Prologue
Then [Jesus] said to them,
“…There will be great earthquakes,
and in various places famines and
pestilences. And there will be terrors…”
—Luke 21:10-11
Sandra slumped on a bench, idly staring at the red brick building across the street from the bus stop. The bus usually operated as efficiently as her cat wanting food at five every morning. This evening, however, it was running several minutes behind schedule, throwing off her plans. Her mounting frustration almost made her swallow her pride and call her brother, Michael, to take the vehicle he had offered to give her. It was a nice gesture. But it would only add more bills, and she refused to depend on anyone to help her make it in the world.
Her annoyance peaked when the bus appeared around the corner. She let out a weary sigh while gathering her purse, sweater, and water bottle. Standing, her gaze swept over the bus, which should have been slowing down. Instead, it swerved toward her, gaining speed. She screeched as she stumbled backward, falling over the park bench and landing in the grass behind it. Her possessions flew from her hands, landing several feet away. The brakes squealed, metal protesting as the vehicle jerked to a stop less than a foot from where she had been standing moments earlier.
The engine stalled before the bus sagged and hissed as the doors slid open. Standing and dusting herself off, Sandra took a few gulps of air to calm her frazzled nerves. She’d never been that close to death before, and she prayed it’d never happen again. As she stepped toward the bus to find out what was going on - and to give the driver a piece of her mind - the man barreled into her, sending both of them sprawling to the ground.
Pushing him off her took a lot of effort, but her adrenaline still pulsed from the near-death experience moments earlier. She sat beside him as he hacked, coughing up a lung while facing away from her.
The bus driver turned toward her, asking, “A-Are you—” but never finished the question, breaking into another coughing fit. His face paled, taking on a sickly greenish tinge.
“Sir, are you all right?” Sandra asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t appear healthy enough to continue driving the bus, much to her dismay. She had a couple of errands to run, and now she’d have to skip them. Internally, she scolded herself for being insensitive and more worried about errands than the man’s health.
As she stood, he attempted to rise with her, still struggling to breathe. He sounds like death, she thought, hoping he wasn’t contagious.
Suddenly, the man collapsed. Sandra tried to catch him, but he weighed at least twice as much as she did. Though she managed to slow his fall, his face still struck the dirt. Sandra rolled him onto his side in the recovery position, then checked for a pulse as she dialed 911 for an ambulance.
Walter Alexander Tierney leaned back in his ergonomic leather office chair, staring at the picture of him, his father, and grandfather. They stood proudly in front of the Temple Tablets, which the latter wrote and paid to have constructed. Now—finally—after a little over eighty years, he would fulfill the dream. His grandfather’s dream of unity among the nations, with no more war, famine, or global warming threatening mass extinction, was at their fingertips.
He glanced at the brief message from his ex-wife and set the phone face down on his desk.
Only a little while longer, he thought, as the next piece of the puzzle fit into place.
Stamping the PHOENIX Oversight Authority insignia onto the biosecurity oversight document in front of him, Walter let an uncommon smile grace his lips.
