Chapter 14 Chapter Fourteen

Harold sat on the bed, looking down at his feet, unhappy as ever. Nasty August.Nasty cough. Jacob and Patricia Stone were both asleep in bed.There were glistening beads of sweat on Jacob's forehead, but the old lady didn't sweat on her forehead. Although the stuffy air made everything feel like a wet towel, she could almost wring out water, but she always complained about the cold. There was a window above Harold's cot, and he could hear people talking and moving outside.Some of them were soldiers, but most were not.The number of inmates in this prison has long since exceeded the number of guards. There are probably several thousand people in the school now, Harold thought, and it is difficult to count.

Two people outside the window were talking in a low voice.Harold held his breath and wanted to stand up to hear more clearly, but then gave up. After all, the bed may not be strong enough.So, he heard only a few grumbles and whispers. Harold shifted on the bed, put his feet on the ground, straightened his legs quietly, then stood up and looked up at the window above, hoping to hear better.But those annoying fans kept humming like a swarm of giant bees flying down the hallway. He tucked his itchy feet into his shoes and was about to go out for a walk on the school grounds. "What's wrong?" came a voice from the shadows behind him. It was Jacob.

"I'm going for a walk," Harold said softly, "you go to sleep." "Can I go with you?" "I'll be back soon," Harold said, "and you have to babysit our friend for me." He nodded at Patricia. "She can't be left alone, and neither can you." "She won't know," Jacob said. "What if she wakes up?" "Can I go?" the child asked again. "No," said Harold. "You have to stay here." "But why?" Outside the school came the sound of heavy cars driving across the road, the voices of soldiers, and the clatter of their guns.

"Little Martin?" cried the old lady, who woke up too and scratched the air with her hands. "Little Martin, where are you? Little Martin!" she cried. Jacob turned to look at her, then at his father.Harold wiped his mouth with his hand and licked his lips again.He squeezed his pockets, but couldn't find a single cigarette. "Well," he said, coughing under his breath, "I see, since we're destined to be locked up here together, let's get out together too. Take the things you don't want stolen," said Harrow "This is probably the last time we'll sleep here, and when we get back, we'll probably be homeless, or rather, without a bed to sleep in," De said.

"Oh, Charles," said the old lady.She sat up from her cot and put on a light coat. Before they turned the first corner, a group of people had already rushed into the art classroom that had just been vacated, preparing to settle down inside. They could live in the art room instead of being huddled like others, which was the most help Bellamy could do to Harold, Jacob, and Mrs. Stone.Bellamy never talked to Harold about it, but Harold was not stupid and knew who to thank. Now that they had walked out of that classroom to an unknown fate, Harold couldn't help feeling that his behavior was a kind of betrayal.

But now the deal is done, and there is no way out. The air outside was sticky and humid, the sky in the east was faintly white, and dawn was coming.Harold looked down at his watch. It was already morning. It turned out that he hadn't slept all night. There were trucks coming and going, and soldiers yelling passwords.Jacob took his father's hand, and the old lady moved closer to him. "What's the matter, little Martin?" "I don't know, dear," said Harold.She took his arm, trembling slightly. "Don't worry," said Harold, "I'll take care of you two."

A soldier came over.Although it was still dim in the early morning light, Harold could tell that this was a young man, eighteen at most. "Come with me," said the big boy soldier. "Why? What happened?" Harold wondered if there had been a riot, for the tension in Arcadia had grown over the past few weeks.Too many people are forced to be locked in this small space; too many resurrected people want to return to their old life; too many original people don't want to see those resurrected people being treated inhumanely; tasks beyond their comprehension.Harold had a hunch that all this might suddenly end badly.

People's patience is limited. "Please," said the soldier, "please come with me, we are transferring everyone." "Where are you going?" "A better place," said the soldier. At this time, a shout came from the direction of the school gate, and Harold thought he recognized that voice.Everyone turned their heads. Although the morning light was hazy, Harold recognized Fred Green from a distance.He was standing at the door with his face almost touching the tip of a guard's nose, yelling loudly and pointing like a madman, causing everyone to look over there.

