City of Refuge

By Terry W. Brown

When the foundations of society are shaken, where do you turn? When life deals misfortune, where do you run for shelter? In this Alternative American history, there exists a major paradigm shift from a Constitutional Republic to an Absolute Monarchy governed by the ancient principle of lex talionas or "an eye for an eye justice". This new paradigm resonates with individuals driven by an acute sense of justice. But what about Mercy and Grace? This strange new world needs a new kind of hero. What America gets is a man like Hermes Speaks. A man wrestling with his own demons and a lack of empathy in regards to his binary construct of Justice and Mercy. He must learn to balance these opposites if he wants to succeed in the City of Refuge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781796081251

Terry W. Brown

What do you have when you combine a love for Religious Studies and all things Humanities related? How about twenty years’ experience in the newspaper industry while teaching as an adjunct in Humanities? Terry brings a unique voice to this initial writing project that started in his final semester of graduate school, an Introduction to the Novel class. Since 2001, he has enjoyed teaching courses at Chattanooga State Community College including: Religions of the World, Old & New Testament Studies, Mythology, Humanities I & II, College Success, and Composition I & II. He earned a BA in Bible & Liberal Arts from Bryan College and a ThM in Pastoral Leadership from Dallas Theological Seminary. He also earned an MA in English from University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. His interests include the outdoors, travel, and teaching. He lives in Dayton, TN with his wife Rebecca, and their seven children.

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Copyright © 2020 by Terry W. Brown.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2020900319

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-7960-8127-5

                Softcover        978-1-7960-8126-8

                eBook             978-1-7960-8125-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 01/08/2020

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CONTENTS

Prologue

PART I

Into the City

Chapter 1:   Deep Impressions

Chapter 2:   The Favored Guest

Chapter 3:   Worship

Chapter 4:   The Goel

Chapter 5:   Dr. Speaks

Chapter 6:   New Medicine, Old Medicine

Chapter 7:   The One-Day War

Chapter 8:   Writing the Results of War

Chapter 9:   Contact with the Sclers

Chapter 10:   The Running Refugee

PART II

Initiation in the City

Chapter 11:   The In-Laws and Outlaws

Chapter 12:   Showing the Fangs

Chapter 13:   Advanced Directives

Chapter 14:   Putting Him Down

Chapter 15:   The Mentor

Chapter 16:   The Mirm Speaks

Chapter 17:   Morning Rituals

Chapter 18:   Secrets upon Secrets

Chapter 19:   Nikki’s Reflection

Chapter 20:   The Hypocrite

Chapter 21:   The Proposal

PART III

Return to the City

Chapter 22:   The Hero

Chapter 23:   Mourning Rituals

Chapter 24:   The High Priest Is Dead

Chapter 25:   The Ceremony

Chapter 26:   The Confession

Chapter 27:   The Catch

Chapter 28:   The Abortion

Chapter 29:   The Flight of Hermes

Chapter 30:   A Time for Grace

Chapter 31:   Let the Mark Go!

Chapter 32:   The New Rite of Passage

Epilogue

A Timeline for City of Refuge

Prologue

HARD REALITY

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14 July 1987

The jet blue 1987 Harley full dressers were the vehicles of necessity. The riders’ choice of Harleys was simply pragmatic, not to make style points or some patriotic American sentiment. The mission required fast, dependable transportation with maneuverability to collect and haul specimens for observation. The motorcycles sped down the highway with little effort and no resistance at first, with the morning sun rising over their shoulders. People outside the major population centers of America were still trying to recover from the fallout of the One-Day War. They knew the mission was dangerous and were quite unsure what they might encounter on this trip to the heart of the city. This was a job that someone had to perform for the greater good. Reports had been limited to the ham operators. The pictures painted were bleak: all power was lost, communications were dead, and so were many, many people. It had been ten days since the war, and the town leadership wanted to gather intelligence in order to plot a course of action. In the end, two men were selected for the mission: an engineer and a scientist.

