Tribulation

By David Miller

Follow the stories of a televangelist, a militant rebel, a college student and a disillusioned teenager as they navigate their way through a quickly changing world and their struggle to adapt. As the old way of life passes away, and the new order is ushered in, will these men and women stick to their old convictions, or will they turn over and change as the rest of the world starts to leave them behind?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645318965

David Miller

David A. Miller is the vice president of Slingshot Group Coaching where he serves as lead trainer utilizing the IMPROVleadership coaching strategy with ministry leaders around the country. He has served as a pastor, speaker, teacher, and coach in diverse contexts, from thriving, multi-site churches to parachurch ministries.

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Tribulation

David M. Miller

Copyright © 2020 David M. Miller

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-64531-895-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64531-896-5 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Preface

It has been said that it’s inappropriate to talk about religion and politics mostly because they can lead to a heated debate. However, religion and politics are two of the most important things you can discuss. Who or what, if anything, governs the universe, and who or what governs your nation? These are things that affect every aspect of our lives, and I believe it is important to talk about them. The following book is about religion and politics, and how people may deal with them in the future as the world quickly changes. Most of the characters in this book are Christians because I am a Christian, and it is the easiest perspective for me to write from, being my own. However, this isn’t Christian literature. Christian literature is often clean, uplifting, and encouraging. I wrote this with the desire to make it as true to life as possible. The religious reader may take offense at the grim or dimness in which the world is portrayed. But real life isn’t clean, uplifting, or encouraging.

But as I said, this isn’t a Christian novel, though it is a novel about Christians. A religious person can read this and clearly see the hand of God at work. And an irreligious person can read and see how clear that there either is no God, or he is no longer acting. So as you read this book, I hope you can immerse yourself in the variety of perspectives shown here and see how different people react to a rapidly changing world.

1

Atkinson, New Hampshire

The basement was cool and damp. The concrete walls, hastily made, gave a slight sense of safety as they met. Having retreated from their homes and jobs to this place, there was a great sense of weariness which seemed to hang in the air, as everyone slouched in their chairs around the embattled wooden table.

The stairs creaked as another guest descended. This house is small, he noted. There are a lot of us, how long are we gonna stay here for?

I did the best I could, the host responded. You know it’s for the dam to provide us with some electricity. We’re in a fairly secluded location. We won’t be noticed for some time if we do this right.

What are the sleeping arrangements going to be? asked another.

Well, there are two rooms upstairs, along with the living room and the basement down here. We can keep the families together. My wife and I can stay in the living room. All the children can stay in the same room upstairs. Your family can take the second room…Pastor, I think it would be safer for you to stay down here. They know your face.

"If they know his face, then they know your face, a woman with white hair interjected. I’ll take the living room. You stay down here."

All right. He leaned forward, face drawn. Again, there was silence for a moment.

Bob, did you bring an Xbox?

Yeah. It’s upstairs, but you know we don’t have power.

I’ll turn it on. He got up and exited the room, and everyone stood still in weariness. The air outside was foggy and cold. He dislodged the shrubbery which had collected around a shed door near the cabin. The inside revealed a complex of gears and wheels, elements of a homemade generator made of magnets and copper wire. He flipped a lever connecting the power and went back outside. He looked at the dam, the waterwheel, and the pond for a moment. The mist floating on the surface of the water was captivating. As he pulled up an old waterlogged board which separated the pond from the waterwheel, water poured through the causeway, and as the wheel began to turn, an electrical buzz began to emanate from the shed.

The pastor, an old-looking gray man came around the corner of the shed. What’s wrong? he asked.

The host was looking cautiously at the road nearby, the view someone obstructed by the trees and tangles of vines. I suppose we will be fine, he noted. If someone drives by and sees the waterwheel, it might arouse suspicion. It’s loud, though, the water. Someone over there might hear it. He pointed past the dam to a business which was through the woods.

Elijah, the pastor asked as he turned around, you said there is a printing press in the shed?

Chicago, Illinois

I’m sorry, we aren’t accepting cash anymore, an office woman said to an anxious-looking young man.

Will you take credit card?

"No, Mike, March was the last month we accepted debit or credit, and even then, we shouldn’t have been. You need to go make your account at the town hall tonight, then you can come back and have your apartment."

Okay… He turned, leaving pale as a ghost. Out on the street, there was an excess of traffic and noise, even more than normal. His head spun with confusion and worry as he fell to one knee, about to pass out.

This is it…He told me this would happen…I have to get it, or I’ll starve to death.

What are you doing?

Mike looked up and saw a blue-uniformed police officer.

I just felt a little dizzy, sir.

All right, you should get up and go lie down or something. You don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea…

Yeah. He wiped the sweat off his brow and rose. Yeah, I need to get someone.

South of Banos, Ecuador

The guerillas waited on either side of the road underneath a thick brush. It was past midnight and raining steadily. They watched as a convoy of trucks came down the road.

Now, one whispered to Miguel. He released a rope, triggering a large tree to fall in the middle of the road. The first truck slammed on the breaks and was rear-ended by the second. Gunfire rang out from both sides of the road, throwing the convoy into confusion until there was silence. The guerillas leaped out from under cover and dove for the supplies in the trucks: food, water, medicine, and weapons.

This will not last us long, there isn’t much here, one man stated with irritation.

Don’t worry about it, just move.

Lights shone in the distance down the road; another truck. Some of the men jumped up and began shooting at it, while others grabbed what they could and dove back into the cover of the brush.

It has a magnetic shield! the commander of the group shouted. Everyone, split up and go back to the camp. He fired wildly at the truck to no effect until he was struck down. Miguel sprinted through the woods and dove into a covered tunnel and hurried toward the opening at the end. By the time he emerged at the end, the dim light of their hideout shown around him. He grabbed his sore legs and panted as he caught his breath.

A grizzled commander looked at him sternly. Is this it?

Did the others make it back, sir?

A couple of them. We are expecting more, but so far, not impressive.

The trucks, sir, have been carrying less and less supplies lately.

The commander heaved a heavy sigh and sat down. Did you hear what they plan on doing? Some of the resistance in the city made contact. They say that the Union is threatening to fire bomb the city if the raids and riots keep up. There’s even talk of nukes, and one a defector said that they are going to test a new weapon on us, show the world what happens to rebels.

Do you believe they would actually do that? Then they’d really have a rebellion.

I don’t know what to believe. The man grunted. What I do know is that nukes or otherwise, the only way they are putting a chip in my arm is if I am dead. You want to know something, Miguel? The media here wants everyone to believe that Ecuador is the only place in the Union that there is resistance. Let me tell you something—he pointed at him and looked him in the eye—there is resistance everywhere. They want to keep us separated. That way, we are divided, weak. You know this, there are rebels in Moscow, New York, and Sydney. Just keep that in mind. We are everywhere.

2

Atkinson

Elijah and the pastor entered the power shed. Elijah moved a crate to reveal a trapdoor. Climbing down a ladder, they found themselves in a dark wet room with a dirt floor. Elijah lit his lantern, and the dim light revealed a stainless-steel printing press.

It’s obviously not as efficient as what we have been used to, but it will have to do. Elijah sighed. I have steel plates in the house and about a pint of ink down here. We need to bind the paper first.

I suppose we should get to work then? asked the pastor.

We can start by binding as much paper as we can tonight, but I don’t want to use the press until we are covered in darkness.

Why? No one can hear or see it.

Let’s just start binding.

The