"What's the matter with that man?" said the soldier standing beside Harold. Harold sighed. "Fred Green," he said, "is a big problem." Before the words fell, there was a commotion in the school building.Harold estimated that twenty-five to thirty men ran out screaming, some pushing aside soldiers who stood in their way.They coughed and screamed as a thick column of white smoke rose from the corridor and spread out the windows. Behind the crowd, where the smoke and shouts came from, more people were stumbling towards the door, and an indistinct voice among them shouted: "We represent the natives!"

"My God," said Harold.He looked back at the front door of the school and saw all the soldiers running back and forth trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Fred Green was gone.Maybe, Harold thought, he had started it all. At this moment, Marvin Parker suddenly walked out of a cloud of smoke in the school.He was wearing work boots, a gas mask, and a T-shirt that read "Get Out of Arcadia" in what appeared to be Magic Mark ink.He threw a small green metal can in the direction of the school gate.A second later, the can made a "bang" sound and emitted a cloud of white smoke. "We stand up for the natives!" He shouted again, the voice coming from under the gas mask was a bit dull.

"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Stone. "Come this way," Harold said, pulling her out of the crowd. The soldier who had just spoken to them had already rushed towards the crowd with his gun drawn, and was yelling for everyone to back off. Two soldiers grabbed Marvin Parker roughly.Usually they are still polite to this old man, but now they can't care about it at all.Marvin Parker kicked and punched them all, and even punched someone hard, but it was his last struggle.The soldiers hugged his legs, tripped him, made a terrible "crack" in his legs, and then only heard him screaming in pain. But the scene has gotten out of control, and restlessness is spreading among the crowd.For the Risen, the resentment of being locked up in school has been pent up for too long, tired of living away from their loved ones, tired of being treated like a Riven rather than a real person. Pieces of broken rock and some glass bottle-like things started flying around in the air.Harold also saw a chair—probably pulled out of some classroom—fly through the early morning sky and hit a soldier on the head.The soldier slumped to the ground, clutching his helmet tightly. "My God!" exclaimed Mrs. Stone. The three men managed to get behind one of several trucks parked on the other side of the yard.Harold heard only shouting and cursing behind him as they ran past.He waited for shots and screams to break the din. Harold picked up Jacob, holding him tightly in his arms with one arm, and clutching Mrs. Stone beside him with the other.She was sobbing softly, still saying "God" over and over again. "What's wrong with them?" Jacob asked, his voice hot with fear on Harold's neck as he spoke. "It's all right," Harold said. "It'll be all right soon. They're just scared, scared, and angry." His eyes burned and his throat started to itch. "Close your eyes and try your best." Don't breathe," said Harold. "Why?" Jacob asked. "Listen to me, boy!" Harold replied, the annoyance in his tone meant to mask his fear.He looked around for a safe place to hide, but also worried what to do if the soldiers spotted them and mistook them for troublemakers.After all, there is a riot going on right now.He never thought that this kind of thing would happen to him, he had only seen such scenes on TV before, and they would only happen in densely populated big cities, where too many people were always treated unfairly. The smell of tear gas became more and more pungent.He started to runny nose and couldn't help coughing. "Daddy?" Jacob horrified. "It's okay," Harold said. "It's nothing to be afraid of. It's going to be okay." He peeked out from the back of the truck and saw a cloud of fluffy, cotton candy-like smoke billowing in the direction of the school. , into the morning sky.The sound of fighting gradually weakened, and it was more the sound of dozens of people coughing together.Weeping could be heard from time to time in the smoke. People gradually came out of the smoke, and because they couldn't keep their eyes open, they coughed and groped forward with their arms outstretched.Soldiers, standing out of the way of the smoke, seemed satisfied that the tear gas would quiet people. "It's almost over at last," said Harold.He saw Marvin Parker sprawled on the ground, his gas mask off. Marvin was completely different from what Harold remembered.Although he was still tall, pale, and thin, with deep wrinkles around his eyes, and his fiery red hair, he looked so hard and cold now.He even grinned as soldiers twisted his arms behind his back and handcuffed them. "It's not over yet," he yelled, his face tensed and grim, his eyes watering from the tear gas. "God," repeated Mrs. Stone, clutching Harold's arm, and asked, "how did people become like this?" "It'll be all right," said Harold. "We'll all be safe, I promise." He frantically searched his memory for