We reach Mount Sinai House and watch the stir we’ve caused on the news. Some of the college kids in the street claim I appeared and disappeared like a ghost. Others say I glowed with a heavenly light; while one even claims that I healed him of his thoughts of suicide and that he intends to dedicate his life to doing good works. I can’t take credit for any healings, but I’m glad they happened just the same.
I pull the old data storage device from my pocket and Martha starts to work on it. The data standards have changed a little over the last decade; so while she works to retrofit the modern equipment, I look at the latest broadcasts from the Four network.
Once Zip’s people slaughtered all of the cult hunters inside McIntosh, things calmed down and both sides settled into a standoff. The footage switches to Michael, who is still standing in McIntosh Lake. He baptizes and old man, then looks around to find there is nobody left standing in line.
“I guess I’m done here. Thank you, Lord,” he says.
The member of Four who’s holding the camera asks what’s next.
“I’ve done more than I dreamed,” Michael says, “but my time is almost passed.
*****
It turns out the data on the old storage device is mostly mundane things, like copies of various bills and the like, except for one folder called “family.” The family folder contains detailed information about my family going back nearly a dozen generations. For a moment, I hope I have even more cousins; but if I do, they must live off grid, because they’re not listed.
A document called “Headstone” catches my eye. Headstones and graves are almost unheard of these days. Most people opt to have their loved ones cremated, once all the enhancements are removed for recycling, and the ashes are generally forgotten rather than buried in a memorial garden. By ancient standards, I’m sure the practice would seem cold; but in a world that witnessed over three billion dead in the Final Holy War, efficient disposal of the dead became the new tradition of death.
The document is an invoice for a headstone from a granite manufacturer in Barre, Vermont, which was then shipped to Knoxville, Tennessee to be engraved with my parent’s names, and then shipped to a cemetery in Ogallala, Nebraska. The bill is quite large, due to the shipping cost, plus an extra charge for “specialty character” engraving. Interestingly, neither the name nor the address of the engraver are listed.
“Cindi? You grew up in Ogallala, right?”
She crosses the room to see what I’m reading.
“Martha and I both did. Why?”
“Did you know that my parents paid for a headstone in an old Ogallala cemetery?” I ask.
“Of course. I’ve been to it many times. When you live off grid, you don’t get out in town much; so Mom would always take us when she tended the family graves.”
Martha overhears the conversation and joins us.
“Sometimes they’d invite me along, and Cindi, Geoff, James and I would play among the graves,” Martha adds.
“Don’t forget about Cameron.”
Cindi is clearly teasing, but earns such a warning look from Martha that I don’t ask about it.
“Have you never been to their grave?” Martha asks.
“Until just now, I didn’t know there was a headstone. If she knew about it, Aunt Jennifer never told me. All she ever said was there wasn’t enough left of them to bury after the accident. This receipt is dated on my eighth birthday - just three days before they were killed.”
“Like they knew it was coming,” Martha says. “There must have been some sort of threat or warning.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
“The receipt says there was an extra charge for special engraving. Do either of you remember what it says?”
They quietly rack their brains.
“I don’t think it said anything, other than their names and the usual dates,” Cindi says, “but it seems like it had some fancy squiggly lines across the top - like decorations.”
“I’ve been wanting to get you two home. I think it’s time for a visit to Ogallala.”
And to look for an unexpected piece of this new puzzle that my disobedience has opened…
*****
It takes two days of waiting until we find a cargo car that will take us to Ogallala. It’s just as well, the police presence around the tube station increased substantially after the “party” near campus, so the extra days allow things to cool off a bit.
A tube ride from Colorado Springs to Ogallala takes less than an hour; so we soon find ourselves standing on the bank of the South Platte River. Martha and Cindi are giggly about being in their hometown again. They want to pay a surprise visit to their parents, but I convince them to go to the cemetery first; so we catch a bus on East A Street that will take us to the cemetery on Fifth Street.
I smile when I see that the place does, indeed, look restful. Its many acres of broad trees are just starting to turn colors, as the days are becoming both shorter and colder. The first bodies were interred here over three hundred years ago. The plots were all filled long ago, but my parents were able to put in a headstone because there were no remains to be buried, and because a long gone ancestor with foresight had bought a huge family plot.
Martha and Cindi lead the way, until we arrive at a headstone near a large maple tree. When I was eight, my parents were home one day and simply gone the next. Seeing their names engraved in stone is both comforting and disquieting. Obviously I came to grips with the finality of their deaths long ago, but right now, the term “written in stone” takes on more meaning for me than it ever has before.
