Read
a Sample of Wildwood…
Chapter One
Pastor John Williams glanced around
nervously. Brandon Hayes had dropped
him off at the main concourse before going to park the van. The ticket counters were nearly deserted. Few people were moving about the airport
this early on a Friday morning, but that would change in a few hours. He carefully checked his watch while
mopping the perspiration from his brow with a worn handkerchief. It was 5:21 AM, three minutes later than
when he last looked. "Brandon ought to be able to get
a good parking space," thought Pastor Williams as he studied the
arrivals board in the main concourse.
He ran his fingers through his thin, gray hair. They trembled slightly. He started at the sudden crackling of the
loudspeaker behind him. "Attention, attention!"
commanded an unseen announcer in a static-laced voice, "There has been a
gate change. Inter-Continental Flight
256 from Honolulu is now arriving at Gate 7.
Inter-Continental Flight 256 from Honolulu is now arriving at Gate
7. Passengers connecting with
Inter-Continental Flight 256 to Philadelphia, please proceed to Gate 7 immediately." "Twenty minutes early,"
breathed Rev. Williams quietly as he headed off in the direction of Gate
7. "Thank God for small
miracles!" Paul Brown waited somewhat impatiently
for the seatbelt light to click off as the plane taxied slowly off the
runway. He slowly stretched his five
foot 11 inch frame in his seat as much as possible. After a number of years in the United
States Air Force and then several more as a missionary in the South Pacific,
Paul Brown, though not a pilot himself, had logged more hours in a variety of
aircraft over the last 20 years than he cared to think of. "These airline seats get smaller by
the hour!" he complained to his wife, Karen, who sat next to him. "Just be thankful we're arriving
early!" laughed Karen, "How
would we ever get you out of the seat if we were running late?" Karen Brown, just a couple years younger
than her husband, was a registered nurse with extensive emergency medical
training. Equally at home in a modern
trauma unit or a primitive jungle clinic, Karen had first met Paul on a
medical missions trip to Columbia, shortly after graduating from
college. He was still in the Air Force
at the time and had visited the mission clinic she volunteered at while
participating in a "training" exercise that he still could not tell
her about 17 years later. "Well, Pastor Williams and Uncle
Brandon will be glad we are early," chuckled Paul. "I can't wait to see them—it's been a
year since Uncle Brandon visited us in Tunoa and nearly two and a half years
since we last saw Pastor Williams."
Sobering abruptly, he paused and added somberly, "Unfortunately,
a lot has happened since then..." "Please remain seated until the
plane comes to a complete stop and the pilot turns off the fasten seatbelt
signs." intoned the flight attendant as the plane rolled along the
taxiway, headed for Gate 7. "Local
time is 5:22 AM. The outside
temperature is a cool 46 degrees.
Please enjoy your stay in Cleveland, Ohio. For passengers continuing with
Inter-Continental to Philadelphia, please remain on board the aircraft. Thank you for flying Inter-Continental
Flight 256 from Hawaii and have a nice day. Mahalo." As the giant Boeing 777 lumbered along
the taxiway Paul looked over to check on nine-year old Alexandria Brown and
her older brother, Ben. Ben, he could
tell, was excited but in his typically reserved manner. Karen said he took after his dad. Alex, on the other hand, was more like
her mother. Squirming in her seat and
looking intently out the window she could barely contain her excitement. She was only six the last time they were on
furlough and had spent most of her young life in the Tunoa Islands. Their overnight stay in Hawaii had been too
brief to get a real taste of the States.
Long enough to get a taste of fresh milk, real doughnuts, and fast
food though. "Alex! Sit down!" cautioned Paul, "Wait
until the seatbelt light goes off."
