W: The Planner, The Chosen (27 page)

“Everybody was happy—except me. I had a really bad feeling. Your dad went up to him on his way out and said to him, ‘I just want to ask you one question that nobody has been able to answer for me. What does the W stand for?’

“The man pursed his lips and smiled a very odd smile, and then he answered, ‘Warsaw.’

“Looking back on it now, I know he was just here to distract us while the staff closed up shop. On Saturday evening all of the support staff and the maintenance people left and locked the gates behind them. The dining hall has been closed since Saturday. The stores and the clinic are closed too. Even the shuttle stopped coming by. We realized on Sunday that everyone was gone, and we were locked in—our palm scans no longer open the gates.

“Your dad and I are going to die here—we both know that now. I want you to know that we do not blame you for what has happened. We know that you didn’t have any idea what this place was. I love you and Keith and Karyn and Seth and Faith so much.  Kris, change your life—give it to Jesus and stop looking for something else to save you. And then help Keith find his faith again. Do something good with the years that you have left—don’t throw them away. Find people who know about freedom—who believe in freedom. There are millions of Americans who still remember freedom—start finding them and working to get this country turned around. Don’t let what has happened to us happen to anyone else. I will always love you.” 

As she read these final words, Kris gasped as though someone had knocked all of the wind out of her. Her entire body went cold. The message had been sent Monday at noon. “Oh, God, please let me get there in time,” she was praying just as Keith drove up.

“We have to hurry. I just received a really scary message from Mom,” Kris did not read it to him, but she did tell him the part about the workers leaving and locking the gate. 

“Something weird’s going on for sure. That’s why I’m here. Last week the FMPD started bringing in dozens of pieces of earth-moving equipment on trucks. About thirty miles from here they are digging a huge hole in the desert. Jessie took me up in his plane this morning so that I could take pictures for the website.”

“How do you know it was FMPD?”

“The flatbed trucks that brought in this stuff said ‘property of FMPD’.”

Kris tried to calm the panic that was spreading over her, “Apparently they are building a lot of new housing. I just found out today that Division 1 is expanding—a lot. So they are probably getting the ground ready.”

“Nobody would build a bunch of new housing thirty miles out—especially a group of nuts who think that people need to be stacked on top of the each other in the heart of the city. I’m telling you Kris—this is the middle of the desert. I don’t know what they’re doing, but this hole they’ve been digging is like the freakin’ Grand Canyon. A lot of the work is being done at night.”

“Could you see anything?”

“Besides the hole? No. We wanted to fly over it in the daytime to get some better shots. Whatever it is, it looks like now they’re filling it in again.”

The sun was just starting to set as Kris and Keith arrived at the gate. She tried to scan her palm, but the scanner did not recognize her. Apparently, she had already been deactivated, but the gate was partly open. Keith could not drive the Jeep through, but there was enough space to squeeze through the opening on foot.

The narrow street was empty. W was eerily quiet—she had never seen it this quiet. No food smells wafted down the street from the dining hall; no chattering could be heard from seniors taking their evening walks. Kris’ heart was pounding so hard that she could almost hear it as she ran down the street to her parents’ building. The main door was unlocked. The unit doors were open—the odor of fresh paint filled the building. Her parents’ unit looked exactly as it had the first day that she had shown it to them. The chairs had been arranged back exactly as they originally had been. She opened the closet—empty. The few cabinets in the front of the room were open and empty.  She touched the walls and doors—a little paint came off on her fingers.

They were gone. All of their belongings had vanished; every trace of them had disappeared, just as if they had never existed. She stood in the middle of the room paralyzed with horror, unable even to speak.

Suddenly, she heard Keith’s voice calling to her from the street, “Everyone’s gone. How many people lived here, two thousand? And there’s not one scrap of anything left. I’ve been through all the buildings.”

Kris could not even respond. She simply could not take in what had happened. Two thousand people gone without a trace—including her own mother and father.

“I thought you told me that no kids were allowed in this place.”

“What? No, they aren’t,” her head was swimming.

“Then what’s this doing here?” Keith had moved to the common area where the benches had been arranged. The benches were gone now, and in their place was a new jungle gym and a city-park sized swing set. She stared at the equipment. Everything from those past few weeks suddenly made sense—W stood for Warsaw. Leonard Scott had been telling her from the first day that W was not just for seniors, it was for “specially-selected populations.” The community had been painted and renovated to make way for its next “specially-selected population.” 

“Karyn!” Kris gasped. Now it was Keith’s turn to stare at her.

“We have to go get Karyn and Jeff and the kids. She called me last night. She and Jeff got a letter; the government is taking her house and sending her family to live here—right here. W is not a seniors’ community—it’s for people who are going to be exterminated. They are the next targeted population. Oh, God, forgive me! What have I done?”

