The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two by G. Wells Taylor Page B

streets of the City. They would shuffle out of
their despondency long enough to listen to her loving words about
God and faith, and while salvation was rare, she spoke the Word of
God, and speaking it gave her the strength to remember her
vows.
    She spent the following years praying with
ragtag groups of the lost and homeless, and revived her Bible
studies. She worked at mission houses and shelters. Cawood even
began to think that the Word held the answer for the Change—a reply
to its dark challenge. Trials defined a person’s faith. And
understanding the trials became her passion.
    While working at a methadone clinic on Level
Two she stopped on the street one day to speak to a group of
forever-teen addicts who hung around looking for handouts. They’d
given her the predictable guff, but she had hope for one of them
who had hesitated before walking away. As she bent to retrieve her
bag, a man stepped up to her. He was tall, blue-eyed and wore a
deeply creased frown on his face. “You have Faith, Sister! Hallelujah !” Then he blushed. “I hope you don’t mind. I
overheard what you said to those poor unfortunates.” He continued
to blush. “Inspiring.”
    “Thank you, sir.” She had studied his
demeanor. His head was large, his visage somewhat wasted. “God’s
love is the answer.” She gave him a longer glance. “You’ve accepted
this, brother?”
    “I have, and share the message with all His
world. And I shall ever strive to do so. This darkness assails us
from the outside and we must not allow it into our hearts. The sun
no longer shines on us from above so those of us who remember it
must remind our brothers and sisters who have forgotten. For the
Light remains!” His thick lips moved expertly around the words.
    “Sometimes they only see the clouds that
cover it,” she had said, the man’s gaze was open and honest.
    “That is why my mission is to building a
shining beacon for all the world to see. A Lighthouse of Hope so
the storm gripping the world will claim no more of our brothers and
sisters on the rocks of despair. We must light the way.” He reached
out a hand, and she clasped the warm flesh in hers. “I have seen
the passion with which you speak. And you speak while so many are
silent. That tells me there is a will to live inside of you, and a
will to live is evidence of hope. I need that hope if I am to
accomplish what I struggle so long to do alone. Sister, let me tell
you of my mission for it comes Heaven sent, and I can carry this
only so far alone. I think you will agree that there is but one
choice for us.”
    And Reverend Stoneworthy had told the sister
of his mission. All of it: his fall from grace, the Angel and the
Tower. He had already done much work, and the plans for the Tower
construction were being drawn. But resistance among the gathered
faiths slowed things. With her help he could expedite this mission.
So compelling was the light in his eyes, so seductive was the
passion of his revelation that Cawood saw this as a penance for
all, and so she committed herself to the difficult task ahead.
    She dove into the work like a heaven sent
shower and scrubbed herself clean with endless meetings and
protocol. Together, with the help of like-minded people of God from
the four-corners of the earth, they labored to raise the funds to
build Archangel Tower, and in its construction—they believed—the
introduction to the manifesto for salvation.
    And they succeeded. Combining their passion
for God had made them unstoppable in their ability to influence and
innervate. Gradually, the Tower grew slowly at first, growing in
speed with each passing year—as its magnificence was understood.
For as the structure grew, so also did its image as a beacon of
hope. Stoneworthy’s mission became the mission for all. Within
Archangel’s thousands of rooms would be headquarters for the
world’s religions. Theologians would be called there to study the
Change, to divine its meaning. Archangel Tower