Ben laughed as he pushed his sister back down in her seat. At three years older than his sister, Ben
was nearly twice her size, not that she was all that small for her age. "That boy is going to be taller
than you yet, Paul," laughed Karen. Paul and Karen settled back in their
seats as the airplane rolled up to the gate, their minds racing. It was hard to believe that they had left
Tunoa only a few days ago -- it seemed like weeks. Nearly the whole church was there to see
them off at the Tunoa International Airport, along with many dear
friends. They were only halfway into
their second term when Pastor Williams asked them to pray about returning
early. The sudden, tragic loss of his
wife, Joyce, a few months earlier had devastated Pastor Williams and the
church. Though the official cause of
death was listed as accidental, Brandon Hayes had misgivings and had been
quietly digging into the matter with the help of his close friend and fellow
deacon, Attorney Chuck Krankovich.
Although the Browns were supposed to return to Tunoa in a year or so,
both had the strange feeling that they would not be returning to the South
Pacific anytime soon. Pastor Williams'
last letter only fueled those feelings. Flight 256 came to an abrupt stop at
Gate 7. The seatbelt lights clicked
off and passengers began spilling out of their seats, grabbing carry on bags
and filling the aisles. Paul stood up
and began pulling bags out of the overhead compartment, handing them down to
Ben. Karen and Alex retrieved more
from under the seats. Paul and Ben
noticed an elderly couple struggling to get their bags out of the overhead
compartment. Paul nodded at his son
who quickly went over to them.
"Excuse me, Sir, Ma'am," said Ben, "Can I get those for
you?" Pastor Williams hurried to the baggage
terminal. He headed for Gate 7 first
but airport security had informed him that he could not proceed to the gate
without a valid airline ticket.
"I really miss greeting people at the gate," he thought to
himself as he headed for the escalator. Arriving at the lower level Pastor
Williams scanned the area looking for the Inter-Continental baggage
area. He spotted the tall, lanky frame
of Brandon Hayes standing just outside the Inter-Continental baggage area
about halfway down the concourse with two luggage carts at the ready. Brandon saw him at about the same time and
waved in his direction. "I was hoping you'd remember that
you can't meet them at the gate, " said Hayes. "I'm parked right
outside. Willie Sykes called just as I
was heading to the parking garage.
Said he was tracking Paul's flight on-line and it was early. So, I came around and asked if I could park
long enough to run in and let you know where the van is. Got some carts on the way in for the
Browns' luggage. The plane is
unloading now so they should be here shortly.
I'll meet you folks outside in a few minutes. Will you be okay Pastor?" "Don't worry Brandon, I'll be all
right," assured Pastor Williams. Brandon Hayes relinquished the carts
to Pastor Williams and headed back outside to the van. It was nearly 5:30 AM. Several cars and buses were just now
arriving to pick up passengers from two Inter-Continental red-eyes and a
charter flight from San Juan, Puerto Rico, due in that morning. A newer dark gray Jaguar came angling into
the passenger loading area a little too quickly, almost hitting Brandon. Hayes avoided it with surprising
agility. Though in his late 60's he
looked much younger and had never fully lost the reflexes developed as a
foreign correspondent in some of the most remote and dangerous hot spots on
earth. Now, semi-retired as a
free-lance investigative reporter, he had time to devote himself to his
greatest passion, serving the Lord as a Sunday school teacher and deacon. Hayes unlocked the door of an older 12
passenger red van with "Wildwood Baptist Church, Wildwood, Ohio"
emblazoned on the sides. As he did so
a small, slightly built man carrying an umbrella leaped out of the Jaguar,
grinning oddly. The strange little man
told the driver to wait and walked briskly into the terminal, pausing only to
ask a skycap where the Inter-Continental baggage carousels were located. Paul Brown followed closely behind as
his family made their way off the airplane and into the terminal. Little Alex was chattering excitedly while
her mom kept a firm grip on her hand so she could not get too far ahead. Ben was walking just in front of dad. A handful of Bible tracts stuck out of his
knapsack, a little less than half of what he had started out with. The rest were scattered along their route,
stuck in magazines and seat backs on several airplanes and buses as well as
left in restrooms, waiting areas, and restaurants. Many more had been given to people, such as
the older couple he had helped on the airplane. "Thank you, God, for a wonderful
family," Paul prayed silently as they headed for the escalator. Pastor Williams waited anxiously near
the Inter-Continental baggage carousels.
