The 13: Fall (54 page)

He had no idea what time it was anymore. His internal clock had stopped working three days ago. He just didn’t have the strength or the energy to fight back. He told them, each time when they started the beatings, that they wouldn’t break him. But that was a lie. He had broken about the same time his internal clock stopped working. He was just so beaten up and exhausted that he didn’t have the energy to cry out or beg them to stop.

He assumed it was getting onto nighttime because he felt the dampness begin to set in on the floor. He tried to think back to even just a few weeks ago, when he and Megan and Boz were all together, trying to figure out what this whole thing about the Prophet was about. He wished he could see them. He wished he could tell Boz that he’d remembered everything that Boz had said to him. That what Boz said had made him think.

Suddenly all of the emotions that he’d been trying to hold back finally came to the surface. He pulled himself into a ball and began to rock back and forth. He felt the first tear run down his cheek since losing his wife. And then another. And then it was as if everything inside of him let loose. He wrapped his arms around his cold, mostly naked body and began to weep.

He stayed like that for at least five minutes before he was able to get control of himself. Finally he wiped his eyes and found the strength to sit up onto his knees. He placed his elbows on the thin mattress that they had given him to sleep on and folded his hands.

“God,” he said, “I don’t know what You want from me. And I know I’ve been angry with You for many things, and I’m sorry. I had no right to be angry with You. I heard everything Boz said. And I’m trying to believe it. I’m so sorry I’ve pushed You away. Please forgive me. I’m not asking You to get me out of here. But I can’t take them beating me like this anymore. I have nothing left to give. Please, make it stop. Please just let me die. Please, Jesus, forgive me for my sins and let me come home to You. Just make it stop.”

He felt his arms give out as his head fell to the mattress. He closed his eyes and drifted off.

They usually let him sleep for four or five hours. Just long enough for him to regain some strength. But this was too early. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour. But even though he couldn’t see the gate, because of his swollen eyes, he could hear it. And it was opening. They were coming for him again.

He felt the hand on his shoulder. But it was different this time. The touch was gentle. Not forceful. He raised his head to try and make out the figure that was standing before him.

“Mr. Keene!” the man whispered.

“Who are you?” he said in a cracked voice.

“Here, drink this,” the man said, handing him a bottle of water.

He took it slowly at first then began to let it flow freely over his mouth. It was the first real drink of water he’d had in days. Only sips had been allowed before. He poured some over his eyes to wash away some of the dried, crusted blood.

“Hurry,” the man said. “We don’t have much time.”

Keene still couldn’t make him out, though he looked somewhat familiar. “Who are you?” he said again.

“God has heard your prayer,” he said. “I’ve come to take you home.”

The man put his arm under his shoulder and lifted him to his feet.

“Hurry,” he said again. “We haven’t been given much time to get out of here. And you have much to do.”

“Wait,” Keene said. He tried to look at him. “I know you. How did you get in here?”

The Prophet smiled. “I told you I’d find you when the time was right.”

R
OBBIE
C
HEUVRONT
is the worship/associate pastor and an elder of The Journey Church in Lebanon, Tennessee, and cofounder of C&R Ministries with Erik Reed. He is also a songwriter and formerly toured with BNA recording artists, Lonestar. Robbie is married to Tiffany and has two children, Cason and Hadyn, and is currently pursuing a theology degree.

E
RIK
R
EED
is the lead pastor and an elder of The Journey Church in Lebanon, Tennessee. He graduated from Western Kentucky University with a BA in Religious Studies. He also graduated with his MDiv from Southern Seminary. Erik is married to Katrina, with two children, Kaleb and Kaleigh.

S
HAWN
A
LLEN
is the teaching pastor of the Hartsville campus and an elder of The Journey Church. He is married and has two dogs, Charlie and Pepper. Shawn is a graduate of Bethel University and is currently enrolled at Southern Seminary.

Robbie Would Like to Thank:

First and foremost, my heavenly Father. God, you are so gracious to me. I have so much to be thankful for. Your grace and Your mercy toward me are undeserved, and I am so humbled before You. You have blessed me beyond words, and I praise You for who You are. You are my God and King. I love You and serve You with all that I am.

Next, I would like to thank my incredible wife, Tiffany. Every day with you shows me just how much God has blessed me. I thank Him that He would choose you for me. I would be lost without you. I love you with all my heart. You are an amazing woman, mother, and wife. I do not know what I did to deserve you, but I’m never looking back. I cherish you with all that I am.

To my children, Cason and Hadyn: Daddy loves you! You two make me laugh when the days are long and stressful. I pray that you would live your lives for Christ and never stray from His side. He is all you will ever need. Run to Him for EVERYTHING. I love you!

Erik Would Like to Thank:

There are so many people to thank for the love, patience, friendship, and joy they bring into my life. However, I do want to especially highlight one person in this book who has made a lasting impact on me. That is my grandmother, Dorothy Reed. My grandmother and her late husband, Earnest Reed (my grandfather), grew up in an era when America faced some enormous challenges. They experienced the Great Depression and WWII. They saw an America that had no fear of discussing God and even recognized its deep need for Him. But they also witnessed the decline and near disappearance of this. Yet in spite of the culture’s shift and change, they remained steadfast. My grandfather passed away when I was five years old, and I never got to know him that well. But my grandmother tells us about him, still. She loves Jesus and has taught her children and grandchildren what it looks like to love Jesus, too. My thank-you is to her for her patience, love, and unwavering commitment to pray for her family, lead by example, and live to make much of Jesus Christ. I love you Gan-Gan.

