Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ

by Brandon Messerschmidt

The thick arms of night squeezed David Sparks and his two new companions. The darkness was heavy and tight, wrapping itself around them as they walked blindly through the wilderness. They seemed to be at altitude, as the air felt thin and scarce in its coolness. Breathing came at a cost, each draw exhausting them further and adding to a mounting fatigue that overwhelmed each of them.

  "I don't know how much longer I can keep at this." Terry Jackson remarked, fog spewing from his lips as he spoke. "I can't see, I can't breathe... I can hardly feel my legs. I think it's time to stop."

  David was much younger than the man and his wife - who was still humming her tune of praise. It was difficult for him to press on as well, but he was driven by some internal fire that pushed him forward through the nothingness.

  "We have to keep moving." He suggested. "I think we're almost there."

  "Almost where?" The old man growled, parking himself on a fallen tree after clearing yet more thick brush. It felt incredible to rest, despite the fact that the damp bench he had chosen made his dress slacks more uncomfortable than they had already been. "We don't even know where we are, how can you possibly think you know where we're going?"

  Sparks paused now as well, but fought the urge to sit. His legs were angry with him, cramping in their rage. They had surely marched for miles in the hours since the airport, each step of the way fraught with pain and anguish as the landscape worked to hold them back.

  "You're right." Dave admitted. "I have no idea where we're headed." He looked in the direction they were traveling, weaving side to side in an attempt to see through the blackened trees all around them. "I figure it has to be close, though - we've been walking since dawn. How far could it be?"

  "What?" Terry snapped. "What the hell are we looking for? There's nothing out here, David!"

  "There has to be." He countered. "Why else would he put us out here? He wanted us to find something."

  "He has a plan for us." Michelle finally spoke up sweetly. Her aged face was locked in a grin that was unbroken through their trek. Since before she laid eyes upon The Lord she had been overtaken by some strange trance of glee and peace. It seemed as though she were on another plane; in a place of comfort that was hidden to the men at her side. "He wants us to find the garden!"

  "Sit, Michelle." Her husband directed, brushing dry a spot next to him on the log. "Your heart can't take all this foolishness, you're too old for this kind of walking. You too, David." He commanded. "We're not going any further tonight. Whatever it is we're after will be there in the morning."

  "Why didn't he say anything?" Sparks wondered. "Why would he just put us out here in the middle of nowhere without telling us what to do?"

  "It's a test!" Michelle returned. "Like Moses was tested in the desert!"

  Whatever it was, test or not - it was brutal. This place was barren; frigid and unwelcoming. Escaping the horrors of the terminal seemed, at first, a blessing. After catching the bullet meant to end David Sparks' life, The Christ had given just one directive before casting the three of them off to this place.

  "Walk in my light."

  At that he had vanished in an aura of light, the rays engulfing them like a transporter beam engaged by Scotty on some intergalactic planet. It was warm and full of love, nearly lulling them to sleep in its grace. As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone... and it had left them here. They were dressed in traveling clothes; not prepared for any hike. Being sent to this place now seemed to have been a curse instead... at least the wreckage of the airport was warm.

  By day the woods were peaceful, though cold and thick with vegetation. Now, in the grasp of night, the world was ominous; foreboding and icy as a freezer. Though The Lord had spoken of his light, there was hardly a sign of any in sight. In the morning hours the sun had seemed obscured. It burnt a dull orange in the east and seemed to linger there through the day. It hadn't so much set as been overtaken by the dark, a faint glimmering star assuming its place in the heavens. This point of light was all that shone throughout the midnight sky. No signs of life anywhere else, the group had marched toward its throne.

  "No." Dave insisted. "We can't stop here. This is not the place to camp."

  "Suit yourself, David," Jackson replied, pulling off one of his loafers and pouring out a load of dirt. "You do what you will, but we're staying here."

  The man's stubbornness angered Sparks, a fact evident in his voice when he responded.

  "What? Are you crazy? You can't just stop here! We would have to build a fire - find something to cover the ground for us to sleep on!"

  "I'm not building any fire." The old man promised. "And I'm not walking another step tonight."

  "You'll freeze!" Sparks laughed. "Both of you; you'll freeze to death out here!"

  "Perhaps we will. Or perhaps The Lord will look out for us. Who's to know what will become of us now. I'm comfortable leaving that in the hands of God."

  "You'll die if you don't keep moving!"

  "No, we won't." Michelle said to him with her smile. "We'll be fine here, son - you just go along your way."

  David shook his head and watched them hug, holding steadfast to their plan. He didn't want to leave them behind, but he knew he had to go.

  "How will I find you?" He asked. "If I find what we're after, how will I get you there?"

  "We'll be here, waiting." Terry said assuredly. "Until daybreak, at least. Just leave a trail in the brush... if you don't come back for us by then, we'll just follow your path. We'll come back together, eventually -- if that is God's will."

  "I wish I could be so sure of that." Dave returned solemnly. "I wish you luck, my friends. In whatever it is that awaits us."

  "Thank you, son!" Michelle said back. "May The Lord bless you along your journey."

  Sparks simply nodded, turning hesitantly to the star. He didn't look back once as he moved on, abandoning them to the night.

  The forest seemed infinite as steps and time moved him along. Acres seemed to repeat themselves, the scenery never changing on his trek. Still, he pressed forward; hours passing like days in the struggle. Even when it seemed the sun should rise, the horizon remained dark. Dave himself grew tired, wanting desperately to sleep. It was not to be, however... he had to keep moving towards the beacon in the sky.

