Terminal Justice Read Online Free PDF

in college, in graduate school, and at church. Many times he found himself so caught up in his work that hours passed without his noticing. Now he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his weary eyes. He had been on the job two days, yet it seemed no more than two hours. If it hadn’t been for the occasional blurring of his eyes, he would have had almost no sense of time passing.
    He sighed heavily. There was so much to learn, so much to ingest. David had set three goals for his first week of work: learn the computer system, review tapes of A.J.’s speeches, and watch the Barringston briefing tapes provided by Peter Powell. Now halfway through his third day, he had accomplished all those goals. He felt good about his new job and the nobility of the work, but he was also emotionally exhausted. The tapes of the relief work were graphic and untempered. They were nothing like the sanitized versions broadcast on television by other charitable groups. These tapes showed the ugly face of starvation in garish and undiluted detail. Through the tapes, David traveled to the Sudan, Yemen, the Philippines, Bangladesh, Mexico, and even the Appalachian Mountains. Through the lens of the camera he saw children dead of dehydration caused by diarrhea, mothers carrying long-dead infants, mass graves, and the barely mobile skeletons of once-robust men.
    Over the last two days, David had reviewed all eight hours oftape twice, taking them home to study. The first time he watched them out of duty, the second time out of discipline. What impressed him most was the sacrificial work of the Barringston teams. Doctors, nurses, agricultural specialists, and more, walking through the morass of death and decay. Each day they faced the hideous image of despair, and each day they gave their all to beat back death. Their pictures never appeared in newspapers or on televisions. They received no glory or honor. They all struggled stoically against a seemingly impossible enemy.
    Over the years David had met many missionaries who had left home and friends for distant lands to spread the gospel of Christ. He had always admired their dedication and willingness to forsake a more comfortable lifestyle at home. But until now he had never realized what one person would endure to help a nation of strangers. Yet here they were, living in tents, mending broken bodies, burying the dead, and standing toe-to-toe with death. Simultaneously, David felt a sense of pride at being associated with such benevolent souls and a sense of profound shame at not being one of the ones on the front lines.
    While not attempting to sway the viewer with overt emotionalism, the video pulled no punches. One could not watch such poignant footage without being wounded in soul. One picture touched David deeply. It was of an emaciated child no more than six years old sitting on a woven mat with his knees drawn to his chest. He wore only a red-and-blue striped T-shirt. Lying on the mat next to him was his mother, who was clearly dead. Two Barringston workers came, rolled the deceased woman onto a pallet and took her away, presumably to a mass grave. The boy did nothing, said nothing. He didn’t even look at the men who took his mother’s corpse. Instead he stared ahead and slowly rocked from side to side. Death was no longer a stranger to this boy; death was what happened every day, and no energy could be expended grieving.
    David struggled to push those thoughts aside; he had otherthings to consider. At hand was his review of A.J.’s speeches. Several manuscripts were scattered across David’s desk, surrounding the yellow legal pad on which he had been scribbling notes. On the other side of the office was a television, and on the screen was the frozen image of A.J. behind a podium. David sighed and stretched.
    It took a moment before he realized he was being watched. In the doorway to his office was the head of a young man. At first it looked to David as if the head had miraculously grown out of