two figures filling the family room were G6 series Peacekeeper Police Drones. The “hands” that had lifted her clear off the couch felt real enough but they were attached to cold metal arms. Before she could even think about moving, Jenna was trapped in the machine. She had a better idea of her situation as she watched the other Peacekeeper subdue her husband.
Multiple hands first yanked David upright. Next, they worked in concert to spin him around, so that his back faced the machine. Then, they clamped tight around his chest and reeled him in. It looked like the bulky drone was giving him a bear hug, but there was nothing friendly about it. The drone wouldn’t release him until a controller programmed it to do so. The arms extended enough to comfortably encompass one’s body but there wasn’t any additional room to wriggle free. The simple click as each of the four main arms clamped into place echoed in her ears.
What’s the use of prophetic dreams if you can’t stop the future? I need to do something!
Jenna met David’s eyes.
He opened his mouth to say something, but then, his head lolled to the left as he was rendered unconscious. Jenna gasped as another spike of alarm shot through her system.
“Please relax. He would have resisted arrest. Do not do the same. It will go easier if you comply.” The male voice had a neutral quality, but the word choice reminded her that somewhere miles away, a pilot controlled these mechanical beasts.
Jenna’s heart felt like it would burst right through her chest. Her breaths came in short, inadequate gasps. Her eyes roamed the room wildly, not sure what to focus on.
“It might help if you closed your eyes, ma’am,” said the drone.
“Why is this happening?” Jenna worked hard to make the question come out strong, but it still sounded wispy to her. She squeezed her eyes because it was better than staring at David’s unnaturally still body. Helpless to do anything else, she also formed fists. It didn’t improve her situation any, but it let her feel a little better.
“You are under arrest by the authority of State Order 309. Charges include encouraging intolerance, spreading dissent, fraternizing with enemies of the State—”
Anger fought back some of her fear, giving her the courage to interrupt the ridiculous list of charges.
“Stop sounding like a machine,” Jenna muttered, already sick of the dead voice.
A faint click sounded and a real voice spoke.
“Very well, ma’am. I am Officer 321. May I continue?”
Jenna barely managed a stiff nod. She wasn’t sure if the officer could sense the move through the machine, but then she remembered that the other drone stood directly across from her. The air was likely filled with a dozen micro cameras too. In any case, the officer received her message and continued with his spiel.
“State Order 309 deals with a variety of Class B crimes, many of which were committed tonight. You and your husband have both been convicted in absentia by His Honor Judge Leon P. Smith and sentenced to re-education procedures at the Innova Center.”
“Where is that?” Jenna wondered.
“The location of the Innova Center is undisclosed for security purposes,” answered Officer 321.
“Don’t we get to defend ourselves?” Jenna asked.
“No. You are guilty.”
“Of what?” The question was more of a shout. “My husband’s an accountant. I’m a designer. How did we manage to ‘spread dissent’ or ‘fraternize with enemies of the State’?”
“You designed a logo for Christ’s Hands, Inc., did you not?” asked the officer.
Jenna guessed from his tone that he knew she had, but she didn’t know why that mattered.
“Yes, about a month ago. Why?”
“And you’ve attended services held by Live, Learn, Love most weeks for the past two years,” stated the officer.
“That’s our church,” Jenna murmured.
The man’s tone hardened.
“Churches and other institutions that promote intolerance were officially banned as of 12:01 this morning. Ignorance is not an excuse for avoiding prosecution for these offenses.”
“Churches are banned,” Jenna echoed. Stunned didn’t begin to qualify her feelings. Seeing the possible future where the United States became a government run “State” that stood against all religions in a dream and hearing the words for real were vastly different experiences. When the president had announced the United States would henceforth be known as the “State” to emphasize unity, she’d dared to hope the rumors would blow over with the rest of the hype.
“Institutions of organized religions are all prohibited,” Officer 321 explained. “Citizens are encouraged to worship whatever deity they wish in the privacy of their own homes. Publicizing such activities in any way is now a Class B crime. In addition to your other crimes, you’ve also been convicted of corrupting young minds.”
Jenna struggled to wrap her mind around that charge.
“The ice cream party,” she concluded.
“You discussed the notion of deity with minors without the written consent of their parents. Such an activity is now—”
“So much for freedom of religion,” Jenna muttered, not waiting for him to finish the notification of it being a Class B crime.
“This is about freedom of religion,” the officer insisted. He actually sounded eager to convince her that the decision was right. “Organized religion condemns people. Now everybody can worship in their own way without fear of being looked down upon by their neighbors.”
Jenna glared at the other drone, knowing at least one camera would convey the expression to the voice in her ear.
“Now they only have to fear having their homes broken into in the middle of the night,” she said.
“It is no longer your home,” said the officer, sounding smug.
“What?” She wanted to be more eloquent, but the one-word question was about all her shot nerves could handle.
“State Order 547 calls for the forfeiture of property associated with convicted criminals. Thus, this is no longer your house. It is a State asset to be used as needed. Should your re-education process be successful, you will be evaluated and assigned lodgings appropriate for your needs.”
An intense headache gripped her, but Jenna started to understand why the government had gone dark and silent for so long. If the media knew about any of these sweeping changes being passed, they’d have pitched a fit, and for once, she would have joined them.
“And what happens if the re-education process is not successful?” Jenna wondered.
“Only fully rehabilitated citizens are released,” said Officer 321. “When you reach Innova, the guides and teachers will explain further. I wish you well on your journey to a better place.”
“Are David and I at least going to the same place?” She didn’t like the amount of fear that crept into her voice, but she couldn’t help it.
“Oh, yes. Innova Center is one of twenty-five state-of-the-art facilities erected for the rehabilitation of Class B criminals.”
Jenna’s eyes stung with unshed tears, but she held them back and craned her neck to see as much of the room as possible. If Officer 321 was right, she’d never see this place again. Even with broken glass littering the floor, the room looked cozy and inviting. Halfway through her sweep of the room, her eyes found David again. Relief rushed through her at the promise they’d go to the same destination.
She wanted to pray, but found her mind too restless and uneasy to get much further than: Father, help us!
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