He had several things he wanted to discuss with Paul and Brandon but
that could wait until they got back to Wildwood and rested up a bit. Shifting from side to side, he watched
anxiously as passengers from the two Inter-Continental flights and the Puerto
Rico charter spilled out of the escalators into the lower concourse,
converging on their respective baggage areas.
He scanned the crowd nervously until at long last he spotted the
Browns moving down the far escalator.
Excitedly he waved at them, his unease momentarily forgotten. "I see him, I see Pastor
Williams!" squealed little Alex, pointing and waving back. She had memorized his picture on the way
from Hawaii, determined to be the first to spot him. "Yes, Alex," said Karen,
"I see him too! But you'll have
to stick with me. I don't want you
running off in this crowd!" The Browns made their way through the
growing crowd around the Inter-Continental baggage carousels to Pastor
Williams as quickly as they could. It
was a warm reunion and they paused for a brief prayer, thanking God for a
safe trip. Paul and Ben put their
carry on bags onto one of the luggage carts while Karen and Alex filled
Pastor Williams in on the details of their trip. Several bags were beginning to arrive from
Flight 256 and Paul's old Air Force duffel bag was among them. Ben swung it off the carousel and onto the
floor by his dad. Paul loaded the
duffel bag onto the cart as his son scanned the arriving bags for more. Meanwhile, the strange, grinning
little man with the umbrella stood at the outskirts of the Inter-Continental
baggage area. He scrutinized the faces
of the jostling group intently. His
grin broadened in a malevolent sort of way as he spotted Pastor Williams and
the Browns. He watched patiently as they loaded
several more bags, waiting for them to move out of the crowded baggage
area. "Patience is a
virtue," he whispered to nobody in particular, his voice betraying a
vaguely French accent. Finally the last of the Brown's nine
bags had arrived and were balanced precariously on the two luggage carts
along with several of their carry on bags.
The ninth bag had exceeded the limit of two checked bags per person
and was filled with nie'emuge -- gifts -- from well-wishers at the airport in
Tunoa. Fortunately Rev. Dobemo, the
newly installed pastor of Ta Emuge Vapue Pabtesta -- Tanoan for Grace Baptist
Church -- had the foresight to bring an empty suitcase to the airport. A friend of his with the airline had
checked it to Hawaii for free, though Inter-Continental had charged them from
Honolulu on. The little man's ice-blue eyes
narrowed as he watched Pastor Williams and the Brown's leave the
Inter-Continental baggage area. One
cart wobbled noticeably. His grin faded into a tight smile as
he turned over his umbrella and gave the tip a slight twist, exposing a small
hypodermic needle. "To every
thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose," he whispered to
himself, striding quickly in their direction, "A time to die, a time to
kill, a time to weep, a time to mourn.
Paul Brown, it is your time!" "Ben!" Paul called out
sharply, "Watch that cart!"
Ben's luggage cart lurched abruptly as one of the wheels suddenly
turned the wrong way. The bags
shifted, toppling to one side as Paul and Pastor Williams grabbed for them. Simultaneously, the man with the
umbrella came up behind Paul and pretended to stumble. His right arm flailed out in front and to
the right, thrusting his umbrella sword-like toward the middle of Paul
Brown's back. He did not count on Paul
leaning to the side at the last minute, however, and narrowly missed Paul as
he lunged for the falling bags. The
man's momentum carried him forward as Pastor Williams reached out for the
bags as well and the tip of the umbrella caught Pastor Williams in his right
shoulder. In a flash, the hidden
needle flicked out a fraction of an inch and pumped a minute amount of clear,
yellowish liquid into Pastor William's shoulder before snapping back into
place. "Oh! I-I am dreadfully sorry!" apologized
the man, "I was in a hurry and my bad knee gave way. I must have been walking too fast. I hope I did not hurt you!" Startled, Pastor Williams rubbed his
shoulder, unaware that something had been injected. "I'm all right," he said,
"The end of your umbrella caught me but no harm done. Just smarts a little. How about you?" "Fine, fine!" answered the man, as he turned to leave. Karen had seen the man stumble. "Are you sure?" she asked with a
note of concern in her voice, "Are you able to walk?" "Sure, sure," said the man,
"It happens every once in awhile."
