“Don’t try it!”
Two of the other gunmen warned simultaneously. The black male and the young white male aimed the automatic rifles.
Two large men—one 350 pounds of muscles and the other no less than 300 pounds and approximately 20 years older, remarkably in shape. They stood near the gunmen, ready for an opportunity to disarm.
Brother Benny and his son, Bernard Smith. Both were devout Christians. Both shared experiences in some of the most prestigious boxing rings in the country. So long ago, nevertheless, they often spent two to three days a week working out together at the local gym. Fortunately, Bernard’s wife wasn’t at church today. She was at home with their six-year-old flu-stricken son, Brian. Bernard praised God for their absence on this day. Mr. Benny had divorced Bernard’s mom several years before. Before he had accepted Jesus as Lord. She attended church 20 miles from Mt. Sherman.
“Ah Well.” The young male was circling the two masses standing, ready to project at any given second. He reached inside the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a snubnose revolver and placed it at the base of Mr. Benny’s neck.
Mr. Benny, fearless. He wore a slight grin, which was almost eerie under the circumstances.
“Use it, but I’ll still be living.” Smooth, composed.
Bernard knew his father well. Mr. Benny loved Jesus. He had no reasons to fear—he knew where he’d be.
“You, on the other hand, need Jesus.”
The young man struck Brother Benny’s temporal with the butt of the revolver. Mr. Benny fell to his knees. A crimson flow ran down his face. He did not cry out; he did not make a sound to indicate pain. Instinctively, Bernard reached his hands out towards his father.
“I’m all right, son.” Mr. Benny managed to lift his head, his eyes meeting his son’s—assurance on his face. “All is well,” he managed, though lightly.
Boom! Two shots fired into the sanctuary. Screams. People hit the floor cowering. The tall man was holding the gun threateningly.
“One more move and you all die. Starting with your Pastor.” The tall man’s voice was cold.
“Then you, old man.” The young man snarled, looking down at Brother Benny. The gun at his head. Bernard’s massive chest moved rapidly as every part of his being sought to burst through with a fury he hadn’t felt since his last boxing match, nine years before. His father’s eyes bored into his son’s. Brother Bernard read the message. He nodded his head slightly to acknowledge that he understood. “The time will come. Allow God to orchestrate.” The young man could not see the communication.
The tall man motioned to the mother section of the sanctuary. Several of the elderly women looked at each other with wonderment on their faces. The redhead walked up to the tall man and he gave her instructions. Not sure, the mothers sat and watched. The redhead, almost apologetically stood near the area. A mandate.
“You all get up and come with me.” Several of the older ladies began to stand up.
One gray-headed old lady spoke up.
“Young lady, we can’t all walk.”
She nodded at several walkers and wheelchairs that were in a corner nearby.
Clearly frustrated, Mae retorted, “Just whoever can walk, get over here!”
The old lady with three others remained seated. The young lady warned them.
“Any attempt to do anything other than walk and I will shoot.”
A hush went over the congregation at the threat towards the older women. Several voices called out, “Mom please just do as she says.”
“Granny!” A young girl, around the age of twelve, screeched.
A thin, light-skinned woman; she looked to be in her early seventies with gray-black hair turned towards her granddaughter. Tears crested her cheeks. She held a handkerchief to her lips to stifle a cry. She motioned with her finger, “Shush” to the young girl. She went with the other women.
One of the members placed an arm around the girl to comfort her, whispering, “She’ll be all right.”
Sons, daughters, and husbands stood helplessly as the elderly women were led away.
“Get down here with your people, Pastor!” The tall man ordered sarcastically.
The Pastor, head up and observing as he walked two steps down. He was on the flooring with the people. The tall man went up and stood behind the pulpit.
“All women with infants and toddler children come to the front. Sit here.” He pointed to the area where the elderly women had been. Several women began moving, holding their babies… fear escalating with every minute, with every order given.
“Don’t make me persuade you.” The tall man noticed one of the women hesitating.
The mothers gathered bags, purses, etc.; husbands and wives with newborns hugged as they parted, strengthening one another. Single moms obeying as they held babies close… moving in the direction given.
Joycelyn’s eyes watered—trying to hold the threatening flow as she shushed her eight year old daughter who started to go with Joycelyn, who shook her head from side to side to gesture “No.”
“Hell is everywhere for me!” Her thoughts. She held her youngest as the other two children walked with her. She saw the smiling usher. Only she was not smiling. Her face distorted in totally disbelief at what was taking place. The usher had clutched papers in her hands. Nervous, unsure.
“Without the smile, she looks like me.” Joycelyn did not understand why such thoughts entered her mind. She and the other moms followed as ordered. She observed the calmness of the Pastor. “I wonder if he is as scared as I am.”
The Pastor’s eyes never left the tall man except to check the places of the other gunmen. His thoughts, unreadable. Silent. Not even flustered. Silent.
The tall man turned the pages of the Pastor’s written notes. The Gunman, sardonic, scowling, turning the pages of the book.
“A liar. Yes, this is true. You are a liar.” He was speaking to the congregation. “Look at yourselves.”
All eyes bored towards this man. Many who eyed him prayed that God would send help.
There were a few whose state of fear left them paralyzed in thoughts that weren’t clear and incoherent of anything but the gunmen holding them hostage in church. Then there was the handful that knew that Satan controlled these gunmen. Satan had orchestrated this. They prayed that God would begin work through their hearts and minds, that these gunmen would know Jesus through this.
The tall man glared across the sanctuary. “Christians, you say you are! Ok, Christians. This is your day! Today is the day we kill all the Christians!”
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