Free Exodus: Book Two: Last Days Trilogy by Jacqueline Druga Page B

Kyle’s eyes pinned his. “Mr. Stevens… Reg,” Marcus clenched his teeth, “I can’t believe you told your father that.”
    Kyle scoffed. “I can’t believe you slept with Marcus.”
    “Hey,” Marcus defended.
    “Marcus?” Kyle squinted. “Reggie, if you want to lose your second virginity, why not with someone who wouldn’t do it so... so... textbook.”
    “Hmm,” said Reggie. “That makes sense. But, don’t worry, Daddy, we didn’t have sex. Only slept in the same bed. We’re saving sex for after we get married.”
    Marcus nodded a ‘so there’ look to Kyle, and then asked Reggie, surprised, “We’re waiting?”
    “Married?” asked Kyle.
    “Marcus proposed.” Reggie folded her arms.
    Kyle glared at Marcus. “Don’t even think about marrying my daughter.”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you felt that strongly about me.”
    “I never minded you until you murdered your assistant.” Kyle winked. “Let’s go. But before we do, we need disguises. There’s roadblocks. And you, Marcus, are a wanted fugitive.” Kyle handed them a bag. “Reg, I brought you the ‘Lester’ costume from Halloween. And Marcus... yours is the best I could do in a pinch. Your mother picked it out.”
    Marcus peeked in the bag. “Oh no...”
    Reggie looked. “Oh, you’re gonna look awesome.” She turned to Marcus and kissed him on the cheek.
    Kyle turned away, grimacing. “Don’t do that in front of me.” He shuddered. “Please.”
     

Los Angeles, CA
     
    They grew in the worst section of urban blight, in the darkest spots, in the shadows of vacant buildings, the haven of vandals. They grew like magic. Orange trees, tall and wide. They sprouted through the concrete streets, a sign of life in a dying world. The residents were drawn to these trees, and the green growth all around them. In the wake of tragedy, the downtrodden residents celebrated the mystery and miracle of them. And they especially celebrated Devante, who sat, glorified, in the midst of them.
    They gathered around him, while word of his appearance spread fast and drew more and more people to his flock. And Devante went nowhere. He sat in the center of the people, their children surrounding him. The news media was, of course, in the center of things, mixing in amidst the crowd.
    It wasn’t Dodger Stadium. It was Devante and the people. People of all races.
    Devante picked an orange from a tree and handed it to a little boy. “Watch,” he said to the boy and pointed to the tree. Two oranges grew back in its place. “It is yours. All yours,” Devante declared. “This city, the ‘City of Angels,’ as you call it, is shined upon. The people here welcomed me, and you see what happens. You will never be hungry in this neighborhood. More trees will grow, everyday. You see what happens when you believe?”
    The little boy gawked up at him. “Are you living here?”
    “For tonight.” Devante crouched, eye-level with the lad. “I will stay amongst you tonight. Then I must move on. I and others must spread the word. I will return. Fear not. For there are those who wish to take my life. They will not win. Our army of believers grows strong in the war to stop the world’s end. And you, my soldiers, are shined upon in your battle.” Taking another orange from the tree, Devante sat back down in the center of the people and spoke to them.
     

Interstate Thirty West, the Indiana-Ohio Border
     
    “Justice for God,” Leonard O’Neill began his address to his nation.
    Kyle, Reggie and Marcus listened through the static of the weak truck radio.
    “That’s what they call their movement,” O’Neill continued. “Ironic, isn’t it, that these terrorists would give their movement such a name. In the wake of all that has happened. In all we have witnessed. More than two hundred thousand are being detained at this time. Hopefully, by tomorrow’s newspaper, you, the public, will have the list of those we are still searching for. The United States