He quickly strode off before she could ask anything more. "That's odd," mused Karen
aloud, watching as he walked quickly out of the terminal. "What's that?" asked Paul,
looking in the direction of her gaze. "Well, for a man who just
stumbled as bad as he did on a trick knee, he doesn't seem to be limping or
anything." With that Karen turned
her concern to Pastor Williams as Ben and Alex finished helping restack the
bags. "How's your shoulder,
Pastor? That was quite a blow." Pastor Williams continued to rub his
shoulder. "It tingles a little
but I'll be okay Let's get you folks
out to the van and back to Wildwood.
There is a lot I want to talk with Paul and Brandon about." Brandon Hayes waited patiently
outside, leaning against the van. He
watched as the stream of people leaving the airport quickly swelled and then
slowly began to trickle off. He could
hardly wait to see his nephew, Paul, and his family again. A sudden movement caught his attention as
the little man with the umbrella rushed out of the airport and jumped into
the Jaguar parked two spaces ahead of Brandon. He was no longer grinning. Obviously angry, the little man said
something to the driver as he was getting into the car. Brandon only caught a few of the man's
words, something about "missed him!" and "wrong one!"
before the door slammed shut and the car roared off. "Seemed a little upset. Must have been here to pick up someone who
was on another flight," surmised Brandon to himself. A few moments later Pastor Williams
and the Browns came out of the airport.
Brandon forgot all about the man in the Jaguar as he ran up to the
Browns. He scooped up little Alex in
one hand while wrapping an arm around Ben, giving both of them a big
hug. Letting Alex down and Ben go, he
turned to give Karen and Paul a welcoming hug as well. Pastor Williams stood quietly off to
the side, watching the family reunion take place. He knew that Brandon Hayes was more a
father than an uncle to Paul. Ever
since Paul's parents died with Brandon's wife in a tragic car accident
shortly before Paul graduated from high school in 1979, Brandon, who had no
children of his own, had taken Paul under his wing. In spite of his own loss, he helped Paul,
an only child, with the funeral arrangements, taking care of nearly all the
expenses himself. Paul went through a rough time after
the death of his parents. Pastor
Williams credited the quiet support and steadfast love that Brandon, though
grieving deeply over his own loss, had shown his nephew with keeping him on
the right track. Paul had gone on to
college at Ohio State University, earning his Bachelor of Science in Forest
Biology with a minor in Military Science in 1984. Following graduation Paul fulfilled his
ROTC obligations by going into active duty with the United States Air Force
barely a month later. For a time,
Pastor Williams, and even Brandon Hayes, had lost contact with Paul but he
surfaced again a couple of years later in Columbia. Brandon was running down a story
concerning American drug interdiction efforts in Columbia when he chanced
upon a group of American missionaries operating a medical mission in a remote
jungle area. He was interviewing the
missionaries, including a group of medical volunteers from Kentucky, for a
sidebar story when several American military personnel stumbled into the
clinic, surprising everyone. They were
all in rough shape, bruised, scratched, and suffering from varying degrees of
exhaustion and dehydration. Several
had severe cuts and lacerations and at least one had a badly infected gunshot
wound. Brandon pitched in to help a young RN,
Karen Florenson -- now Karen Brown -- sit one of the men down long enough to
make a brief examination of his wounds.
