The Fanatics

  At that very moment, the back door on the little church house burst open, causing everyone within to startle, and some to scream out in alarm. In stumbled a very scared looking man, completely exhausted and out of breathe. Everyone stared at this tall man in fear as they took in the facts. He stood about six foot tall and was almost too skinny. He was about twenty-five years old, had a deep complexion, deep-set blue eyes, and a thick bushel of black hair on top of his head. The fearful part was that he wore a gray police uniform.

  No one moved. What were they to do? They had been found. Their beloved “Haven of Rest” had been given up. Someone had turned them in, and now they would all suffer the consequences. Pastor Sanders stepped confidently toward the man. He walked up to him like he was walking up to an old friend. He reached out a helping arm to the young man before him; he was going to help him to a chair so he could get his breath when the young man suddenly collapsed into his arms. Many wondered why Pastor Sanders was being nice to this police officer, the person who could, and probably would, take the freedom from each and every person there… why he seemed to have no fear of the situation. As they wondered on this matter, Pastor Sander’s daughter, Grace, stepped out from her seat and rushed to help her father care for the young man. She promptly noticed everyone staring at her and quickly, to everyone else’s shame, quoted Romans 13:9, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”

  She helped her father lay the man onto the floor and removed her hand from behind his back. Her hand was covered with blood. She carefully rolled him onto his side to examine the wound as her nursing training had taught her to do. The round, deep wound was low and to the right side. It appeared to be a bullet wound. Maybe an arrest went wrong? The bullet could have pierced his kidney, but it was hard to tell what direction the bullet took since there was no exit wound. She would have to wait until she got him onto a cleaner surface to examine the wound more carefully. She felt inadequate to care for this man, but the extensive training she had received from Doctor Betty would have to suffice. The “Haven of Rest” had been very fortunate many times to have had a medical doctor living among them, but now the task had been passed on to Grace since the old woman had passed into Glory not too long ago.

  “I think he’s been shot,” Grace said.

  “We should take him into town, close to the hospital, where someone can find him and care for him properly,” someone said.

  “We can’t do that!” someone else amended. “He got here once, he can get here again… and next time he’ll bring reinforcements.”

  “We can’t exactly keep him here against his will,” said Pastor Sanders, “but we can’t turn him out into the streets hoping someone will find him in time either. He could die. He’s wounded pretty badly. I need someone to help take him to my house. We’ll figure out what else to do after he is feeling better.”

  Chapter 4

  Jonathon Zoner had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. All he knew was that he was tucked securely inside a warm bed. The last thing he remembered was running frantically through the woods… running for his life. He knew the reception, or lack thereof, which he had received from the people at the town meeting, was a possible reaction, and a probable one, but he wanted so badly to share the Jesus he had met with his dearest friends. He wanted them to have the same chance he had, the chance to feel the overwhelming peace that knowing Christ brought, the true love that He surrounded you in, and the undeniable knowledge that no matter what you did, Heaven was your home. He had hoped beyond all hope that they would listen, that they would understand the urgency of the message, for Jesus was coming soon, that without Him they would all be left behind to face the terrors of the Tribulation Period with absolutely no chance of Heaven! … His family: Grandpa Bob and his sister, Kellie… he had to get back to them. He had to make them understand! Without Christ they were doomed to an eternity in Hell!

  As he lifted his right arm to throw back the heavy handmade quilt that covered him so he might crawl out of bed, he was instantly met with an intense pain that shot through his back like lightening. He breathed in sharply as it took his breath away. He groaned quietly in protest. Even the sharp intake of air hurt! He lay back down on the bed as slowly as he could as he tried his best to relieve the pain.

  “I thought you would never wake up”, a singsong voice in the corner called out sweetly.

  Jon turned to see the lady who spoke… too fast, that hurt. He winced in pain. The young lady had stood and was placing the book that she had been reading in the seat of the rocking chair she had been occupying. She turned and slowly began to walk toward him, looking almost scared. Who was this beautiful girl with her long black hair, short, skinny figure, and pale complexion? She moved so gracefully that she almost floated above the ground. None of this mattered. He had to get back to his family. He had to tell them what he had learned about Christ.