My eyes are drawn from my parent’s names to the decorative “squiggles” adorning the top of the stone, and I gasp - the top line is my name, written in ancient Hebrew.
“What is it?” Martha asks.
“It’s okay. It’s just a little shocking to see your own name on a tombstone,” I reply.
“Your name?”
“It says, ‘Cephas, nothing is impossible’ in ancient Hebrew.”
“That’s a nice message,” Cindi says. “They were thinking about you.”
It’s not just a nice message. It’s a personal message.
“So what does the back say?” Martha asks.
Most people never look at the back of a flat headstone; so I walk around and see there’s more ancient Hebrew engraved there.
“The top says, ‘When given time to hatch’ and under that it says ‘J11:25.’”
John 11:25- The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.
“What does it mean?”
Cindi laughs and looks to me, but I’ve already hit my knees. My mouth is agape and I think I’m going to hyperventilate.
“Hatch, hatch, hatch,” I gasp over and over again, as Cindi and Martha drop to their knees to hold me.
If this puzzle piece means what I’m sure it must mean, what do I tell them?
“Cephas? What about ‘hatch’? What does it mean?” Martha asks.
“I need a minute. Please - just give me a minute.”
I stand and walk away from the stone. There’s a small caretaker’s shack about fifty meters away and I walk towards it. Cindi and Martha decide to give me some time alone. The shack isn’t locked; so I go in and find it crammed with old tools like shovels, rakes, hedge trimmers, tree pruners and the like. I rummage through them until I find what I need.
When I get back to the gravestone, Martha and Cindi are whispering, undoubtedly about my sudden breakdown.
“Cephas? Are you okay now?” Martha asks.
“I’m okay; but there’s something I must do that’ll make me feel much better - and worse - at the same time.”
I produce a large hammer from behind my back, and with an arching swing, bring it down, full force, on my parents’ stone, cracking it in half.
The women jump back, as chips of granite go flying on my second and third swings. One chip slashes at my face, causing a trickle of blood.
“Cephas, what on earth are you doing?” Cindi shrieks at the desecration, but I keep swinging.
When I’m done, my parent’s names are still legible on either side of the crack, but there isn’t a single letter of ancient Hebrew remaining. I drop back to my knees, utterly exhausted. This time Martha and Cindi don’t join me.
“Now you feel better?” Cindi asks. “What was that all about?”
“That was all about keeping family secrets. I’ve been lying to everyone this whole time. I thought the missing page was destroyed. I thought this was just a game to keep Henry busy and delay his plans, but I was wrong. The page still exists, and now I know where it is - and I know that it’s more important than ever that we get to it first.”
And I know an even bigger family secret than that, too. The words are similar, so I didn’t think about it at first. The stone didn’t say “hatch.” It said “incubate.”
“Now I really do need a moment alone.”
I stay on my knees at the desecrated headstone, while Martha and Cindi return the hammer to the shed.
I begin to pray aloud.
“I’m the one who accused you of having a strange sense of humor, aren’t I, Lord? I’ve been lying and disobeying you to avoid surrendering to Henry, and you even used my disobedience in your Plan. I’m not ready to surrender to Henry, or to sacrifice myself. Thank you for bringing me here and showing me this. Thank you for letting me continue to distract Henry - and giving me a little more time with Martha.”
I walk to Martha and Cindi, who are still standing at the caretaker’s shed. I thought that admitting my disobedience would be a sad occasion, but instead I feel as if a great weight has been lifted from me. Unfortunately, I still need to face up to my lies in the eyes of Martha and Cindi.
“Well?” Cindi says. “Which is it? Is there a magical piece of paper out there that will allow us to produce a vaccine? Or was that another lie?”
Cindi is furious, but it’s the look on Martha’s face that really frightens me. She looks like the very soul has been sucked out of her. She puts her hand on Cindi’s shoulder.
“Cindi, I need some time alone with my husband.”
Cindi turns, expecting to find the sympathetic eyes of an equally furious compatriot, and appears shocked to see the state Martha is in.
“Fine,” is all Cindi can manage before walking away.
Martha sits on the soft grass and puts her face in her hands.
“You’ve told a lot of little lies, but you saved the biggest lie for me - to give me hope,” Martha says. “It was the one where you said you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself. You haven’t been doing all this to distract Henry. You’ve been distracting Cindi and me while you wait to surrender yourself to him. You plan to make some sort of deal with the devil that you think will save me and the baby - while you get cast into the lion’s den.”
“Yes, Martha, I lied to you; but the truth is, I don’t know how this is going to turn out. Even when I thought I had left God’s path through my disobedience, it turned out to be part of His plan. I destroyed the gravestone because the writing told me that the paper does still exist, and where it’s hidden. I need to retrieve it, and I need to keep following the path He’s set out, until I understand what else He needs me to do.”
