Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ

by Brandon Messerschmidt

Weeks passed slowly.

  Darius had pulled the plug, leaving a terminally ill patient gasping for breath in a futile fight for survival. America had died; it just didn't know it yet. The parasites that fed on its flesh for so long continued to consume its decomposing carcass, being slowly poisoned by the rot in their refusal to forfeit their empty lives.

  Jennings didn't need to leave his hometown to know that this end was widespread. As the saying goes, when America sneezes - the world catches cold. This wasn't a case of the sniffles, however; it was an affliction as savage as Ebola, as contagious as Bubonic Plague and as consuming as Necrotizing Fasciitis.

  The stone Christ had directed him to observe the unraveling of society in its entirety, but his heart simply wasn't in it. He roamed the streets of the township in which he was born and raised, watching the world fall on a small scale.

  Nothing in the small rural community of Pine Knob worked; Darius' amplification of the EMP had taken care of all man's devices, here and around the globe. With no trucks rolling down the roads, the infrastructure of modern human life had crumbled quickly.

  When Jennings had left the ruins of Trinity Redeemer two months ago, he had met up with Tom Gordon; an old friend and former parishioner. Gordon explained what had happened to the fifteen hundred citizens of Pine Knob while Jennings was masquerading as a scientist at the other end of the globe.

  Tremors had rocked the town, bringing down many of the aged homes and leaving the Old Church as Cameron had found it. Panic had erupted as the media filled the airwaves with tales of the death and destruction sweeping the nation and beyond. There had been earth quakes, tsunamis, floods, tornadoes, hurricanes, landslides, volcanic eruptions, sinkholes and every other type of disaster known to man. It seemed that every inch of each continent had been besieged by catastrophe in one form or another, and all within just hours of each other. It was as though someone had opened the gates of Hell and let its contents spill out upon the entirety of the world.

  Fearing they were in the midst of the apocalypse, survivors of the quakes in Jennings' hometown had gathered at the church to seek guidance from their highly regarded mentor in Christ. Of course, the preacher was nowhere to be found.

  The Civil Defense sirens had sounded, a prelude to the blinking out of every machine and electrically operated device in the city. Tom Gordon was well educated in the means of war and was therefore familiar with the phenomena known as an electromagnetic pulse. He had told everyone of its effects and that it likely meant a nuclear bomb either had detonated or would soon do so in their vicinity. While his intention was only to educate, his words had driven the others to panic and caused an all out riot in the sacred hall.

  The blood Jennings had washed out of his pulpit fall was that of Collin George; another close friend of the church. Apparently he had gone mad, lashing out violently at everyone around him. He had retrieved a jug of gasoline from the shed of a neighbor and doused the interior of the church with it, lighting the pews ablaze.

  Gordon explained that five men had been injured trying to restrain Collin, knocking over the pulpit and altar in the process. The man's strength seemed superhuman and he could not be controlled despite the best efforts of the most physically fit among them.

  Fearing for the safety of the children gathered there, Gordon had stabbed the man to death with his own pocket knife. Others had managed to extinguish the fire in the meantime. Once a sense of calm had been restored, the mob had buried the body behind the church.

  It became clear that there was to be no atomic blast, so the townsfolk gathered at the mayoral hall to devise a survival plan. Jennings imagined similar scenes playing out in cities throughout the world.

  With no more internet, cell phones, television or radio broadcasting ability, each town and city's population had been thoroughly cut off from its neighbors. Small groups likely banded together, as this one had, and formed plans to preserve themselves at the expense of all others that stood in their way.

  Unfortunately for this particular community, the citizens of nearby Glenn Meadow beat them to the punch. Presumably fearing the limited food stores of their own market wouldn't sustain them for long, the generally kind-hearted neighbors had invaded Pine Knob with a bloodthirsty fury. Armed with farming implements, the raiders had stormed the local grocery store. A brutal battle ensued, citizens of both towns shedding blood and being gruesomely maimed or dismembered. In the end, it was Glenn Meadow that prevailed. They had prepared for war while the citizens of Pine Knob debated rationing strategies, and their preparations paid off. They had cleaned the general store out, carrying every bit of sustainable food back to their own coffers.