  “Where am I,” he asked, still enchanted by her mere presence, though he wished himself to focus on the matter at hand.

  She looked down at the floor, then back up at her patient. “How are you feeling? You gave us quite a scare.”

  “Where am I?” he ventured again. Maybe she didn’t hear him.

  “Here, let me check your wound. I got the bullet out. It wasn’t as deep as I thought it would be. You must have been almost out of range of the gun.”

  Was that curiosity he heard in her voice? Was it curiosity about him? Surely he could trust her with the truth. No, he could not trust anyone… even if they were as beautiful as… as an angel.

  She helped him roll onto his side, and then she unwrapped the bandage to look closely at the wound. “Looking good,” she reported giddily. “In about two weeks you should be as good as new.”

  “Two weeks?!” he cut her off. “But you don’t understand! I have to get back home. I have to tell them what I learned. I have to tell them about…” He decided it was better to leave the sentence unfinished. If these people, good though they were, knew that he was what most called a “Fanatic”, he was sure to leave there in a police car… if he left there alive.

  She looked at him quizzically for only a moment. Then, she continued, “You should stay still as possible for the next few days, then it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to start moving around a little… but just a little.” She carefully applied more medicated salve to the area and re-bandaged it. “Be sure to get lots of rest. I’ll bring you something to eat in a few minutes.” With that, she turned and hurried away, probably to telephone police headquarters to notify them of his condition and location… wherever that was. He had to get out of there. If they called headquarters, no matter how innocent it was, he would be dead by morning, no doubt about it. The trials for Fanatics, if there was one, lasted all of five minutes, always found the defendant guilty, and always ended in death. He had not left anyone reason to wonder about his stand on the issue the last time he had addressed the city council. He would probably just be shot on the spot.

  Sighing heavily, he tried to relax himself a little. Maybe then some of the stiffness he felt in his muscles would subside. He looked slowly around the small bedroom that held him captive. It was bright with shiny white walls that were interrupted only by two windows and a large picture of a sunset over the ocean. There were two other strategically placed small pictures to accompany it, one of jumping dolphins, and the other of a sailboat on a peaceful bay. The long sky blue curtains hung in loose folds. They were swept back from the windows and held with a matching wide piece of cloth. Jon noticed that the room did not have a light fixture in the ceiling or a lamp on the bed stand. There was no clock on the wall or on the dresser. He did notice an old oil lamp and some used candles. He thought it was odd, but let the thought quickly pass as the clean windows let in plenty of natural light.

  Jon did not feel much like eating when the young lady had returned with a plate full of vegetable lasagna. His stomach was in knots. He had been looking for his clothes when she had casually returned wit
h the food. He had managed to get himself out of bed only to find out that all he was wearing was green and white plaid pajama bottoms that belonged to someone in the household, no doubt the lady’s husband.

  “What do you think you are doing out of that bed?” she asked.

  “Looking for my clothes,” he offered. “I have to get back home.”

  “I’m sure you do. And you can leave… as soon as your back is healed enough for you to make it there safely.” She set the plate of food on the bed stand and walked to his side to help him back into bed. He didn’t like that he had to rely on her so much for support as he walked, but it was a necessity. She helped him into bed, propped some pillows so he could comfortably sit up and eat… or at least as comfortably as he could with a hole in his back… and handed him his plate of food.

  “I’m not really hungry,” he said looking down at the lasagna.

  “Nonsense. You haven’t eaten anything in at least twenty-four hours. That’s how long you have been here. You have to at least try to eat.”

  “Where exactly is here?” he asked setting the plate in his lap.

  “Your food’s getting cold,” she retorted.

  “Tell you what, you tell me your name, and I’ll try to eat.” Jon said.

