#hubriscarved

[thefcther-blog1]

Defeat. It was a bitter taste in the mouth. More acrid than metal. Lingering on his tongue like garlic. It didn’t just invade his mouth either. It crept to his chest and chilled his heart. What did this mean? Had he strayed from the path? Why would God send him away from Eden? Was it another test? Was the murder of his family not test enough of his devotion and commitment? 

The truck rattled this way and that against potholes and uneven roads as they traveled far from Hope County. Handcuffs bit into his wrists, furthering his discomfort. Yet he didn’t have a thought for them. His mind was with his flock, and he prayed that they might survive without him there to guide them. They were what mattered.

They were the future. 

Beside him was another disciple . . . though he used that term loosely. He only knew her as Toni. John had been responsible for bringing her into the Project. A woman he knew from his past. Joseph was wary of her presence around John. His brother’s tendency towards violence was something Joseph had been trying to help him stay away from him. A reminder of his past so near could possibly threaten the progress that they had made. 

Perhaps it had. Perhaps it hadn’t. Perhaps John could never defeat his demons. His life had ended too early to tell. Or perhaps it had ended exactly as it had meant to . . . these were questions he wouldn’t have answered until he joined his brothers and sister. 

All the same, Toni had not been meant to be arrested with him. She had been there with a fresh supply of arms and ammunition. Had she arrived an hour before or after, she would have been spared. Yet, God had chosen her to sit beside him. 

Hours passed and though his body was bruised and beaten from the struggle, he uttered not a word. Silence held him through the transfer point where they were taken onto a private jet. Joseph heard them say they were being taken to Seattle. Something about needing to reach a high-security facility where his Word hadn’t touched. 

Idly, as they soared over the forests of Washington, a bright light caught his eye. Joseph turned to the window and his eyes widened as a mushroom formed from the ground to the heavens. Not just one. Several. Bright lights burst everywhere . . . until the shockwaves hit the plane and sent them hurtling towards the ground. It had happened. The Collapse was here. 

There was joy. There was vindication. And then there was peace. Alarms blared and the oxygen masks fell from the overhead container. Handcuffed as he was to the seat, it wouldn’t help him. Across from him, his gaze found Toni’s. “Be at peace, child,” he told her, even as the pilots yelled and the Air Marshal was yelling back at them. “God will protect us.”

It was his last words before the plane landed hard, finding a clearing in the forest to at least touch down on. But it hurtled towards the trees and struck the line of thick wood, flipping vertically and then upside down. Joseph closed his eyes and simply kept his body relaxed as the plane shook around him, his body jerking against his restraints. In the strain, his handcuffs broke from the chair, and he held them in his lap. 

When the plane finally stopped moving, he opened his eyes and found them . . . upside down still. Silence. The smell of ash and burning wood. Engine oil. His gaze first went to the pilots. Blood dripped to the floor and ran down the aisle. The Air Marshal, having been unbuckled, was nowhere to be found. Then his gaze took in Toni. 

She was still in her seat but he was unsure whether she had been harmed. Unbuckling himself, he dropped to the ceiling of the plane and reached up for her. “Does anything hurt?”

@hubriscarved

[bledsins]

hubriscarved replied to your photoset:                                          don’t...

Oops… Love you!

‘oops?’ what do you mean ‘oops?’ 

what did you do???

[bledsins]

“ so what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this ? ”

@hubriscarved | days gone | accepting

It would be a blatant lie if John ever said he never missed Atlanta. The cities were always so vibrant, so chaotic. It was a world away from the serenity of Hope, from the slower pace of life away from the rat race, from the grit and the grime. But he’d spent too much time in the clean, fresh air of the Montana hills and valleys that when he’d first stepped off the plane at the airport he’d almost gagged on what was once familiar and meant he was home. The air was thick with fumes and the smell of people (body odour, perfume, hairspray, cologne) all amplified by the cloying, humid heat of Georgia in June. Still, John couldn’t help the feeling that he’d come home, if only for a brief visit. Part of him wants to head straight to the tall glass tower he’d once worked in day after day, muscle memory does too, but that’s not what he was in town for and so he heads in the opposite direction.

The anonymity of the city was something he greatly missed, he was just another face in the crowd and, apart from the cab driver commenting on the exposed ink on his hands and forearms, people passed him by. By now, in Hope county, he was known – though opinions of him differed greatly between individuals. There was no way to hide who he was. His ego thanked him, but sometimes a reminder that Hope was a microcosm was needed. It was also a reminder that eventually, all of this would be ash along with the people in it. Sometimes he needed that reminder too.

John knew the old haunts like the back of his hand and really, he hoped he wouldn’t have to trawl around all of them to find the person he was looking for. He knew, at the very least, that she was in the city and he also knew what it was she was in the city for. It stood to reason that she would be found at the usual spots even if it had been nearly six years since he’d vanished off the face of the earth. Instinct told him to go to the same bar he’d met her in almost a decade ago. It’s instant gratification when he sees her at the bar. Practically the same place as she always was. Predictable, but it worked in his favour.

He slipped into a stool beside her without a word, his light travel bag placed at his feet before he orders three fingers of scotch, neat. The Project might have a strict no alcohol policy, but John was far from the Father’s gaze and what he didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, it’s not as if he doesn’t have a bottle of dark liquor squirrelled away at the ranch. He can feel eyes on him as inked fingers reach for the tumbler, tilting it so he can see the liquid catching the dim lights coming from behind the bar. 

Her voice pulls a laugh which is swallowed along with a mouthful of whisky and blue eyes roll her way, his lips still lingering on the rim. “I would say that you’ve stolen my line, but I can’t say I’ve ever used one so awful.” Another mouthful and he turns slightly in his seat, elbow resting on the bar. “For shame Antonia. I thought you were better than that.”