Seven Days Dead

by Christopher Johnson

  She's a natural .

  And even though he knew very well that geopolitically you couldn't survive without it these days, he was constantly surprised by how many people spoke English in this country.

  The Americans export everything, even their language.

  Tal pushed through the small, waist high doors of the soleas and made his way to the altar.

  "Your friend has been hit very hard." Father Alexius' spoke without looking up from his erstwhile patient, his voice a deep and heavily accented rumble. Tal imagined English was easier for the father than Hebrew, and since Tal couldn't speak Russian it would seem that English was to be the lingua franca.

  "He's not my friend. I hardly know him, and what I know, I don't like over much. Is he going to survive?" he replied.

  "Most likely. The head is hard. But whether he can speak or think or do after he wakes…it is a guess. Ben has told me this man bled from the ear. It is serious, then. "

  "Yeah well. If you could do what you can, it would be appreciated. The other folks over there. Have they been here long?"

  Alexius finished examining Levi and stood facing Tal.

  "They have been here for a few days. You were a soldier, yes? You stand like a soldier, speak with a soldier's indifference. I think it was your doing, the explosion I heard, yes?" the question was more of a statement, but Tal answered anyway.

  "Yes, Father. I was a soldier…of sorts. And yes that was my grenade, but I hadn't known the monastery was so close when I set the trap. The good news though, is when I was looking around I saw no movement at either end of the wadi."

  "That is good. Your friends, they told me your name. Tal, yes? Good. Come we will speak privately this way. This man, please bring him to the cells. No water for now." He spoke over his shoulder to brother Kushka as he took Tal gently, but insistently, by the arm and directed him back through the soleas and off to the right, toward one of the two side porches. Once they were out of ear shot, Alexius spared no time getting to the point.

  "Tal. This is an evil time. The dead walk among us, terrible things are happening. I have been here for the last 30 years, I know this place. You are Israeli, some of them are Arab - though you have the look of the Mizrahi to me, I think. Still, I do not wish for old enmities to be refreshed. Not now, and not in the House of God. By you or your people, yes?" Once again the question was less a request and more of an 'I'm telling you how this is going to go' kind of a thing.

  "Father Alexius, I can honestly tell you that you'll get no trouble from me. I could care where they came from, probably only a little less now that the world's gone to hell than I did before. Some of my folk are American and they probably don't care even more than me. Ben is old, Isabella is young and scared, so you have no worries there. Levi is out cold, and when he's awake he's an idiot so I can't speak for him."

  "This seems the best I will get. It will be good enough then. I also spoke with brother Sergius. He is a good man. Before coming here he was a counselor in Russia. For drinkers. Something I think you understand? He saw the signs and knows them well. I have food and water here, your people will be fed, but I think you will need to retire, yes? Before too many questions are asked, and doubts form, yes? Sergius will take you to the monks’ quarters. We have more rooms than monks, but we keep them all clean. Work can be a form of prayer, after all."

  Tal's stomach wouldn't have held food or water then anyway, and he did need to retire for the evening. The next few days were going to be tough, real tough without anything to blunt the edge of reality, but it seemed like Father Alexius was preternaturally perceptive and Tal felt he could trust him.

  "Thank you. And please…tell them what you need to in order to keep them busy. I'm not much these days, but I might be the difference between these people living and dying…if they start wondering if I can hold up, they might hesitate to listen, and then they'll die real bad, real quick."

  "I will do what I can, but truth is a light in the dark. People will find it eventually." And with that Father Alexius walked back out of the porch leaving Tal to ponder the man until Sergius pushed through the door.

  "Follow me please. I will take you to a room. Father Superior has said you took an injury, not bitten but something vague like a head injury like your friend though not as bad, to calm your friends, and you need to recover." Beckoning Tal through the door of the porch, he guided him along the side of the nave and out through the narthex.

  Once outside, he took Tal across the small courtyard to the building he had earlier identified as the monks quarters, opening the door and revealing a single long stone corridor with cells to either side.

  "I will take you to the cell at the end on the left", Sergius said, holding out his hand in that direction, "it is not so large as the others, but the door is solid and there is a space between it and the next cell. It is used for brothers who wish to..ehm…meditate? Yes? Alone, quiet."

  They traversed the hallway punctuated by wooden doors, each with a small window covered with wooden grillwork, and after a small stretch of blank wall they came to the lonely meditation cell. Sergius opened the solid door and followed Tal into the small chamber, a simple bed, washstand, a wooden bucket, and a low table - replete of course with a Bible - it's only ornamentations.

  "What's the sliding thing in the bottom of the door for?" Tal asked, noting all the details with the practiced eye of a man used to cataloging the features of every place he entered.

  "For food. When in contemplation, many do not wish to be disturbed for meals, so we slide a tray through the door. This bucket is used…well for your…umm…necessities? It is meant to be austere, though not usually longer than a day or two" replied Sergius somewhat sheepishly.

  "Grand. Thanks. Really. God knows what might have happened had we not found you and this place."