  “My name?” she looked a bit frightened. “Names don’t matter. What matters is that you get the proper nutrition and rest so you can go on fighting crime like a good little cop. Now eat up.” She smiled at him, the sweetest, most pleasant smile he had ever seen. “Go on, try a bite. I promise you’ll like it.”

  Hesitantly, he lifted his fork to his mouth. It was good; in fact, it was beyond good, it was delicious. But he still wasn’t sure if it would stay put. His stomach lurched in response, then, surprisingly, it quieted down and gratefully accepted the rest of the homemade meal.

  Chapter 5

  As Kellie carefully picked her way through the dark woods, she was thankful for what light there was from the half-grown moon overhead. She did take the time to go to her small blue sports car for the flashlight that she always kept in the glove box, but she quickly noted with quiet frustration that the batteries were near dead, offering little or no help in the way of seeing where she was going. She dared not make too much noise when she passed the building that held her grandfather inside. She did not think that he would hurt her, but she was not quite sure anymore. If he were not willing to stand up for his only grandson, would he stand up for her? Would his precious career be more important to him than she was? It was certainly more important than Jon! How could he? She slapped back a small tree branch in anger. It swung back, slapping her in the face. Oh! That would leave a welt! “Just my luck,” she thought.

  Stopping short, she realized that she had not been paying attention to Jon’s trail. Where had it gone? She could not have lost it that far back. She had just stopped paying attention a few short moments ago. She would have to stop all this bellyaching and focus on the task at hand. Besides, complaining never helped anyone… Of course, it never hurt either. But then, there was the old adage… “A blonde cannot do two things at once”. Dope! Yep, proven true again… looking for the trail. Okay, here we go. Gotcha, Jon. Then a thought hit her like a box of rocks. If she could follow him so easily… in the dark, how long would it take a group of blood thirsty men to track him down in the light? She had to do something.

  Looking back over the path from which she had come, she knew that no small task lay ahead of her. There were broken twigs, trampled ground, and many spots where Jon’s blood had wiped onto tree branches and leaves. How would she ever cover his tracks? It was going to be a long night! No, maybe covering his tracks was not the right answer. There was no way she would be able to revive the ground and twigs and get all the blood cleaned up… especially in the dark. No, maybe she should make a few other paths, pull them off Jon’s trail. But how? Blood is hard to replicate without bleeding, and she had a phobia of bleeding to put it mildly. Then, when the trails led nowhere, they would eventually come back to Jon’s true trail and find him! What would she do? She could never save her brother… not by herself… not unless she could find him first and get him safely hidden. It might help too if the clear sky miraculously filled with clouds and a pounding rain washed all trace of him away… after she found him, of course. With that settled, she started on her way again. It would soon be midnight. She only had six or seven more hours before the hunting party took to the woods, then all hope would be lost.

  She walked all night long. Around two-thirty in the morning, it did start raining. Not the hard, pounding rain she had hoped for, but a slow steady drizzle was better than nothing, and who knew? Maybe it would just work! Although the turn in the weather would make it harder for Jon… and herself… to be found, she had a hard time not being down about it. The ever-soaking ground made her footing less sure. Now, on top of the raised welt on her face, which her hand kept self-consciously touching, she was soaked to the bone and covered with mud and leaves. She was sure there were twigs in her hair and maybe a bug or two as well. Yep, Jon would certainly get a laugh when he saw her… if she could ever find him.

  Around six-fifteen, things started to look up a little. It had finally stopped raining, the sun was peeking out from behind the horizon, and it was not as scary being in the woods alone anymore. Kellie still did not relish the idea of the “alone” part, for she was a people person. If there was a crowd, you would find her in it. She could not stand being in solitude, but for her brother, she would do anything, even walk alone in the muddy, dripping woods. “Jon, you had better be thankful, but not too thankful. You are going to pay for this!” she muttered to herself. Running her hands through her wet, tangled hair, she hoped she would find him soon so she could cuddle down into a nice bathtub full of hot water and peaches and cream scented bubbles… those were the best as far she was concerned.