As they approached the city limits signage, they spotted movement. There were clusters of people moving slowly, awkwardly. They exhibited varying degrees of damage: some were limping, some were crawling, some were sitting, and others were struggling to remain upright. The riders could not hear their feeble pleas because the noise of their Harley’s engine spared them that horror. However, they each noticed the look of hopelessness in the victims’ eyes, the stare you notice in victims of battle fatigue.

The heart said to stop and offer help to these poor souls, but the riders were on task; and help for the survivors was not the focus of the mission. They were doing recon and assessment, and that was taking them to the city center, ground zero. The Harleys pressed forward, barely slowing. As they moved past, dodging the doomed people, it soon became obvious there was simply no movement at all. There were bodies everywhere, but no movement. Individuals were frozen in time like George Segal sculptures, lifeless. It was if time stood still, like a Pause button had been pushed, impacting all organic life-forms. It felt eerie, creepy.

They pulled into the city center and parked in the city hall parking lot near the farmers’ market and administration buildings. Again, no movement—frozen statues were everywhere. This would simplify the harvesting process. They dismounted their Harleys, and each focused on adjusting their yellow one-piece decontamination suits after the long ride. They were not sure about the possibility of contamination and wanted to be safe. Once their suits were in order, they started the lengthy process of gathering samples. Their list was specific: organs, parts of appendages, feet, hands, an infant, etc. Their system was straightforward: cut, bag, label the bags, stow, and transport for observation and evaluation.

Once the long and tedious process of filling their saddlebags and rear cases was completed, they were ready to address the second part of the mission: determine what was necessary to restore the infrastructure. Neighboring towns needed power and water. The first part of the puzzle made the engineer’s job easier. The infrastructure was completely intact! The primary issue was manpower, and it would take many workers to restore the mechanisms of progress. They mounted their Harleys and headed out of the city, passing numerous live victims clustering at the city limits signs. A plan would be developed to deal with this most unfortunate segment of the population. It would not be easy.

Part I

INTO THE CITY

Chapter 1

DEEP IMPRESSIONS

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31 March 1972

Hebron

Flashes of light accompanied by the loud bursts of mini explosions still rang in Hermes Speaks’s head as he sat on the sidewalk, stroking his father’s hair. His senses flooded with information as the scene deeply embedded itself into his psyche. He smelled a mixture of car exhaust, from a car left running, and discharged gunpowder, causing him to experience some nausea. His throat burned, and an intense desire for a drink of water welled up within him as he sat on the sidewalk. He could hear muffled parts of several different conversations all at once as people huddled in small clusters along the street. As he stroked his loving father’s face, he felt the skin of his unresponsive patient’s face growing cold and clammy; and it grew increasingly pale. A mirror would reveal the same change in his own reflection.

If his father could respond, he might try to interpret what Hermes felt as he slowly went into shock. He might also tell Hermes to apply some direct pressure on the gaping wounds relentlessly issuing forth his life’s blood. However, Dr. John Speaks was now unconscious and unable to offer this rudimentary medical advice to his nine-year-old son. Hermes continued to speak to his father, trying in vain to solicit a response—anything, even a movement of the eyes might offer some encouragement. The only sound he heard from his fading father was the struggle to breathe that accompanies the final moments of life. He kept trying,

Dad, will you wake up? What can I do to help you? You are leaking—what can I do to stop the leaking?

While Hermes was a young boy, he understood the gravity of the situation but was rendered helpless to save his dying father.

What do I do? How can I help you, Father? were his unanswered pleas.

There may have been a chance for survival if the father could only instruct young Hermes to apply a little pressure to a few specific locations to actually stop the bleeding. Those are the kinds of questions for the philosophers with time to wrestle with such weighty matters, like determinism or who chooses when a man’s life is to end. However, this was only a boy, and his youthful pleas were falling on ears becoming increasingly incapable of hearing. Within a few brief moments, Hermes felt his father’s life leave his body, and he gently cried as he continued to hold that precious head and stroked his father’s hair with his numbing fingers.