what he knew—or thought he knew about Marvin Parker. .However, apart from Marvin's bouts of boxing, nothing could explain his behavior today. "Where's Fred Green?" cried Harold, looking about with his eyes but failing to find him. When Reverend Peters shut himself up in his study, his wife usually left him alone.Unless he asked her to help with a passage, she kept away from him and let him write his sermons.But now, the poor old lady was standing outside the door, and kept begging to speak to the priest. The pastor's wife let Lucille in, took her by the hand and walked slowly into the house, Lucille's whole body leaning against the petite woman. "You're such a nice guy," Lucille said.She tried to walk as fast as she could, but couldn't.With her other hand she clutched the worn leather-bound Bible, its pages brittle, its spine falling apart, and its cover torn and dirty.The book looks so old and dilapidated, just like its owner. "I need your guidance, pastor." Lucille finally walked into his study and sat down.The pastor's wife was out again, and Lucille still couldn't remember her name. Lucille wiped her forehead with a handkerchief, and then kept stroking the Bible, as if to get good luck out of it. "I was lost," she said. "I couldn't find my way. It was like wandering in a wilderness of doubt." The pastor smiled. "You describe it vividly," he said, hoping it didn't sound as arrogant as he thought. "I'm telling the truth," said Lucille.She wiped the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, sniffed again, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Is something wrong, Lucille?" "There's a problem everywhere." Her voice choked, and she cleared her throat, and went on, "This world is crazy, they can take people out of their homes like fugitives, they even break into the house, pastor, It took me an hour to put the door back on. Who did this? Is it the end of the world? Reverend! God bless us all." "Don't worry, Mrs. Lucille, I didn't expect you to be the kind of person who worried about the end of the world." "I'm not, but look at all this and see what things have become now. It's terrible. I don't even think that Satan is responsible for the current situation, at least not in the teachings. Maybe Satan I never entered the Garden of Eden at all, maybe Adam and Eve ate the apple themselves, and then planted it on Satan. Of course, I would never think so before, but now, seeing what happened recently..." Her voice trailed off. "Shall I get you something to drink, Madame Lucille?" "Who can drink it at this time?" She went on to say, "Or, I'd better have a cup of tea." The priest patted his large hands. "now it's right." When he came in again with tea, she had calmed down a bit, and put down the "Bible" that she had been holding on to all this time, and put it on the table next to the chair.She put her hands on her lap, and her eyes were not as red and swollen as before. "Here you are," said the priest. "Thanks." She took a sip of her tea. "How is your wife? She looks upset." "She's just a little worried about the current situation, nothing else." "That's true. There are too many facts to worry about." "It's like the end of the world, isn't it?" He smiled. She sighed. "They've been locked up in that place for weeks." The priest nodded. "You can still visit them, can't you?" "It was okay at first, I was able to see them every day, bring them food and a change of clothes, I had to let my son know that mum always loved him and never forgot him. It was a bad time, but at least it was ok Put up with it. But now...it's just unforgivable." "I heard they don't allow visitors now," Pastor Peters said. "That's right, and they banned visitors before they took over the town. I never thought that someone would dare to quarantine the whole town. I never thought in my life. But, I can't imagine Things don't mean they won't happen, that's the flaw of the solipsist! The truth of the matter is there, you just open the door and you can see it, everything. All the facts you can't imagine are there, only Waiting for you to reach out and meet them." Her voice trembled. The priest leaned forward in his chair. "You speak as though it were all your fault, Lady Lucille." "How could it be my fault?" she said. "How could I have done these things? Did I make the world like this? Did I make people so small and timid? I To fill people's hearts with selfishness, jealousy and violence? Which thing did I do?" Her hands began to tremble again, "Is it me?" Reverend Peters took her hand and patted it lightly. "Of course it wasn't your fault. Well, when was the last time you spoke to Harold and Jacob? Are they all right?" "Are they okay? They're all criminals, how could they be any better?" She wiped her eyes, threw the Bible on the floor, then stood up, pacing back and forth in front of the pastor, "They will definitely follow the rules You must have a plan for dealing with things, right, Pastor?" "I hope so," said the priest cautiously. She sighed heavily. "You young preachers, you're supposed to give the impression that you know everything. Hasn't anyone taught you that?" The pastor laughed. "These days, I've