She opened her purse to look for her phone to call Karyn, and she again saw the package with Michael’s note. Her phone—she had to get rid of the phone. Her phone calls could be monitored, and perhaps just as importantly, using the signal from that phone any federal agency could track her exact location—she and Keith might not even make it to Karyn to warn her. Leonard Scott and the FMPD would know that she had gone back to W, but that would be as far as the agency could trace her. She wrote down Karyn’s number on the outside of the envelope and then threw her Smart phone as far as she could into the desert.

Exiting through the gate, she and Keith climbed back into the Jeep. Putting the vehicle into reverse, Keith pealed backwards down the street and onto the main highway just as the last rays of sunlight disappeared from W.

The Chosen

Alexandra Swann

&

Joyce Swann

Cover Design: Stefan Swann

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form without written permission from the publisher.

Scripture references from
The Living Bible
, copyright ©1971 are used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. Wheaton, IL 60189.  All Rights Reserved. 

The Chosen
copyright © 2012 by Alexandra Swann and Joyce Swann

Published in the USA by Frontier 2000 Media Group Inc., Dallas, Texas.

http://www.frontier2000.net

Many are called; few are chosen.

Matthew 22:14

Chapter 1

J
essie leaned to the left to get a better view
from the window of the single engine plane that he was flying over a vast stretch of Nevada desert. He had been flying pre-dawn missions every morning for the past two weeks, but everything was quiet in the large fenced compound beneath him.

Jessie took a handful of Cheetos from the open bag on the seat beside him and stuffed them into his mouth. As he chewed loudly, he wiped his hand across his chest, leaving a salty orange track on his County Crows tee shirt. It was 4:30 A.M., and Jessie was sleepy. He shook his head to ward off the drowsiness and took a long swig from his can of Red Bull.

Even though he was wearing night-vision goggles, he saw nothing of interest as he flew as low as he dared and scanned the landscape for anything out of the ordinary. It was hot, and the sweat ran down his fat neck in rivulets. Jessie had wound his long curly red hair into a little bun that he had fastened on the back of his head with a large clip, but he was still uncomfortable.

Just as he had decided to turn the plane around and head home, he caught sight of movement near the chain link that surrounded the compound. Immediately, he was wide awake. Yes! There was definite movement near the fence! As Jessie watched, someone crawled under the chain link and half stood. As soon as he was on his feet the man began running, although he remained crouched over as much as possible.

Jessie’s heart was pounding. With the aid of his goggles, he was able to determine that there was a road about a quarter of a mile ahead of the runner. Jessie turned the plane and headed toward the road. He would have to risk landing there and hope that he could get the runner on board before someone in the compound learned that he was missing.

Jessie did not have long to wait. He had barely managed to land when he saw that the man had now straightened and was running hard directly toward him. Jessie called out, “Over here!”

The runner stopped dead in his tracks, panic registering on his face. “Who are you?” he panted.

“I’m your guardian angel, man,” Jessie replied. “Get in before we both get killed!” 

The runner paused only a moment before scrambling into the passenger seat of the small plane.

Seconds after the plane was airborne a convoy of six black SUVs drove through the gates of the compound. As Jessie and his passenger watched, teams carrying automatic weapons leapt from the vehicles and began entering the barracks. Seconds after that, the sounds of machine-gun fire filled the air. People were screaming, and some were running from the barracks, only to be pursued and shot.

“Oh, my God!” whispered Jessie’s passenger as he ran his long fingers through his sandy brown hair. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

When the plane had moved out of range of the sights and sounds that had elicited the response, the passenger turned to Jessie and asked, “Who are you, and how did you know I was going to escape?”

“I’m Jessie,” he responded, giving his passenger a high five with his chubby hand. “I didn’t know. I’ve been flying missions over the compound for a couple of weeks now. I knew something was coming down, but I didn’t expect anyone to come out from under that fence. You surprised me, man! But what I want to know is who are you, and what’s going on in there?”

“My name is Ron Edmonton; I’m a medical doctor. When the outbreaks occurred in the Gulf Coast states, I spent two months there treating the toxin victims. I didn’t exactly volunteer. I was contacted by the office of the Surgeon General and told to report to Huntsville, Alabama within three days. When I told them that I couldn’t leave my pain-management practice, they let me know that my cooperation was not optional. My partner in my medical practice looked pleased as punch when I gave him the news—I think that he already knew what was coming down.

“Anyway, I did everything that I could to treat the victims, but toxicology isn’t my field, so I pretty much had to rely on what the military doctors told me was the proper course of treatment. I knew from day one that something was wrong because I found out right away that all of the other doctors they had forced to come to the Gulf Coast were in fields unrelated to dealing with toxin victims. Nothing made any sense. All of us worked long hours to save lives, but no matter what we did, the patients died.

“At the end of two months, a military doctor informed me that I would be returning home the following day. I signed a confidentially agreement that outlined a number of severe penalties for divulging any information concerning anything that had taken place during my time there, including the number of patients I had treated, the drugs that were prescribed, the mortality rate, and just about everything else that you can think of.