  When it seemed he had no more to give he heard the first foreign sound. The distinct mechanical click-clack was chilling, even amidst the cold, and froze him there in his step - his heart pounding where he stood. In the black to his left he saw the unmistakable barrel of a shotgun focused squarely on him.

  "Halt!" A raspy masculine voice with a notable southern drawl ordered. "Who goes there?"

  "David Sparks!" He said through rattled teeth, raising his empty hands into the air. "Please - don't shoot!"

  The disembodied gun closed in on him, a tall figure emerging from the trees behind it. The man wore a tattered cowboy hat accentuated by a large feathered charm at its front. He was dressed more appropriately for the cold; a heavy woolen trench draped around his shoulders and raining to the ground. It trailed behind him like a cape as he walked, bringing the barrel closer to David's head.

  "Where did you come from?" He asked, the odor of chew ripe on his breath. "Where do you think you're going?"

  "Well," Dave hesitated. "I'm not sure I can answer either of those questions."

  "I sure as shit suggest you try!" The man shouted back, choking up on his weapon as though preparing to fire.

  "Please, Mister - I..."

  "What do you want?" He interrupted, anxiety building in his heavy voice. "What are you after?"

  "Please," David begged. "Please, just don't shoot! I was at the airport."

  "What airport?" His finger twitched over the trigger.

  "Harper Falls!"

  "Harper Falls?" He asked, confused. "That's three hundred miles from here, Mister Sparks! I know you don't expect me to believe that
you've walked three hundred miles out here tonight?"

  "Sir," He continued. "I don't know where I am! Please -- just relax. I was sent here by The Lord!"

  "Who?" The stranger asked, dangling his weapon carelessly now in a manner inviting accidental discharge.

  "By Christ himself! Please!" Sparks was dancing in his terror, his body trembling uncontrollably.

  The man paused, taken aback at the suggestion. He lowered the weapon to his side, stepping close to David, and removed his hat. Underneath was a wild patch of rusty hair that curled down to his shoulders. A bushy handlebar mustache, twirled at its ends, sat below his flared nostrils. It was stained near his lips through which he spat tobacco-laden saliva as he faced down the intruder.

  His garb coupled with this anachronistic look brought images of old western sheriffs to David's mind. This man would fit into any dramatic tale of the quest to catch William Bonney without the slightest modification to his character. Sparks felt like an outlaw in his presence, the man studying him from head to toe as though confirming the description of a fugitive to be hauled in for bounty.

  "I was told to watch for you." He said plainly. "That you would be coming to me."

  He glared into David's eyes intensely, piercing his soul within. Perhaps sensing his uneasiness, the man placed a hand on the traveler's shoulder and broke his stare with a yellowed smile.

  "Breathe easy, friend." He said. "You are safe with me."

  As much as he wanted to relax, the presence of the deadly firearm still in the man's other hand made it hard to stand at ease. The stranger read this in his face and looked down at the weapon.

  "Oh, yeah." He chuckled. "Sorry about all that. We don't get to many visitors out this way... just had to be sure of your intentions. It doesn't work, anyway... not anymore."

  Dave looked over the shotgun. It looked old, but not inoperable. He wasn't sure what to make of this revelation, and he was still nervous about the man before him.

  "See, watch." The man said, raising the barrel toward a tree in front of them and squeezing off a shot.

  The blast was deafening at such close range, but the tree seemed no worse for wear. When the stranger tilted the gun toward the ground a series of pellets rolled out harmlessly and fell onto the leaves.

  "I just don't understand it." He offered in return. "It's like the laws of physics have just been tossed out the window. I've got five more at home, and not one of them could harm a fly."

  "You tried them?" Sparks cautiously asked.

  "Of course, man -- a guy has to eat! Thankfully my bow still works; else I would've starved."

  The man pitched the weapon into his left arm and extended his right to shake.

  "Name's Gary Pritchard." He explained. "I've got a cabin 'bout a mile west of here."

  "Is there a town?" Dave asked as he obliged Pritchard's greeting.

  "Nope... the nearest is another thirty off. I don't much like the company of people. I prefer to keep to myself as much as possible."

  "Where are we?"

  "In the middle of nowhere -- but I'm sure you figured that much out. We should get moving, though; snow squall moving in quick. You don't want to be stuck out here in the middle of a storm, and it's supposed to be a real son of a bitch, this one."

  Pritchard led David to a four-wheeled ATV parked amongst the brush. The man climbed on and fired up the engine, looking to Sparks to hop on behind him.

  "I left two others behind." David explained. "They're elderly... we should go get them before the snow."

  "No time for that." Pritchard hollered over the rumbling motor. "They'll have to hunker down and wait it out 'till morning. If we go now, we'll surely be trapped right alongside them."

  "But they'll freeze." David responded.

  "They'll be fine. Old folks are tough - much more so than you would think. Climb on, we'll get you nice and warm by the fire."

  He felt immensely guilty, but knew Pritchard was right. The Jacksons were far behind at this point, perhaps already dead. A cozy fire sounded wonderful, and if the man had coffee he would surely be a saint. Resigning himself, Sparks climbed aboard the vibrating beast and grabbed hold of its fairings. Pritchard turned his wrist, setting them in motion. The ride was rough, but David was far beyond tired. He felt himself falling forward into the man as he slowly drifted into sleep.

  Chapter 13