given up all illusions," he said. "I don't know what to do at all." “Things will change,” he said. “That’s the only thing I’m really sure about. But how it’s going to happen and what kind of change it’s going to be, I don’t know.” Lucille picked up the Bible again. "So what do we do?" she asked. "Do your best." Lucille sat in silence for a long time, just looking down at the Bible, wondering what the pastor meant when he said to her, "Do your best."She has always been a person who does what others say, and the "Bible" is the best guidance in her life; it told her how to be a good child when she was a child, and when she reached puberty, she told her the code of conduct for girls.Of course, she was not completely obedient, and she did some things that were not expressly prohibited in the Bible but were obviously not advocated.Still, those things were memories of the good old days, and while she did it, she didn't do much harm to anyone, including herself. After marriage, she still looks for answers in the Bible.She learned from it how to be a good wife—of course, she also chose to obey, because some ways of being a wife no longer make sense in this day and age.Frankly speaking, Lucille also thought that even back in the times in the "Bible", those dogmas might not make sense.If she really acted like the women described in the Bible... Then, I am afraid that the whole world would have been turned upside down, and Harold would probably have entered the world early because of excessive smoking, drinking and eating too much. In the tomb, the miracle of the son's resurrection from the dead is no longer visible. Jacob, he was the focus, the source of all her tears.People are killing the resurrected to make them disappear completely. Things like this don't happen everywhere, but they do happen. For more than a week, related reports have been broadcast on TV.Some nations, those notorious for their cruelty, have begun killing Risen in broad daylight.Not only killing them, but burning their bodies as if they were a contagious virus.Every night there are more and more reports, with photos, videos and online messages pouring in. Just this morning, Lucille came downstairs, and the sound of her lonely footsteps echoed in the dark and empty room as always. Lucille found that the TV was still on, making light noises in the empty room.Why is the TV on?She clearly remembered turning it off before bed last night.But she had to admit that she might have remembered wrongly. After all, she was already a seventy-three-year-old lady, and it was not impossible for this kind of thing that she thought she had turned off the electrical appliances but actually turned them off. It was still early in the morning, and there was a bald black man with a neatly trimmed mustache on the TV, talking in a low voice.Looking over the man's shoulder, Lucille saw a lot of people rushing in and out of the studio at the back. They all looked young, wearing white shirts and conservative ties.Ambitious young men they seem, Lucille thought, each of them trying to get ahead, hoping to one day take this bald black man's place. She turned up the volume a bit and sat on the couch to hear what the man had to say, even though she knew there would be no good news. "Good morning," said the man on the TV, apparently on a routine note, "our headlines today come from Romania, whose government has issued an order declaring that the resurrected are not born with human rights, that they are a 'special' group and therefore do not enjoy equal protection." Lucille sighed, not knowing what else to do. The TV picture switched from the balding black anchor to the live picture, which Lucille guessed was Romania.A pale and haggard resurrected man was seen being led away from his home by two soldiers.The soldiers were thin, clean-shaven, with small features, and a look of embarrassment on their faces, as if they were too young to understand why they were doing this. "The fate of the children..." Lucille said to herself to the empty room.The pictures about the Wilson family, about Jacob and Harold, suddenly filled her heart, even filled the whole room, making her chest tight.Her hands trembled, and the TV picture became blurred.At first, she was a little confused, and then she felt tears running down her cheeks and hanging on the corners of her mouth. Once upon a time—she couldn't tell the exact time, she swore to herself that she would never shed tears for anything again.She felt that her age was no longer suitable for crying.When life reaches a certain stage, all sorrows will always be taken lightly.Even if she still feels those emotions today, she won't cry anymore.Perhaps it was because she had lived with Harold for so many years, but she had never seen him cry, not once. But it was too late to think about it now, she just cried like this, the tears could not be stopped, and for the first time in so many years, she felt that she was still alive. The TV was still on, and the man was handcuffed and put into a large military truck with the rest of the resurrected.Outside the screen, the announcer's voice continued. "NATO, the UN and the Bureau of Investigation