“I was so glad to get out of there, but when I got home, my wife told me that we had received a notice that our house was being taken through eminent domain. I was furious; I really exploded, and I swore that after all they had put me through, the government was not going to steal my house!  I called an attorney the next day and made an appointment for the following week.

“Two days later a team of federal agents arrived at my office and told me that I was to come with them. They drove me to the FBI building where they handcuffed me and transported me to the compound where I’ve been ever since.”

“Oh, man!” Jessie exclaimed, “I’ve got chills!” He demonstrated by extending a fat white arm covered in red curly hair. Sure enough, Ron Edmonton noted that the flesh was covered in goose bumps.

“How did you know that tonight was the night?” Jessie asked.

“I couldn’t be sure, but I spent twenty years as a Marine—that’s how I got my medical training. When I ended up here, I began viewing myself as a POW because I knew that regardless of the bunk they were telling us about needing to quarantine us to make sure that we were healthy after being in the Gulf, they were really planning to exterminate us. We had become collateral damage. I was pretty sure that they wouldn’t make their move until the compound was at capacity because they would want the slaughter to be as efficient as possible. So I began watching carefully to see how many bunks were still empty. I volunteered to work in the laundry so that I would be able to go into all of the barracks to pick up the soiled bedding; that way I was able to keep track of the empty bunks.

“Yesterday they brought in three additional doctors who had been in the Gulf; that left only one empty bunk. I weighed my options. If I escaped too early, they would miss me when everyone fell out for morning roll call, and they would send out a search team. In this desert, with no transportation, I would be captured within hours. If I waited until the assassination teams arrived, I would have no chance of escaping.

“I couldn’t sleep at all last night. Finally, about midnight I decided that I would go under the fence at 4:30. The Feds always use pre-dawn raids to catch their targets off guard, but I knew the guards would also have their defenses down at that hour of the morning. I thought that if this were the morning that they were going to send in the attack teams, I would get out just before the teams came in the gates. They would not bother to identify the bodies because we had all been present for evening roll call. I would be officially dead, and, with luck, I would be able to find my way to civilization and contact my wife. It seemed to be my best shot.”

“You are one cool dude!” Jessie said with admiration. “I’m a freedom fighter myself.”

Ron looked at Jessie and nodded, but he did not comment. Jessie noted his skepticism and added, “I wasn’t a Marine or a Navy Seal or anything like that. These are my weapons,” and he held his stubby fingers over his head and wiggled them profusely.

“Well, thank you for saving my life,” Ron said seriously. “When I saw you on that road, you looked better to me than a whole battery of Marines. By the way, where are we?”

“We’re about fifty miles from my base camp,” Jessie replied.

“No, I mean, literally, where are we? I was transported from Phoenix in the back of a military supply truck—no windows, no way to keep track of time, no way to tell which direction we were headed. Six other doctors were transported with me, but they took our watches, and it was as black as night inside the truck.”

“Dude, you’re in Nevada—Disneyland for adults—unless, of course, you happen to be in one of the Feds’ death camps.”

As Jessie spoke they were flying over a desolate stretch of sand and sagebrush. “Whoa!” he said. “Welcome to California. We just crossed the state line.”

Fifteen minutes later Jessie announced, “We are now approaching Base Camp One.”

Ron looked out his window to see a large dilapidated cow barn, a few empty corrals, and a rusty single-wide trailer barely visible in the early morning light. The place looked as if it had been deserted for years. As Jessie prepared to land on the narrow dirt road that led to the trailer, Ron fought back the notion that he had somehow managed to allow himself to fall into the hands of a crazed cult leader who had brought him to that deserted spot so that he and his followers could murder him in some sort of perverse ceremony. Instantly, he was on guard.

As soon as the plane rolled to a stop, Ron leapt out and stood with his back against the craft. He surveyed the area looking for any signs of movement. Just as he began to relax, however, the trailer door flew open and a fat, freckled, middle-aged woman wearing tight knit shorts and a tank top emerged.

“Hey, Jessie,” she called. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Can’t tell ya, or I’d have to kill ya,” Jessie responded.

At this both Jessie and the woman laughed uproariously.

“This is my sister Shirleen,” Jessie said.
“She lives here with my nephew. Where’s Kyle?”

“He’s asleep, like normal people,” Shirleen responded. “What do you need Kyle for?”

“I need him to help me get T-squared into the hanger.”

“I’ll help,” Ron offered.

The two men pushed the plane into the cow barn and covered it with a tarp to protect it from the pigeons that roosted in the rafters. As soon as the tarp was in place, Jessie produced an ancient motorcycle that had been standing behind some moldy bales of hay and pushed it out of the barn. He then straddled it and motioned for Ron to get on behind him. The motorcycle rumbled to a start, and the two men began the dusty ride to Base Camp Two.