The almost black clouds finally burst into an epic downpour. Senture “Runs Down Stream” Lashi lived for these moments when he could become as wild as the wind and rain. He was sprinting downstream in a cadence only understood by his instincts. The stream was typically relatively small. But it had a periodic history of short flash floods.

Senture lived for these moments. The downslope of the stream allowed him to gain more momentum as he ran. He jumped from bank to bank and, at times, splashed through the shallower sections. All the while yelling and praising Creator for moments like this.

Senture was dressed only in his track shorts and his barefoot shoes. His long blonde hair was loose and sticking to his skin from the rain.

The joy of the run during the wildness of the storm contained a patina of sorrow. The Pastor of his church and most of the people who had attended last Sunday’s service were gone. Their church was raided by a force of over one hundred deputized militia troops and taken to one of the numerous internment/concentration camps scattered throughout the Pacific Northwest. Senture hadn’t been there as he was out scouting his favorite deer hunting unit, as he had scored one of the rare season licenses for the upcoming hunt.

Senture still didn’t know who else had not been rounded up. The rumor was that the prisoners would stay in the camps until they allowed the Global Troops to implant the chip, which would allow access to the global financial system. The guards in the camps found they needed to man their watches in the overcrowded barracks due to the number of suicides taking place.

Senture spent a long time sitting on his favorite prayer rock, praying for wisdom. What now? Where should he go? Would those stormtroopers be waiting for him when he got home?

Even though Senture was Native American and enrolled in his tribe, he wasn’t a prepper. He was an excellent hunter and was at home in the woods. But all he had now was his bow and his backpack full of camping/survival equipment. Senture realized he had been putting off restocking his dried foods for the upcoming trip. Now, he wondered, would there be anything left in the stores? His mind conjured up fantastic scenes of people ransacking stores for food, gear, and guns.

Eventually, Senture began running up the hill toward home at a moderate pace. As he ran up the street towards home, he noticed several families packing their trucks and SUVs to flee the city.

Senture was walking when he came to his neighbor’s house. Betsy James was sitting on her front steps, obviously in an almost catatonic state of shock. Her face was blank, and she looked as if she had been crying.

Senture walked up and knelt and asked her, “Betsy, what’s wrong? What happened? Where’s Tim?”

Betsy didn’t respond until Senture gently touched her hand. She held up her right hand for Senture to see the back of it. There was the telltale mark of the chip. Those who hadn’t voluntarily taken the chip were now being rounded up and forced to take it.

“Betsy, where’s Tim? How did this happen?” Senture was examining the implant and trying to contain his own emotions as the situation in his neighborhood ramped up into higher stages of chaos.

Betsy looked up at Senture and began sobbing again. “Tim’s dead, Senture. He told me not to let them put the chip in my hand because the consequences with God would be worse. I couldn’t make up my mind. Tim wanted us to kill ourselves rather than let them take us. I lost it and ran to Judy’s house for help. But both of them were already dead. When I came back, Tim was gone. He’s in the backyard! And, now, I am cursed to go to Hell!” Her crying became hysterical.

Senture was close to crying as well but helped Betsy up and walked her next door to a quiet place to help her cope.

Betsy lay on the couch in Senture’s guest room and quickly fell asleep. Senture walked to his kitchen to make a cup of coffee and stood watching out the kitchen window as the families fled to where they could disappear into the mountains.

Senture’s peace disappeared when the first gunshots rang out. People — some of the same families who had just driven up the street — appeared running down the street back towards their homes. One of the newer neighbors, one of the current cadre of Game Wardens, turned the corner into Senture’s yard and hid behind one of the brick retaining walls in his yard. He was carrying his .12 Gauge shotgun and his .9mm sidearm, and he was bleeding from a wound to his shoulder.

Instantly, a new model of the Medium Tactical Vehicles stopped in front of his house. They knew where he was; there had to be a drone overhead. The Game Warden was in the process of shoving shells into the shotgun when a flashbang landed right next to him, which seemed to knock him out as he fell over.

Senture ran to the garage, gathered his bow and pack, and after quietly praying over Betsy, he quietly made his way out the back gate and back into the brush around the stream.

Many months later, Senture found himself as one of the leaders of a small group of survivors deep in the Trinity Alps section of the Coast Range. A week ago, he found the hand. Senture and his team of hunters stumbled over the body of a man who looked to be a prepper. He was carrying everything but the kitchen sink. There was so much gear that the three of them wondered how he had managed to make it this far into the mountains.

But the most fascinating find in the pack was a jury-rigged cold pack that held a human hand. It still had the chip installed.

Now, the more tech-savvy members of their group were intently trying to reverse-engineer it. Progress was minimal. The chip contained something that didn’t want to be solved. Something not technical.

A few days later, a woman with twin girls walked into the camp, and they all burst into tears with relief at finding friendly faces. Senture figured this must have been the family of the man they had found. They all had the chip. We all recognized the danger we were in with them in our camp. We quickly became divided between those who demanded that we tell them to leave and those who wanted to try to disarm the chip so they could stay.

The gravity of the situation exploded when the camp heard the sound of a helicopter bouncing off of the mountains. It was only a matter of time before their chips would give our camp’s location away to the Militias. Even if we sent them away, they were already too close for them to get far enough away from our camp.

That is when I heard Grandmother Jewel say, “Senti, look at me! Listen to my words! Pray! Prayer is how you ask for help when your elders are not able to help you. Creator hears you! Pray Senti! I have seen a time when you will remember my words. Pray, Pray, Pray, Senti!”

He understood what Grandmother was saying. She had seen this moment and was urging him to pray for the woman and the girls.

Senture walked quickly over to them and asked her if he could pray for them. Senture wasn’t sure exactly what to say, but he began praying, and the compassion and the situation touched the Holy Spirit within him, and the words flowed out.

Instantly, peace fell on the camp, and everyone turned to Senture and the woman.

Then the woman cried out and said, “Look! Look at our hands! The chips are coming out on their own! It feels like someone is pulling them out of my hand!”

Then the tech who was working on the hand shouted, “The chip is dissolving! It’s bubbling away! Look at what God is doing!”

Everyone looked at Senture and began asking questions about what he had prayed.

But Senture stopped them and said, “I asked Him to give us a way to survive. That He was our only hope. But I don’t think it’s about what I prayed. It’s about what Creator is saying to us. He is saying we shouldn’t be afraid. It’s His battle.”