Advocate's Choice: The Sentinel Saga, #4

Prologue

The whole world is in a tense, desperate state of affairs. I was raised in the 1980s, under constant threat of nuclear annihilation or global conflict...or both. Movies were made about it. Books were written about it. Songs. Television news and shows. We were constantly reminded that all life was on the chopping block.

It was a pressure cooker of epic proportion.

I was just old enough to know that I, and everyone I knew, could be snuffed out at any moment. Like a dim candle in a stiff wind that somehow manages to keep its wick alight despite the buffeting turbulence. It was terrifying. I was a child, just old enough to understand the basics of what was happening.

It was so constant, so frightening, that I began trying to understand why the world was in such a state. I always listened for the alarms. I watched the news. I started learning world history. I learned all I could about humans, where we came from, how we got here, and how we spoke to and treated each other.

Cultures.

Languages.

Religions.

Despite my deep-seated fears, I forced myself to learn self defense, martial arts and weaponry, and even joined the Army. I promised myself, as a child, that if there were ever an opportunity for me to correct the horrid situation, I would. I made that promise to myself as a child.

Do you know what I learned, through hard experience? The whole mess was caused, and perpetuated, by human evil. Not some supernatural enemy with red all over and a ridiculous pitchfork. This was all just humans. Just us people.

I made a promise to correct it, given a chance. But...how does one Texan kid correct a whole planet of bad human behavior?

Well, I had to die. I got offered the coolest job a man could dream up. I was chosen by God and became the Sentinel: a type of historian and soldier that can travel the world and its past with nothing but my heart, mind, and faith. I live in Eden, a very large island in the South Pacific, along with those important to me, an attribute of God I call Sam, and a couple of seriously awesome angels. God’s presence is visible from my cabin, clouds and lightning atop a mountain a couple miles away. According to Sam, that’s the Garden. Yes, the Garden. Nobody’s allowed up there yet.

People tend to underestimate that dim little candle, but you know what? Despite the wind, and the rain, and its dwindling wax and wick…

...it keeps burning.

Here we go.

Go time.

Chapter 1

Questions? Alan Skinner asked the three individuals sitting opposite him. Nobody spoke, though they all looked a little unsure. You each champion a well-established advocacy group or movement. We simply want you to ramp up your efforts and your rhetoric.

What’s the big plan? asked the woman on the right side.

The big plan? inquired Alan with a furrowed brow.

Yeah, she responded. You wouldn’t have all three of us here unless we were part of something bigger. I wanna know what it is. What’s in it for us? I don’t do nothin’ for free. Her attitude was undesirable, and tended to come out along with her temper whenever she was questioned, delayed, or denied. A byproduct of nonstop protest culture, perhaps.

It was unbelievably annoying.

The woman in the middle, obnoxiously chewing bubble gum like she was an entitled and poorly-behaved child, nodded at the first woman. I’m with Pamela, she said. I never take a role without knowing the pay. Her crossed arms and teenage shoulders-akimbo stature were just as obnoxious as the gum smacking.

Actresses. It took all of Alan’s will power to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Instead, he focused on the third person: a woman who was really a man...and a high-ranking military officer. Robin? he inquired. Would you like to know ‘the big plan,’ too?

Robin looked to his – her – left for a moment, staring at Pamela and Amy. Then she met Alan’s eyes and said, Only if you’re willing to share. I have a feeling that I know why we’re here. I follow orders, not whims. She glanced at Pamela and Amy.

Before those two could start an argument and inspire the ire of the deadly woman in the corner behind them, Alan spoke. The truth is, none of us know the big plan, he said, gesturing to himself and the other four people sitting in shadow behind him, the ones the Sentinel had called liars. There are clues, of course, but the plan was designed by much more powerful and secretive people than us. We don’t even know who they are. They obviously want America, in its present state, destroyed and replaced by something new. They recruited you, like us, to accomplish specific milestones toward that goal.

He pointed to Pamela. Destroy race relations as much as possible. He pointed to Amy. Destroy relationships between men and women as much as possible, particularly through tearing down men. He pointed to Robin and said, "Destroy, as much as possible, the children."

Robin gave Alan an eerie, thin-lipped smile. I know just what to do, he – she – said.

When they had all left, the assassin – who had remained silent for the entire meeting until now – spoke up. They’re going to fail, she said, a touch of bitterness evident in her tone. She was standing in the corner of the room, her left hand holding her up against the rain-streaked floor-to-ceiling window, like a sullen statue, staring out at the D.C. skyline. As far as Alan knew, she hadn’t even moved for the entire two-hour duration of the meeting.

He shivered involuntarily. The woman was absolutely terrifying. We don’t know that, he said softly.

Yes we do.

Alan closed his eyes and held in a sigh. He really didn’t want to argue with this woman. We still have to let them try to do their work, he said. Granted, with the Sentinel still walking around…. He opened his eyes and gasped as he jumped backward in his chair. She was in his face, nose to nose with him, and he had not heard her move.

Yikes.

The Sentinel is deceptively skilled, she growled, glaring menacingly. He is the only target I have ever failed to kill in a single encounter. He somehow wins the fight before it ever starts.

Alan swallowed hard, scared for his life.

Would you like to try fighting him again? she asked. Maybe you think you have a better chance. I could arrange a match, if you’d like.

Alan just shook his head slowly.

She stood upright and walked away. As long as he lives, she said, this endeavor is doomed. Chrislam might be founded, but it will not grow and prosper if he can speak and act. As long as he has God’s support, and is alive, this road is a dead end.

Nobody dared make a sound. She was angry. She was going to kill the Sentinel, whatever it took.