  With only a scarce amount of perishables left over and an overwhelming number of injured brethren, survivors had set out, carrying the wounded, toward the big city where they hoped to find a functional shelter. It was a sixteen mile journey, but the only credible hope for their survival.

  Tom Gordon had stayed behind, preferring to meet his death amongst the landscape he called home. He had planned to spend his final days praying at the church. He was understandably shocked at the appearance of the wayward priest, but no less pleased to have company in this otherwise empty place.

  In the hours and days after they had been reunited, Gordon seemed to hold on to some form of misplaced hope for their rescue. He spoke of the National Guard sending food via airdrop or finding the two of them in a reconnaissance sweep. Jennings didn't have the heart to tell him that help would never come. It was clear to him that the man would not be convinced to leave Pine Knob, no matter what happened. They simply roamed the town together, reminiscing about days gone and fighting the elements.

  The preacher himself still wasn't sure what to make of Darius and this supposed second coming, so he didn't bother his friend with details of the pending demise of mankind. He simply did his priestly duties; listening, comforting and counseling in the word of The Lord. It was horrifically depressing; Gordon had been a miserable soul before the onset of the apocalypse - the loneliness of the dead town did him no favors.

  When Gordon felt hungry the two of them would scavenge for food to feed him. Strangely, Jennings never longed for nourishment. This didn't seem terribly abnormal during the first week or so, as he figured his grief had simply suppressed his appetite. Two months in, however, hunger was still absent in his empty stomach. This was probably for the best, though, as finding enough to satisfy Tom had become just about impossible at this point. The winter's snow destroyed anything resembling edible vegetation and they had emptied the pantries of every standing home in the neighborhood of their canned goods a week ago.

  "I'm so hungry!" The man whined as they sat on the snow covered stoop of Jennings' modest home. "And Cold! So fucking cold!"

  Though Jennings was somehow unscathed by the frigid temperatures, Gordon bore the signs of frostbite across much of his body. Exposure had turned his nose a deadened black, gangrene having taken root and spread around under his eyes. His hands were useless, his feet like stones on the end of his legs as well.

  "I know, Tom." Jennings assured him. "It's going to be okay..."

  "You keep saying that... how can you keep saying that? We're going to die, Cameron!"

  "Yes." He said softly. "But when you die your soul will ascend to Heaven; there, you shall not want for food or shelter."

  "When, Father? When can I go?"

  "Very soon I'm afraid, my old friend."

  "I want to go now, Father! I can't stand this place any longer! Please, Cameron... please help me die!" The man broke down in a child-like fit of crying, digging his face into Jennings' parka where his tears froze immediately.

  The preacher sympathized, but having been responsible for the death of one close friend was enough to suffer his conscious for an eternity.

  "Why did he do it?" Gordon continued. "Why did God do this to us? You said we were his children; what father would do
this to do this to his own children?"

  "He does it to punish us." Jennings offered solemnly.

  "For our sins?"

  "For our inequity. He gave us everything we could've wanted. Life... love... his only begotten son. What did we give him in return? We shunned him... blasphemed his holy name... turned our backs on his teachings and refused his guidance. He trusted us with the world, and we made a mockery of his creation. We denied him... questioned his very existence. In return, he has judged us undeserving of his gifts. The only wonder is that he waited so long to do so. His patience is boundless, yet we have pushed even him beyond his limit."

  "We've made him hate us!"

  "No, Tom... God is forgiving. Though he makes us pay for our trespasses, he awaits our return to him with open arms."

  Though he had spoken the words many times, Jennings hesitated on this occasion. "All you must do to receive this forgiveness is -- believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. In Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. That he was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. That he suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. That he descended to the dead, but on the third day rose again. That he then ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father... You must believe -- " Jennings stopped.