Hermes struggled to remember the moments that led up to the tragic scene he found himself in, alone on that sidewalk. He remembered the flashes of light, the thundering blasts, and being knocked to the ground. His head still hurt from the impact, and he remembered the crushing weight of his father’s body as it lay covering him. He also felt a searing pain in his leg around the time he fell to the ground. He had struggled to push off his father’s limp body, and he eventually worked himself free. He raised his father’s head up and supported it with his lap as he began frantically trying to communicate with him. Hermes was oblivious to his own peril and did not immediately realize that his blood was mingling with his father’s, staining the sidewalk like a Mark Rothko painting. The emergency medical technician who was part of the first response team was Mark Preston, who happened to be a neighbor and a close family friend. Mark noticed that young Hermes was leaking as well, and he felt pity for the boy as he brought him back to reality by stating the obvious,

Hermes, your father is gone, son.

The EMT removed Hermes’s hand from Dr. John Speaks’s neck, which had confirmed what he knew, even before he reached up to check the vitals: his friend and neighbor had crossed over from this life to the next. He repeated what Hermes already knew,

Your dad … he is gone, Hermes. You have to let him go. You have been shot and are also wounded. I want to help you, Hermes, but I need you to trust me.

Hermes knew Mark and knew that he could trust him; but the situation was like a bad dream—a dream he might wake up from at any moment. Hermes now understood the throbbing in his leg and forced himself to let go of his father’s lifeless head. Mark knew the severity of these moments and how crucial it was to respond quickly to Hermes’s emergency. He told Hermes that it would be all right and to just relax. Hermes watched as the other responders covered his father’s upper body and face, never realizing this would be his final viewing of the father he loved.

The paramedics quickly lifted Hermes onto a stretcher, placed him in the ambulance, and started an IV while the driver rushed to the local hospital.

Mark worked furiously to stabilize Hermes, addressing the gunshot wound to the leg, after handing Hermes some water. His own heart was broken at the loss of Dr. John Speaks, as he was a trusted friend and neighbor. He wanted to keep Hermes talking to avert his attention from the seriousness of the injury, so he asked Hermes if he could remember what had happened earlier in the day. The drugs calmed the mind of the young boy, and he freely started recounting the events of the day to Mark. However, he soon slipped out of consciousness while they traveled to the hospital. The account he meant to share looked something like this.

Hermes and his father had spent the morning viewing the exhibits at the local museum of natural history. His father mentioned something about the progress of man through the evolutionary lens. His father had presented the progress of man’s advancement with the ease of a trained guide, and Hermes was filled with the wonder of the whole process. He remembered being surprised and filled with a sense of pride as he realized that he was one of the only children to have his own father present with him during the museum tour. Hermes’s curious nature meant that he never lacked for questions.

Dad, where did all the dinosaurs go? Why do we not see them today? How did they grow so large? Weren’t the dinosaurs terrifying for the humans?

His dad patiently responded with his scientific understanding of the dinosaurs’ place in the grand scheme of the museum presentation and the world as he knew it. The diverse and coherent exhibits had made a strong impression on the boy. The prerecorded sounds ran on a loop, masterly combining with the lighting effects and the subtle movements of the robotics that were hidden from view, all designed to incite wonder. He remembered a T. rex that slowly turned to look directly at them and then roared at Hermes, who subsequently hid behind his father for protection. The seated museum guard let out a laugh, never seeming to tire of the amusement of this oft-repeated scenario.

During a light lunch together at the museum café, Hermes had been the center of attention as his father listened to the impressions he recounted with his youthful fascination. The reality of the museum experience ended with the final exhibit, leading young Hermes to consider the wonderful potential of other discoveries that he would make with his dad by his side. But some things are just not destined to be in this world of chance and time.

Suddenly, Hermes regained consciousness and softly asked Mark these questions: Why did this have to happen? What did we do wrong? Why is my father dead?

Mark looked at Hermes with loving eyes and simply said, I do not know, son, but we can hope that the person responsible for this will be brought to justice, or made to pay for his actions.

This brought Hermes some measure of comfort. He was glad that Mark was there at that moment.

What else happened, Hermes?