  "It is as it must be, my friend. I have found we do not choose when we find God, but it is usually when we needed to most. Father Alexius told you what I did, yes? Before here? I have also found when men drink, it is because something eats at them…trying to get out. They drink to drown this thing, make it sleep, but it wakes up eventually. I am here to help you with this, if you have need of me." Sergius gave a little bow and backed out of the chamber, closing the door softly behind him.

  Tal looked over the room once more, a brief glance toward the small window near the top of the cell wall to see it was well and truly night now, and took off his gear. He laid his pack on the floor and pushed it under the bed with his foot, stood his rifle up against the corner of the wall near the door, and set the Jericho and his other pistol on the table right on top of the Bible. Sitting down on the bed, he began to untie his boots, the process taking longer than it should because of the violent shaking of his fingers. Without removing his clothes, he lay on the bed and rubbed the palms of his shaking hands into his closed eyes. He left them closed, and clasped his hands together over his stomach, hoping that sleep would take him soon and fearful of what the morning would bring.

  ***********

  The next three days were a blur. That first night Tal slept only in snatches, waking up repeatedly, stomach turning, drenched in sweat. He hadn't noticed when, but at some point in the night as he slept, someone had come into his room and removed his rifle and pistols and locked his door from the outside. In the morning, when Tal had opened his eyes, his entire body was trembling, sweat beading on his forehead. The nightmare had come in pieces all night long, broken only when he started awake and then, in a fit of absolute betrayal, it would start at the beginning all over again when sleep finally retook him. Wakefulness brought no peace, though, as the crushing anxiety that his drinking had dulled came back with a

  vengeance. Panic, pure and complete, gripped his mind and, bereft of the adrenaline which had previously protected him, the delirium assaulted his every muscle. His vision swam and shook, and careless of everything but trying to keep himself together, he wept. Moments of clarity would pass like a cloud over the sun, and in those mom
ents he knew he had to pull it together and get up, but just as quickly the thought would be replaced by the weight of a massive depression. A tray of food had appeared at some point, but he left it where it was, the mere thought of food when he saw it was greeted with a painful bout of dry heaving. Tal couldn't count how many times he'd passed out and woken back up, nor would he have cared to if he'd been able.

  After noon, Tal opened his eyes again, and he was there, standing in the corner next to the room’s only small window. The blood stain still on his mullah's robes, right under the ribs on his left side. Right where Tal had stabbed him.

  Tal.

  "Go away, Ahmed. You're not real."

  Of course I am.

  "No, you’re not, you're dead! I killed you, remember?"

  That’s not the same thing, you know that.

  "What the hell do you want!?"

  For you to stop this self torture. For you to forgive yourself as I forgive you.

  "You have no Goddamn right to forgive me! I don't deserve it!"

  Yes you do. And forgiveness is mine to give to whom I wish. You have to stop, brother, these people have need of you.

  "Brother's don't kill each other!"

  Did not Cain slay Abel? Did not Allah send the crow to help him when Cain’s heart repented? Did not Allah forgive? If I say I follow His Word, can I do less when my own brother needs forgiveness so desperately?

  "Please…please…I feel like I'm dying, Ahmed. Just let me. Let this finally end."

  No. You are not dying; your body is going through withdrawal. You will live, and you will save these people. If you feel you are beholden to me, satisfy me with that.

  "I can't…I don't save. I murder, I destroy. I am not a hero, I'm a sinner! A pathetic thug. A killer of innocent men."

  A sinner can repent, and be forgiven. Your only sin, brother, was going against your heart. Sin is an act, not who you are. If you are forgiven, you are a sinner no more, and I forgive you. If you wish for Allah's forgiveness, then do what he has saved you for. Deliver these people to safety. Complete this circle.

  With that Ahmed faded from sight, and Tal exhausted beyond measure and dimly aware that at some point he had pissed himself, passed into unconsciousness again. The rest of the day progressed in much the same way, though outside of the nightmare, Ahmed did not reappear. The nightmare would occasionally take an even more evil turn, elements of the present mixing with those of the past. The last time Tal stabbed him, Ahmed's head fell forward, and after a moment came back up, his eyes closed. As Tal stared at him, Ahmed's eyes snapped open, dark with burst blood vessels, his gaping mouth howling with the song of the damned.

  *********

  The second day was only partially better. The shaking was only half as bad, and the fever had broken in the night. The anxiety was manageable, but the depression was crushing. The smell of dried urine assaulted Tal's nose, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He laid there for the entire day, weeping at intervals. Between the tears, as he laid on his bed in his own filth, he prayed and prayed that if God was merciful and had ever loved him even a little, tomorrow morning would find that Tal had died in his sleep.

  *********

  Tal slammed the tray against the door, the meager meal of bread and some sort of meat, probably goat, bouncing off the wood.

  "Open this fucking door right now! I swear to God Almighty that I will chew through this fucking thing and choke you to death if you don't let me out and give me my shit back!" He pounded on the door and screamed himself hoarse, but no one listened. No one came. In fact, he hadn't even heard another person since he'd gotten locked in this stinking little hole. Not that he'd have noticed much the first few days, and they were smart enough to slide the tray through the door as he slept. Damn, those monks walked quietly. For the fiftieth time that day, he swore he'd beat the first person he saw to a pulp the second they unlocked that door, and it was only early afternoon.