have not commented on Romania's policy, and although we have not heard official statements from other countries, public opinion has been divided between those who support Romania's policy and those who believe that the government's actions are contrary to the basic human rights." Lucille shook her head, tears still on her face. "The fate of the children..." she repeated. It didn't just happen in "those other countries", not at all.The same scene is playing out in the United States.Those idiots, and their "primitive movement," have spread and popped up in various forms across the country, from south to north, from east to west.Most of the time, they just make a few noises, but from time to time, there will always be some death cases of resurrected people, and then some organization clamoring to "stand up for the original people" will come out and claim responsibility for it. It's already happened in Arcadia, though no one talks about it.A reanimated alien was found dead in a ditch next to a highway, shot by a .30-06 bullet. Every day it gets worse, and the only thing Lucille can think about is Jacob.Poor Jacob. After Lucille left, the wife of Pastor Peters went to bed quietly, and he sat alone in the study, reading the letter from the Bureau of Investigation again. The letter stated that Elizabeth Binch and other resurgents from that area of ​​Mississippi had been gathered in a detention facility in Meridian because of public safety concerns.In addition, the letter did not provide more details, but told him not to worry, they will take corresponding measures against the resurrected according to the specific situation, and everything is based on the premise of respecting human rights.The letter was written formally and appropriately, a typical government document. Outside the study, the whole room was silent, only the old grandfather clock at the end of the corridor ticked rhythmically.The clock was a gift from his father-in-law, who died of cancer within a few months.She had grown up listening to the bell, and every night of her childhood, the sound of the clock would accompany her every night.When she and her husband first got married, they missed the bell all day and got so restless that they had to buy a metronome or she wouldn't be able to sleep. The priest came out into the corridor and stood before the clock.The clock was only a little over six feet high, and was richly ornately carved.The pendulum inside is as big as a fist, and it swings back and forth rhythmically all day long without any failure, as if it was not created a hundred years ago, but was just created. This clock is regarded as a family heirloom by her family.After her father died, she and her siblings fought each other—not over the cost of the funeral, or how to divide his father's house, land, and limited savings, but over the pendulum clock.Because of this clock, the relationship between her and several siblings is still very tense. But where is their father now?Reverend Peters thought to himself. He had noticed that his wife had tended the grandfather clock more carefully since the Resurrection appeared. The clock had just been oiled and carefully polished, and it still smelled. The pastor left the big clock and continued to pace the room.He went into the living room, looked at the furniture around him, and stood for a moment, silently taking everything in his mind. The table in the middle had been found on their way all the way from Mississippi; the couch had been picked up on a visit to a church in Wilmington, not as far away as Tennessee, but they had agreed to buy it One of the few things.The sofa is blue and white, and the pattern of the cushions fades from blue to white, "Carolina blue!" the clerk proudly tells them.The armrests of the sofa are curved outward, and the pillows are large, thick and soft. The table she had picked out in Tennessee was of a different style than the sofa, and he didn't like it at first sight: it was too slender, the wood too dark, and the workmanship too drab, and he didn't think it was worth the money. Reverend Peters wandered about the drawing room, picking up a book from the litter of books now and then.With gentle and slow movements, each time he picked up a book, he wiped the dust off before putting them back on the shelf.Sometimes he would open a certain book and slide his fingers across the pages, rubbing back and forth, feeling the smell and texture of the pages, as if he would never see a book again in the future, as if time would eventually destroy everything. take them all away. The priest cleaned up silently for a long time, but he didn't realize it.Gradually, the chirping of crickets outside quieted down, a dog barked in the distance, and the dawn dawned. He has waited too long. It was really his fault, it was actually fear.But even so, he walked slowly and silently around every corner of the house. He came to the study first, put away the letter from the Bureau of Investigation, then picked up his notebook, and of course the Bible.He puts them all in a messenger bag that his wife gave him for Christmas last year. Then, from behind the computer desk, he took out