Robbie, Erik, and Shawn Would Like to Thank:

Our publisher, Barbour Books: You guys are incredible. That you would take a chance on some unknown goofballs like us is beyond anything we could have imagined. Thank you for being patient with us these last couple years, as we have tried to learn the ins and outs of your world. Telling a story is easy. What you all do is … well, let’s just say we’re glad we have you! Thank you for everything you all do.

To Jamie Chavez, our editor: Jamie, you are a disturbingly talented woman! Your work speaks for itself. We are honored to have worked with you and hope to do so again in the future. We love your straightforwardness. We love that you see any project that you work on as your own. Thank you for everything.

To our church: Journey Church, we love you all so much. You all make being in ministry so much fun. You are such an unselfish group of people. You serve tirelessly to see the Kingdom moved forward. God has blessed us to have you as our church. We are humbled to be in covenant with you as your pastors. Let us always stay focused on Christ, moving forward with the Gospel and forward as a church.

There is a long list of people that help us do everything that we do. Our church, our families, and our lives would not be what they are without you all. Thank you, Kendria Spicer, our admin assistant at The Journey. Thank you to our fellow Elders; it is a blessing to serve along side such Godly men. Finally, to all our Journey volunteers and ministry leaders, and our friends: Thank you all for being in our lives. We thank God for you every day. We love you all!

If you enjoyed The 13: Fall,
be sure to read the gripping follow-up novel—The 13: Stand.

Coming Fall 2013

Here’s a sneak peak …

Raleigh, North Carolina
9:40 p.m.

The Room
was just like any other room: adequately furnished, old hardwood floors that had scuff marks on them from all the years of tables and chairs being scooted across their surfaces, and a few unassuming paintings hanging slightly crooked on each wall in order to give the room a more … homey feel. An antique desk stood against one wall with an Aresline Xten chair—the world’s most expensive office chair. Opposite the desk stood two other chairs—for guests—which could have been bought from Walmart. The old man didn’t know. Nor did he care. His second wife had bought them. He would never think of sitting his old frame down in anything but the Aresline.
The Room
, as it was called, was the perfect place for this meeting. And for one reason. One that only those who had been there were aware of. Its location. The old man checked once more to make sure he had everything he needed and then went back up the stairs to the main house.

The main house sat just off Durant Road, a few miles out of downtown; an old, fully restored Civil War farmhouse sitting back, nestled in the tall pines. Unless someone knew exactly where it was, they would probably just miss the little, narrow dirt road that led the three quarters of a mile through the wooded area leading to the house. The old man had bought the house twenty-five years earlier for his third wife. She had thought it cute and a good place for her daughter to stay as she finished nursing school. He hadn’t cared much for the house itself, but the grounds behind it were perfect for the project he had been planning. And though the project was going to cost close to a quarter of a billion dollars, he didn’t care. He had the money. Old money. The kind that came at the expense of hundreds of thousands of unsuspecting Americans. Tobacco.

The old man had since divorced his third wife. And his fourth. His current wife—wife number five—had extended family all over the country. So now the house was used for visiting friends and family. But, for the most part, it remained empty. And that was a good thing. Because it allowed the old man to conduct his more
sketchy
business away from inquiring minds. Because behind the house, buried fifty meters below the surface, was
The Room.
Constructed of three-foot-thick, steel-reinforced concrete walls,
The Room
was the northern wing of an eighteen-hundred-square-foot, state-of-the-art survival shelter, stocked with provisions for up to ten people to live on for as long as five years and complete with its own water and air filtration system. All constructed and designed by one Gavin Pemberton III.

Pemberton—or the old man, as he was called by his friends—had offered his place for tonight’s meeting. An offer that was readily accepted by all parties involved.
One couldn’t be too careful these days
, he thought. No one ever knew whether the Chinese were going to come over the mountains at any second, or if that imbecile, Walker, was going to negotiate more land over to those communists. Sure, Walker had promised that he was going to see to it that they did everything they could to ensure the United States’ return to greatness. The only problem was, the idiot was trying to change everything great about what was left of the country.

Pemberton saw the headlights from the cars bounce off the trees, swinging back and forth as the small dirt road curved and twisted, as he kicked back and forth in the old, wooden rocking chair on the wraparound porch. Moments later, the cars stopped in front of the old, yellow farmhouse and emptied their lone passengers. The cars then left. And without a word, the old man stood up and motioned for the two men to follow him around the side of the house to the backyard.

A small toolshed-looking structure sat at the edge of the yard, leaning against the row of trees. No one would ever guess that underneath the almost thirty-foot-tall pines sat one of the most secure facilities on earth. The old man silently stepped inside and found the hidden keypad behind the workbench. He punched in the numbers and stepped outside again.