The sun was just breaking the horizon over the distant ocean. Standing outside my cabin in Eden, watching the brilliant rays of light dance on the rippling surface of the water, I was reminded that despite the ugly things I had seen, Creation was a truly beautiful place. I sipped my coffee and pushed the horrible images out of my mind...or at least into a dark corner where they could be locked away.

We’d finished breakfast a while ago. We had fresh eggs, thanks to mom’s laying hens. She had a whole flock of chickens, her ladies, that provided eggs enough for all of us. They weren’t cooped; they just had nests mom had made them in the field behind her cabin. She fed them some kind of grain/fruit treat she had come up with that she scattered around, and they just hung out, laid eggs, ate insects, and followed her around. Her dogs – Gunner the black Labrador, who I lovingly referred to as GunnyFloof, and Shorty the chihuahua – funnily enough didn’t try to eat the chickens. They followed the chickens around and ate their poop. They were doing it as I watched.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Dogs can be gross sometimes. Sickos. GunnyFloof looked up at me with a wide doggy grin. What a weirdo. Mom was laughing at them. She looked over and saw us and waved while laughing. Good morning, she said.

I waved back and returned her greeting. Today was going to be tough for me. Best take the happy moments while I could.

The new seven members of my team – all family, as far as I was concerned – were graduating from their initial training today. My dad, my uncle Danny, his son and my cousin Matt, my married friends Randy and Abby, Randy’s older brother Scott and his son Logan were all about to take on serious responsibilities and risks. People thrived on ritual and ceremony, so I had planned a graduation ceremony before lunch.

Are you going to be ready for the ceremony? asked my brother, Marvin. He had been the first official member of the team when he joined last year and was given the title Archer of Yahweh. He was an amazingly talented archer, and he traveled with me to protect my back and help me accomplish my missions. When in the field I called him Kash, a shortened form of the Hebrew word for archer. It was a code name meant to protect our identities, and by extension our family and friends.

I had ruined that by thinking it was okay to use my laptop at Randy and Abby’s house last year. My IP address had been traced and a special ops team, operating under orders that were a blatant lie, had burned their home to the ground. Thankfully, our angel friends and trainers, Angeline and Stephen, were able to collect everyone – also under attack – and bring them here.

I’ll be okay, bro, I said. I’m going to work out some of the fear and frustration in the armory when my breakfast settles. The poor guy had been heart-bound to me last year so he could feel what I was feeling and find me when there was serious trouble. He didn’t keep that connection open all the time. He only opened his heart to what I was feeling when we were on a mission or when something intense was happening.

He was my little brother. He could tell when I was upset in some way. He could tell I was upset and tense right then.

I finished off my coffee and turned to walk into the cabin. As I opened the door I threw a glance over my shoulder at Marvin and said, Enjoy today, bro. I have a gut feeling something very bad is on the horizon, and happy days will soon be scarce. He nodded. I walked to the armory.

Martial arts can be a strangely calming practice.

Can be.

I stood before a homemade punching bag of sorts, a linen bag stuffed tightly with grasses and loose soil the size of me, suspended from a heavy beam and anchored to the floor by a heavy chain. I punched it. I kicked it. I even headbutted it. My unease, and my ire, only grew and coated me as much as the sweat that coursed over my skin.

I wiped my face with a towel, picked up my escrima batons, and extended them as I positioned myself between three thick wooden posts. My batons were special. They were spring-loaded to extend and retract with the push of a button. They were very slightly flexible, but made of a special metal and given a special coating that made them extremely tough. Also, they were made for me by an angel. I raised them to a starting position, closed my eyes, inhaled and exhaled deeply, and began. Strike. Chamber. Strike. Chamber.

Faster and faster. One pole. Then two. Then three. My strikes grew quicker and more forceful. When I opened my eyes, all three posts were shattered, split, and chewed up. I was entirely drenched in sweat. An hour had passed, and I was huffing and puffing.

I wasn’t relieved in the slightest degree. I still felt like something horrible was coming soon. I walked to my bathroom and got cleaned up so I would be ready for the ceremony.

When I was refreshed and dressed, I walked out of my room and down the hallway to the dining area. Sam was sitting at the table by himself, his customary cup of steaming coffee cradled in his hands while he stared into the distance. I had only seen him do this a few times. It rarely meant anything good.

Thoughts? I asked, inviting him to share. We almost never had any secrets in Eden. In fact, the only one I could think of was this head nuke they said I had buried somewhere in my brain. They wouldn’t tell me anything about it.

Just listening to the quiet, Sam said. I nodded and started to walk for the door when he added, It won’t last much longer.

That statement stopped me dead in my tracks. I had learned to listen closely when Sam spoke, especially when what he said was ominous. He was quite literally an attribute of God, after all. I turned around to face him.

You have felt the building tension, haven’t you? he asked. You feel it even now. He finally looked at me, and directed me to sit across from him. I did. All noises have a sort of psychological quality to them. Quiet is by far the most versatile. It can be inspired by comfort or admiration or even love. It can be coerced by promises or threats. It can also be forced. He met my eyes, and I felt a shock and shiver run through me. The current quiet is being coerced with threats of force. Gather your allies, Sentinel. The time is fast approaching when the quiet will break and the fighting will begin.

A single bead of sweat ran down the center of my spine like an ice cube. I nodded, stood, and walked out to do the one thing I least wanted to do in this world.

Over the last few months, we had eaten outdoors a lot. Three extended families blended into one big one. I wondered momentarily if that meant something profound. Probably. We often gathered together outside and shared a meal as one big family. It was fun, and promoted good relationships between everyone.

The families had all been brought here at once when my identity was discovered – I still didn’t know exactly how that had happened – and they were all attacked. I had been at Randy and Abby’s house when the attack started, fortunately, and had asked Angeline to get everyone to safety. She enlisted Stephen’s help, and they took it literally. They brought everyone and