“So where’s the paper? Where do we need to go?” Martha asks.
“Into the lion’s den.”
*****
To cheer up Martha, I insist we sneak into town. I’ve been hoping to get Martha and Cindi here to visit their parents for some time, but I’m by far the most excited. I’ve been wanting to meet Aunt Kimberly and Uncle Trevor since I first learned they existed and, of course, meeting Martha’s parents has been on my mind as well. It’s a little late to ask for their blessing, but better late than never.
We catch a bus across town and are about to get off near my Aunt Kimberly’s house, when we see what can only be a large bus from The Corps is already on the street. We ride for another two blocks; then exit near a large tree, which we use for cover.
“Whatever’s going on, there’re no drones watching,” Martha says.
“I don’t think they’re here because of us,” I reply. “Think we should take a closer look?”
Cindi leads us through the neighborhood. We follow the invisible trails around fences and through hedges that only a kid who grew up playing hide-and-seek in the neighborhood would know. She leaves us under a tree in the backyard of a house that sits across the street and a few doors down from her parent’s place, and goes to the back door. The door is unlocked; so she opens it, while gently calling: “Miss Fox? Are you home?” She’s greeted instead by the throaty barks of an obviously large dog. We hear her say: “Quiet, fur ball,” and the barking ends instantly, followed by an exclamation of “Cindi!” Cindi’s face reappears in the door, and she motions us to enter. Martha goes first.
“Martha!” I hear a woman’s voice cry out with joy.
Standing in front of me is an older version of Cindi, right down to the sparkling eyes, which remind me of my mother. This can only be my cousin, Annie.
Annie goes silent with disbelief at the sight of me, and tears start to form in her eyes.
“It’s you. It’s really you,” she says.
I know what to do. I open my arms wide and say: “Annie.” She’s folded inside them in a heartbeat.
“Growing up, I used to tease Geoff, James, and Cindi that I always got to do everything first because I was the only one living on grid. I guess it’s their revenge that I’m the last to meet you.”
“You said I can’t tell Mom anything. Please let me tell Annie everything. She can keep a secret from Mom and Aunt Susan,” Cindi begs.
Martha looks at me and nods, and I nod back.
“Okay, but first tell us what’s happening at your Mom’s house,” Martha says to Annie.
“I wasn’t there when they arrived. I was here, watching the baby, while Miss Fox is out. Mom sent me a message to stay away. It looks like they’re searching for something. Anything they find that looks religious, they’re taking out front and destroying. The first thing they did was access all information Mom and Dad have in public storage servers, and then they took any offline storage devices they could find in the house.”
Martha and I go to the front window to watch the action, while Cindi and Annie stay in back. We can hear words like “married” and “baby,” followed by squeals.
In front of Aunt Kimberly’s house, armed men are smashing things. It’s hard to say if everything they destroy has religious symbolism or if they’re just enjoying themselves too much to care. The backs are torn off of paintings, furniture is ripped, and even the appliances are inspected.
“They want that piece of paper. Anyone who knew Mom or Dad is going to be searched,” I say.
“We’ll know if they found Mom’s super hiding spot if they come out with her Bible,” Cindi says, as she and Annie re-enter the room. Annie gives first Martha, and then me, a huge hug.
Just then, a woman who can only be Aunt Kimberly, emerges from the house. She’s shorter than my mom was, but the facial features and coloring are strikingly similar to Mom’s. I’m not close enough to see, but I bet she has the same wonderful blue eyes that my cousins inherited.
Aunt Kimberly is yelling into her com loudly enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.
“Jennifer Paulson! You know darned well that James and Hannah weren’t even cold before you had their house and Cephas locked up tight. I don’t have any paper from them hidden in my house!” Aunt Kimberly yells.
It there’s ever a “battle of the aunts,” Jennifer will have her hands full.
“And why do you get to look through all of our information? Do you work for The Corps now? A special consultant? Considering who you sleep with, it’s not much of a title. What? Where’d you look that up? So what if I maintain a gravestone for James and Hannah? They died too young, and - unlike you - I want to remember them.”
She listens to what Aunt Jennifer is saying; then erupts again.
“I’m not drawing you a map. Go find it yourself!”
“They’re right behind us,” Martha says. “It’ll take a few days, but they’ll piece the headstone back together.”
“They’re going to have to do better than that,” I say. “Their only hope is to find the engraver in Tennessee who did the work.”
I take a pile of jagged granite chips, containing fragments of engraving, from my pocket, and drop them onto the kitchen table.