a bag full of clothes, which he had just packed the day before yesterday.The clothes at home are always washed by his wife. If he packs them too early, she will find that there are fewer clothes in the closet.He wanted to leave with as little trouble as possible, just to slip away like a coward. The pastor tiptoed across the room, out the front door, and put the bundle of clothes and satchel on the back seat of the car.The sun had risen, and although it had only just reached the tops of the trees, it was evidently rising higher and higher. He went back into the house and walked slowly into the bedroom, only to see his wife curled up in the middle of the big bed, still sleeping soundly. She must be heartbroken.he thinks. She was about to wake up, she always got up early.He put a small note on the bedside table next to him, thinking about whether he should kiss her. He finally dismissed the idea and left. When she awoke, the house was empty, the pendulum clock in the porch outside was still ticking to the last minute, and the sun was streaming into the bedroom through the shutters.It must be a hot day, she thought, with it being so warm early in the morning. She called her husband's name, but there was no answer. He must have fallen asleep in the study again, she thought.Recently, he always fell asleep in the study, which worried her a lot.She was about to call him again, when she suddenly found a note on the bedside table with her name written on it in his characteristic unrestrained handwriting. He doesn't usually have the habit of leaving notes. When she read the note, she didn't cry, she just cleared her throat, as if to respond to the note.Then she sat up, only hearing the sound of her own breathing, and the mechanical rhythm of the clock in the corridor.She thought of her father, and tears filled her eyes, but she still didn't cry. The handwriting on the note looked vague and distant, as if shrouded in a mist.But she read it again. "I love you," said the paper, with a line underneath, "But, I need to know the truth." Jim was in a daze now.How did the soldiers find them?What role did Fred Green play again?For as long as Jim could remember, Fred Green had been a pleasant fellow.If the two didn't work together back then, and their spare time life was not in the same circle, they might still be friends.They just don't have a chance to be friends, Jim thought.But if that was the case, how could he be in the situation he is in today?Jim was puzzled. He is now a prisoner.A group of soldiers found the family and took them away with guns pointed to their heads.Fred Green was there, watching.He sat in his old utility truck parked behind some soldiers and watched as Jim and Connie and the children were chained up and taken away. What has changed in Fred?Jim couldn't sleep all night thinking about it.If he could have thought of this earlier, his family would not have been imprisoned. Jim stood in the school crowd, the whole family huddled close to him.They are queuing up to collect their lunches, although the portions are always pitifully small. "What's the matter with him?" Jim asked his wife.He has asked this question several times, but so far, she has not been able to give a reasonable explanation once.Jim finally understood that contemplating a mystery, even one as shady as Fred Green, was a distraction from what had happened to his own family. "He wasn't like that before." "Who?" Connie asked.She helped Hannah wipe the corners of her mouth.Ever since they were arrested, or detained—whatever the word was—Hannah's mouth had been chewing repeatedly.Connie understands that people express fear in different ways. "You're not a child anymore, you shouldn't be like this," she scolded. Fortunately, Tommy behaved much more reassuringly.He was so terrified by the sight of the soldiers taking them away from the Hargraves that he dared not move.Most of the time, he just sat quietly and didn't talk much, as if he was immersed in his own world. "I don't think he was like this before," Jim said. "What has changed? Has he changed? Or have we changed? He looks dangerous now." "Who the hell are you talking about?" Connie asked, confused. "Fred, Fred Green." "I heard his wife died," said Connie quietly. "I hear he's been a different man since then." Jim didn't speak.He thought desperately, and managed to recall something of Fred's wife.She is a singer, and she sings very beautifully.He remembered that she was tall and thin, like a noble and beautiful bird. Jim looked thoughtfully at his family.As he looked at them, he realized suddenly what family meant to each other, and people to each other. "I think that's why," he said.Then he leaned over and kissed his wife.He held his breath, as if that would make time stand still in this moment forever, as if this kiss alone would protect his wife and family, and all the people he loved, from any impending harm, to keep them forever. Will not leave themselves. "What's the matter?" Connie asked when Jim released her.She blushed and felt a little dizzy.It was something she had only felt in her youth, when kissing was new to them. "For everything I can't put into words."