  Mmm, peaches and cream. She was hungry! Her stomach grumbled in protest to the lack of nourishment. She had never thought of eating peaches with cream before, but it did sound good… especially right now. She had not thought of grabbing any food from her car. She always kept supplies in the trunk in case she got stuck in the snow or something. But then again, that would have been a lot to carry. Yep, Jon was definitely going to pay… later. Right now, she had to find a well-hidden place to bed down. She was so bone weary she could barely pick up her feet. If she did not get some sleep, she would fall over from exhaustion. She figured she had at least ten hours head start on the posse. If she only slept for two or three hours, that would give her plenty of energy to find her brother, and she would still have a great head start. Looking around, she saw a large fallen oak tree nestled down into some heavy underbrush. Only the top of the trunk was sticking out. That would do just fine. “Sweet dreams, here I come.”

  Chapter 6

  Jon tossed and turned all night long. He dreamt many things, but one dream was not new. This dream had been haunting him for a few months now. He, Kellie, and a faceless girl were all in a room together. They were huddled in a kind of scared group. He wasn’t sure why they were scared or why the two girls were trembling so, but he could tell that something was definitely wrong. It was dark. He could not see very far, but he knew he was in a bedroom, maybe in a closet? He could hear voices in the distance. They were angry voices. They were yelling. There was a gunshot that was so close it vibrated his body. He always woke up in a cold sweat at that point, sitting straight up in bed with a gasp. Yes, tonight had been no different… except for one thing. Tonight, the third person had a face. It was the face of the young lady who had been caring for him so vigilantly since he arrived at… wherever he was.

  But why would she be in his dream? Why did she seem so very familiar? Why did he feel a connection to her, like they were meant to be together forever? He did not feel attracted to her like a man is normally attracted to a girl. True, she was beautiful, but it was something deeper. It was almost like he knew her… from somewhere. It was like they had had a deep rel
ationship at one time… a relationship he could not remember. He knew it sounded silly, but he had to find out who this woman was and why she stirred up all these emotions inside him. Maybe this was what it was like to fall in love? He had never been in love before. He had never had time. He had always devoted his life to the police force. Grandpa Bob had big things planned for him, and he had to work hard if he was going to attain them. But, maybe…

  “Snap out of it, Jon Boy! You can’t do this to yourself. You have more important fish to fry. I can’t think about myself right now, I need to get to Grandpa Bob and Kellie. I have to tell them about Jesus. Besides… she wouldn’t have me if she knew I was a… a “Fanatic”. Not only that, but I could never put any woman in the position of losing the man she loves.” And lose him she would, for he meant to tell Grandpa Bob and Kellie about Christ. That in and of itself was a death sentence. No, he could never subject anyone to that. And…to be married to a “Fanatic”, even if you were not one yourself, could mean a lot of trouble too. “I have to get out of here… fast,” he thought to himself. He knew if he did not leave soon, not only might he get caught and lose any chance to save his family, but he might also lose his mind!

  Slowly, he crawled out of the soft bed and inched toward the chair where he knew his pants had been neatly folded and placed. He was told that his shirts had been thrown away. They could not get the blood out of them, and the hole, he was told, was not mendable. He cringed as he reached for his pants. He was feeling a little better, but it still hurt so bad to move. Slowly, he donned his clothes. He decided to keep the shirt on that he had been loaned. He was much too modest to walk around half clothed. Slowly he sat down at the small, sturdy oak desk in the far corner of the room. There was a small pad of stationary paper and a blue ballpoint pen in the top drawer. He hated to write on the pink paper, the arrangement of red roses in the top right hand corner of the paper and the fallen petals lining the bottom of the paper definitely gave it a feminine touch, but he had no other choice. Normally he would have just scrawled a quick “Thank you” on a notepad, but he had to tell them. Besides, he’d be long gone before they found it. This way they would learn the Gospel too. He hoped he could remember what to say.