Hermes uttered a few words and lost consciousness again.

He and his father had gathered their coats and headed out of the museum doors and onto the streets of downtown. The early spring afternoon was cold, and the morning haze had slowly disappeared, clearing a path for the few rays of sunlight reflecting off the buildings downtown. The streets were alive, and Hermes noticed the contrast to the museum exhibitions. If Hermes could vocalize it, he would note that technology separated the reality of the lively streets from the exhibits, which remained comparatively static and limited in their movements. He remembered that cars filled the streets, lights bathed the facades of closely stacked buildings while vendors shouted along the sidewalk, enticing the myriad pilgrims to try their wares; smells of ethnicity wafted through the air and filled his impressionable nostrils. The city was alive, and he exclaimed to his father, What a wonderful place the city is!

Yes, it is wonderful, but … also dangerous, his father had replied.

Mark had paused in the whirlwind of activities, and so he held Hermes’s hand while they passed through the streets unhindered.

While Hermes faded into a deep rest, another man was restless and agitated. The tall, dark stranger in the large black overcoat was no cold-blooded killer. Pascal Disagio was a simple man who loved his family and would protect them at all costs. He worked hard at his family restaurant to provide for his beautiful wife and their small children. He left the family business to take his wife out for their mid-morning walk just prior to the afternoon rush. The help had demonstrated they could do the prep work in the kitchen and the owners would not be missed until the locals began to settle in for lunch. Pascal had started wearing an oversized black trench coat on these daily walks because of some recent trouble with a local gang of thugs. As Pascal and his wife, Frances, left the restaurant, several men in black hoodies exited a car, and each gang member began shouting profanities at the couple.

We told yous not to sho you face in our turf again?

Is you crazy?

Did you think we was jus’ jokin’?

You a dead man!

The situation escalated rapidly, and it became a blur for passersby who had arrived at the wrong place at the wrong time. The accosted man, accompanied by his wife, did not respond with a single word; but he understood what others could not sense concerning the seriousness of the situation. This moment represented the culmination of a man’s resolve to solve a longstanding feud with this particular group of neighborhood ruffians who called themselves the Fangs. From under the black trench coat emerged an Uzi automatic weapon complete with a banana clip discharging rounds of thunder into the gang members, who were stunned by this lethal response to their scare tactics. The bullets ripped through flesh, as Pascal indiscriminately administered the full force of the judgment of death to the primary targets. When the smoke cleared, four Fangs lay dead on Eleventh Street and the man with the trench coat shrouded his weapon with catlike reflexes and continued his walk with amazing calm, woman by his side, and unscathed. The gang of four Fangs lay in crimson pools of their own undoing, after discharging their own brand of justice and retaliation represented by a man named Glock.

Pascal knew in his heart that those well-placed bullets administered street justice to a deserving bunch of hoods, but he also understood that the random bullets created collateral damage as they lodged into any material yielding itself to their force. Windows along the street were shattered, holes were ripped through the sidewalk signage, and pedestrians who were complete strangers walking along the normally safe streets were comforting one another like old friends. While some were encouraging their newfound friends to hold on, others only briefly experienced a connection, and then it ended. The victim’s life was shut off, as though a faucet handle had been turned. Traffic stopped, and some people stood suspended in the reality that they were witnesses to a tragic display of brutality. One of the victims of this random act of violence instinctively covered the body of his innocent son, and his body absorbed the impact of some of those random bullets. The force of the concussion’s impact rendered the father incoherent; otherwise, he might have directed his young son to some type of action. Pascal took it all in, but left the scene of the crime to dispose of the evidence.

Pascal knew this moment had been coming, and he had prepared himself for it; but still, he was stunned by the brutality of the scene. He replayed the scene in his mind. He saw the Fangs pull up. He watched them file out of the car. He remembered their threats and saw the evil intent in their eyes. He noticed a pistol on the hip of one of the gangsters, and he erupted in a violent display of his own. The Fangs were ill-prepared for this first strike and fell to the ground, hopelessly missing their marks with their own discharging pistols. Pascal