The Prophet: Death: A Sci-Fi Thriller by David Beers

Author:David Beers [Beers, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-04-10T22:00:00+00:00

Jackson Carriage was 28 years old. Daniel Sesam knew his name now, knew his age too. He saw a lot about the man, more than he wanted, and realized there was more to come.

He stood alone in a vast yard. It was farmland, and a farmhouse in front of him. In the distance, to the right of the home, cows grazed—none looking up at the stranger before them. People came and people went, but the important thing to them was right in front of their faces. Perhaps those cows had reached enlightenment.

Jackson hadn’t yet, though, but at 28, he hoped he might find it inside this house. He wore a suit with a tie, and carried a briefcase. His shoes were polished to a superb shine, reflecting the sunlight above. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, then used it to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Summertime and hot, Jackson’s mentor hadn’t understood why he insisted in going out to the farmhouse like this. That was okay. Jackson didn’t need his mentor’s permission to do it, nor his understanding. He was past that part in his apprenticeship, able to do as he wished now.

His mentor, Brent, had said something the other day that made Jackson think this approach would be best.

“We’re running out of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Twenty years ago,” Brent said, “it seemed I was hunting a different one every month. Now, you’ll go months with no work. The only reason we brought you on at all is because of this damned cancer eating me up. Otherwise, there simply isn’t enough work for both of us.”

And that was true. Brent was in an infirmary right now, getting his treatments, but if he’d been in the field, there wouldn’t be any need for Jackson—because, they were running out of people who possessed the sight. Which was why Jackson stood dressed as he was, holding a suitcase and looking just as pleasant as pie.

He wanted these farmers to think he was a traveling salesman. Something right out of Pre-Reformation time. They kept an idyllic looking farm here, why couldn’t he add to that idealism? Jackson walked up the long driveway, doing his best to keep his eyes off the front door. He could feel the boy inside; it was like a pulse inside his mind, and the closer he drew to the house, the harder it beat.

He reached the porch, climbed up the few stairs, pulled back the screen door, and knocked.

Jackson wiped the sweat from his brow once more as he waited, making sure to place the handkerchief back in his pocket when he heard steps inside.

The door opened and Jackson gave his warmest smile. He knew people felt something was off about him almost immediately, so he and Brent had worked on disarming them. The first thing was a smile. People trusted smiles, and Jackson was good at understanding when things were turning against him.

“Can I help you?” a woman asked.

“Ma’am, I’m George Franklin and I’m with the Catholic Church’s Bible Replenishment Group.

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