Much to Brandon's surprise the man turned out to be his nephew,
Captain Paul Brown, USAF. He barely
recognized him due to the dirt, camouflage paint, and dried blood caked on
his face. Besides, it had been nearly
two years since they had last seen each other. As Karen began cleaning out a
particularly nasty gash on his leg, Paul filled his uncle in on what had been
happening. He had been, as his uncle
had last heard, originally trained as an Intelligence Officer and stationed
at an airbase in central England. Six
months ago, due to his background in forest biology, he was assigned to a
special joint Air Force-Army task force based at Homestead Air Force Base in
Florida. Actually, his particular unit
operated out of the American embassy in Bogata, Columbia. They had been dropped into the jungle
east of Bucaramanga, near the Venezuela border 10 days ago. Their mission was to identify and obtain a
rare variety of wild coca that did not produce the chemical compounds that
the Colombian drug cartels refined into cocaine and smuggled to America. It was rumored to be growing in the
region. Officials at the DEA in
Washington hoped that the rare variety could be cultivated and the seeds
spread by air over known cocaine producing areas throughout Central and South
America. Plant biologists at the
Department of Agriculture theorized that it would hybridize with the
cultivated coca, drastically reducing the amount of cocaine produced per
pound of leaves and drying up the profits. Unfortunately, things had gone badly
wrong six days into the mission. Paul
and his men had identified several possible plants and were collecting them
when either a rouge Colombian military patrol or a band of rebels -- they
were not sure which -- surprised them.
A few shots were fired but the Americans managed to elude the
Colombians by sliding down a steep hillside into a rain-swollen creek below. They splashed hurriedly along the creek
while the Colombians, reluctant to slide down themselves, raced along the
ridge above firing down on them. As
the Americans ran along the creek they suddenly hit a slippery steep area
where they lost their footing and slid into a larger stream that took them
nearly three-quarters of the way down the mountain before they realized what
was happening. By the time they regained their
footing the Colombians had given up the chase. Paul and his men took stock of their
situation and realized that they were all accounted for. Only one man had been shot and their medic
quickly bandaged up his wound and checked over the others. Everyone was banged up and bruised to some
degree but able to walk. Unfortunately,
the radio and most of their supplies had been lost or ruined. Paul headed them downstream figuring
that eventually they would reach the Magdalena River and find some way to get
in touch with the embassy. Three days
later they spotted the mission clinic near the tributary that they had been
following. They watched carefully that
night and well into the next day, not sure if they should risk approaching
it. What little food they had was gone
and their comrade's gunshot wound desperately needed treatment. Paul, a born again Christian, prayed
fervently about what to do when he noticed a tall, familiar looking American
arrive and enter the clinic.
"That looks just like Uncle Brandon!" he told himself,
"But it couldn't be -- not out here in the middle of the jungle! But then again, maybe God is trying to tell
us its safe to go in." Cautiously the Americans got to their
feet and made their way out of the jungle and into the clearing surrounding
the clinic. Paul was the first to
enter the building -- little more than a sheet metal roofed shack -- and was
surprised to find a number of Americans and several Colombians who were just
as surprised to see him. The American
missionaries and medical team, after getting over the shock of having a
bedraggled band of American Air Force and Army personnel unexpectedly walk
in, quickly began taking care of them.
Paul did not see the man that looked like his uncle at first, at least
not until after a pretty, dark-haired nurse named Karen made him sit down so
she could look at his wounds. The man Paul had seen outside came
over to help Karen. Paul managed a wry
smile, "Uncle Brandon, I presume?" Paul convinced his uncle not to
include him or his men in his story and used the mission's radio to call for
a med-evac flight to come and pick them up.
They had managed to retain a few of the plants that they had collected
but the project was disbanded two months later and Paul's team was
dissolved. He wound up stationed at
Fort Meade, Maryland, after a brief furlough back home in Wildwood. Brandon Hayes surprised his nephew with
Karen's address and telephone number.
A few months later they were engaged to be married on March 2, 1987,
one year from the day that Paul had stumbled out of the Colombian jungle and
into her life. Pastor Williams' thoughts were
interrupted as the Browns and Bro. Hayes joined him by the van. "How's your shoulder, Pastor?"