  The DT's seemed to have passed, the fever gone and the depression had lifted, but now he was pissed. Soooo pissed. He wanted, no needed a drink and he was willing to kill someone to get it. The fact that there was nothing to drink within miles only made him angrier, and the fact that this was probably the exact reason the door was locked and his guns had been taken, didn't help in the least. He was a prisoner, it would seem, and he'd probably done it to himself. Sergius, that old shit, had locked him away and was probably planning some sadistic thing to do to him at the first opportunity. Stupid to let his guard down. Stupid to trust people. Especially in a world as screwed up as this…plus undead cannibals. What the hell had happened to his people? Were they even still here? Probably left him to rot and got out when they could.

  There's gratitude for you. Assholes . He'd given serious thought to smashing the bucket, but since last night he'd taken to using it for its intended purpose, and he was fine with being pissed off but not pissed and shit on. At least they'd left a bowl of water and a towel this morning with a clean change of clothes. All black. And they hadn't come back to take his soiled old clothes. Probably thought that was funny.

  "Fine. You know what? Fucking FINE! Screw you all! I'm gonna wait till you put food in here again and break your fucking arm!" Shit, shouldn't have said that. Lost the element of surprise. And I'll probably go hungry now. I have to stop shooting myself in the foot.

  Tal lay down on the bed, it still smelled since they hadn't put fresh sheets under the door, but he was suddenly exhausted again and it was softer than the floor. He resolved to stay awake until they brought his next meal anyway, maybe he'd get lucky. But before the sun began to sink beneath the cliffs, the light drawn long on the floor of his cell and up the wooden door, he'd already passed into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.

  When he awoke the next morning, he felt good. Really good, well comparatively anyway. He stretched out on the bed feeling the joints in his elbows and knees pop satisfyingly.

  "Good morning. How do you feel?" Sergius voice made Tal jump and roll over so fast, he almost fell out of the bed.

  "The detoxification process usually lasts about three days, and you had been

  experiencing symptoms when you came to us. I thought today you might be a little better off. There is tea. You are lucky. Father Alexius had a black willow tree planted some years ago, and the bark has some pain relief qualities. There is no aspirin here, or maybe anywhere, anymore."

  As Sergius spoke, the headache crept into Tal as though he'd drank too much ice water, but stayed much longer. Quickly, though not too quickly, he sat up and took the tea cup off the little table and began to sip.

  "Thanks." Tal winced at how raw his throat sounded, and winced again when the warm, bitter tea hit it.

  "Your friend woke up yesterday morning. The army man." Replied Sergius.

  "He's not my friend," Tal repeated.

  "He has not been anyone's friend, honestly. There have been…issues", said Sergius, a pained look across his face.

  Chapter Eight

  "What do you mean, issues?" asked Tal, around the burning rawness of his throat.

  "There will be time for that soon enough. Father Superior has handled it thus far. Suffice it to say he has been…agitated since he awoke, perhaps a complication from his injury. There are other things we might be better served talking about…may I ask, who is Ahmed?" Sergius had become used to dealing with people who had self medicated over the years. Alcohol poisoning was one of, if not the, leading causes of death in Russia, and as a priest he had felt called to bring people from the bottle to the Eucharist. It was best to allow no time for him to rebuild his walls, to attack the crack in Tal's defenses, if he was to help.

  "How do you know that name?"

  "Perhaps you did not hear us, we came as you slept, but we could hear you and this name was said many times as you recovered." Sergius had brought a low stool in with him, and settled forward with his elbows on his knees, his posture clearly saying 'my patience will outlast your reluctance to speak'.


  "It doesn't matter. It was a lifetime ago, anyway." Tal had no wish to recount the story, relive the disgrace that memory brought.

  "As I said, when men drink, they try to drown a monster. It does not work. When they stop, the monster is still there, will always be there. The only thing that will help, I have found, is forgiveness."

  Forgiveness. There's that word again. Tal needed it, begged for it in the silent confines of his heart, but at the same time he refused to believe he deserved it. He had done some awful things, many of which hadn't even given him a moment’s unease, but this was different. Before, he'd always had the belief he was working for something greater than himself to protect his conscience. If there were any question, he'd leave the matter be and simply use the

  ambiguity of his superiors' responses to salve over any lingering guilt. But with Ahmed, he knew better, and his big mistake had been to dig a little deeper.

  "What do you want from me? A

  confession? That's what you do, right, father? Your religion says that if I ask, and you forgive, then that's it. I'm saved. Well I'm not Christian, in case you didn't know, and no man is going to forgive me what I did. God won't forgive." He rolled onto his back, placed the heels of his hands to his eyes, and hoped that Sergius would just let it drop. He did not.

  "God does forgive, Tal. Christian, Jew, Muslim…these do not concern God. What is in a man's heart is God's province, that is the seat of his church, and in your voice I hear your heart saying 'please'. Do not think of it as Confession; instead think of it as a burden that I am asking you to let me share."