  "Keep going, father." Gordon begged, the strength continuing to leak from his body. He was limp now, the priest supporting every bit of his weight. Jennings contemplated the rest of the creed, the wheels spinning wildly in his mind.

  "You must believe that he will come again, to judge the living and the dead." He paused again, reflecting on his time with the machine.

  "Please, Cameron... don't stop... your words make me warm."

  Staring blankly into space while looking deep within himself, he continued. "You must believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Church, the communion of saints. The forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Do you believe in these things, Tom Gordon?"

  "I do, Father." Gordon muttered quietly. Death was closing in on him, his world growing dim.

  "Do you wish to confess your sins and beg forgiveness of The Lord?"

  "Yes... I do..."

  Jennings anointed Gordon's forehead, signing the cross with his finger upon Tom's brow.

  "Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit." Anointing Tom's hands, he continued. "May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

  Tom was silent now, though he continued to wheeze loudly. Jennings stroked the man's head gently, reciting the Lord's prayer to send him off to the glorious shores of the beyond.

  "Our Father, who art in Heaven... hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven."

  His attention was interrupted by the appearance of a figure in the distance. It was a man, approaching them slowly. His silhouette was haggard; his clothing looking torn and dirty. He walked stiffly with a pronounced limp, his left leg seeming to buckle with each step.

  "Give us this day our daily bread," Jennings continued in his prayer, watching the man draw closer as Tom slipped further away. An eerie feeling had taken hold of the preacher, the moment unfolding like an antiquated film upon a life-sized screen. It was surreal, and disturbing.

  Since he had made no attempt to communicate with them, Jennings similarly spoke no words to him - but instead proceeded with his praying.

  "And forgive us of our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."

  The stranger was close enough now to be recognized, no more than twenty yards away. He was cloaked in shadow, though, the sun perched directly behind him; making him no more than a black mass. He continued his approach, Jennings watching intently.

  "Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from --" He stopped, rendered speechless by his eyes.

  The figure was no more than arm's length away and had obscured the sun, revealing his dried and pale face. His clothing was a reddened brown, dried blood dancing with specs of dirt to paint it in a terrifying shade of death. Though rigor mortis and the crushing power of a thousand pounds of earth had altered his appearance slightly, Jennings recognized the man -- as Mister Collin George...

  "From evil!" The zombie growled in conclusion.

  Jennings leapt from his seat in horror, Tom Gordon collapsing to the porch when he moved. There was a sickening splat when his face hit the wood, his nose shattering to bits at the impact.

  The ghoul Collin reached out for Gordon, the man that had stabbed him viciously to death in the sanctified church two months ago. He had been all but dead just moments ago, but Gordon sat up at the prompt of the monster's touch. He looked upon the demon with wide eyes before the two of them burst into a raging ball of flame.

  "Cameron!" Gordon wailed in terror and unfathomable pain. "He's taking me to Hell! I'm so sorry -- Please God, NO!"

  Frozen in shock, Jennings could do nothing but watch as Tom suffered incredibly. He was not allowed to die until the flame had burnt him down to nothing more than bones. The sound of his screaming was stomach turning, falling silent only when his vocal chords melted and the noise trailed off in a high-pitch whine.

  "Heavenly God..." Jennings gasped. "What evil hath you wrought upon us?"

  As Gordon's mandible somehow raised and lowered as though to form the sounds of further screaming, the flaming skeleton of Collin George looked to Jennings with a flesh piercing glare.

  "Go forth now, Disciple!" It roared. "This place is forfeit to the dead!"

  The monster and Tom turned to dust together, the remnants of their bodies being carried away by a howling breeze. The air to the west erupted as a wall of flame as tall as the sky, incinerating everything as it swept across the expanse. Jennings turned to run and found himself once again engulfed in a wave of light that carried him on to another place.

  Chapter 16