inquired Brandon while opening the side door of the van. "Karen told me some guy hit you with
an umbrella." "I'm fine," answered Pastor
Williams, "Though it still hurts a bit; sort of tingles. Actually, it is starting to throb now. Burns a little, too. That umbrella must have jabbed me harder
than I thought." "You should let me take a look at
it, Pastor!" said Karen motioning to Pastor Williams. She patted the van seat and continued,
"Maybe it broke the skin. Let the
boys load the luggage in the van and you have a seat here while I take a
look." Pastor Williams grudgingly complied
with Karen's request. He might have
argued with her but how do you argue with a nurse? Besides, his shoulder was beginning to hurt
more by the moment. The throbbing was
turning into a fiery sensation that was spreading across his shoulders and
down his back and arm as he removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. "Paul! Uncle Brandon!" cried Karen, "Come and look at this!" Paul and Brandon hurried from behind
the van, leaving Ben and Alex to finish loading the bags. They gasped at the angry looking
bluish-white spot with bright red lines radiating out from the center that
was spreading across Pastor Williams shoulder. "What is that-!" began Paul. "I think we should head to the
hospital," interrupted Karen, "I don't like the look of this at
all. Something must have been on the
tip of that umbrella and it got into his shoulder. He needs to have this checked out by a
doctor right away." "Southwest is not too far
away," said Brandon, "Paul, you get the rest of the stuff and the
kids loaded and I'll start the van!" Paul and the kids hurried to get the
remaining bags into the van. Karen got
Pastor Williams settled in the van and climbed in next to him with a serious
look on her face. Paul could tell she
did not like the look of the spot on his shoulder and was more worried than
she let on. Paul slammed the van's rear door shut
as Alex jumped into the van. Ben
climbed in after his sister, pulling the side door shut behind him. Paul hopped into the front passenger seat
and turned to make sure everyone was buckled in as he fastened his own seat
belt. Turning to his uncle he said,
"Let's have a quick word of prayer...
Heavenly Father, we want to thank you for a safe journey home. Now, Lord, we ask that you would be with
Pastor Williams. We do not know what
is wrong but we know that he is in Your hands. Give us safety and clear roads as we head
to the hospital. Amen!" No sooner had the others said,
"Amen!" as well, Brandon Hayes had the van in gear and was pulling
away from the curb. He glanced down at
the clock on the dash, noting that it was only 6:34. "Rush hour would be starting soon but
Route 237 should be fairly clear still," he told the others. They made good time getting out of the airport and
onto the highway. Heading southwest
Brandon pushed the van as fast as the traffic would allow, scanning the
traffic ahead and behind. He was a
good driver, probably the best in the van - or the whole church, for that
matter. Some years ago, back in the
seventies, he had done an investigative piece on a defensive driving school
in Arizona that trained drivers for various firms operating in third world
hot spots. His employer at the time,
World News Digest, had enrolled him in the school's six-week program. He had done well and even had offers from
several firms who were impressed with his abilities. Distracted by his concern for Pastor
Williams he did not notice the dark gray Jaguar that pulled out onto the road
behind him and matched his speed, following at a discreet distance. End of Chapter One... |
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LINKS Richfield, Ohio |
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WILDWOOD An Age-Old Mystery Unfolds A Novel By Alfred B. Davis |
|
Called back from Tunoa early by his pastor, Missionary Paul Brown is
plunged headlong into an ancient evil that threatens to destroy him and the
Wildwood Baptist Church. Armed with
his faith in his Savior, Jesus Christ, and with the help of his family and
fellow church members Paul Brown races to uncover the mystery before it is
too late. From the sudden death of Pastor Williams to the final confrontation with
evil itself, this fast-paced thriller will keep you on the edge of your seat. Cost: $8.49 (Including shipping and handling) |
|
Copyright 2004 by Alfred B. Davis All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher or
author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles
or reviews. All Scripture quotations are from
the King James Version of the Bible. Published in April, 2004 by Maple Knoll Publications P.O. Box 452 Richfield, Ohio 44286 On the Web at:
www.mapleknoll.us Email us at:
WILDWOOD or
alfland@mapleknoll.us |
|
Alfred B. Davis is the Pastor of the Bible Baptist Church In Richfield,
Ohio. Prior to becoming pastor, he was
sent from the Bible Baptist Church as a missionary to the Samoan Islands. He also served in the United States Air
Force, spending most of his time stationed in England. Davis resides in Richfield with his wife, daughter,
and a faded calico cat. |
|
" So then faith cometh by hearing, and
hearing by the word of God." -Romans 10:17 |