Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ

by Brandon Messerschmidt

"Anchors aweigh, my boys, anchors aweigh!

  Farewell to foreign shores!

  We sail at break of day, of day.

  Through our last night on shore.

  Drink to the foam, until we meet once more,

  Here's wishing you a hap-py voyage home!"

  Matea and Washington laughed heartily as they sung the last verse of a tune that was immortally branded in their minds.

  "Ya' know, The sad part about it, Creeper." Washington chuckled. "Is that I always hated that fucking song."

  "Yeah, me too!" Matea agreed.

  The soldiers lounged about their mysterious new home, deep within a cave in the Afghani mountainside. After a long and fruitless quest for water, they had made a home for themselves in this place. Both had been severely dehydrated when they found the cavern, each assuming that they were simply retreating from the sun to die.

  To their genuine surprise, though, they stumbled upon a spring within the cave. Drinking from it was heavenly; the liquid ice cold and crisp.

  Not far from the spring was a mysterious bushy green plant. When hunger had attacked them after a week or so, Creeper dared to eat of its leaves. They were unusually sweet and appetizing, not to mention exquisitely filling. Matea and Washington were large men, but the bush was like a golden goose in its ability to regenerate quickly. They picked at it regularly, never longing for more to eat.

  Neither the water nor the plant seemed natural, but this gift-horse was one that neither of them would consider questioning, given their circumstances.

  Their needs fulfilled, the two of them simply relaxed by a small fire they had built for light. They lay shirtless on the cool rock, resting their heads on their fatigue-wrapped helmets. Both had grown thick and bushy beards, Matea's beginning to resemble a Z.Z. Top issued mask.

  There was a strange intimacy forged between the two of them now. They had always been close friends, having taken just about every step of their respective military careers together. They had trained in the same class as the academy, served aboard the same destroyer as their first assignment, been selected to and trained in the SEAL program together. Washington had ridden the fast-track to command, putting a bit of space between them as Matea found himself calling his friend sir out of nowhere. That was all erased in the dark of this cavern, however. There was no more formality; no assumption of rank. They were simply friends again; both of them enjoyed that.

  Since they were without the amenities of a full gym, the men were severely limited in means of maintaining their solid forms. There was little to do besides exercise, though. Pushups, sit-ups and squats occupied much of their time. As a result, their bodies were still fine works of art; well tuned machines of bulging muscle, chiseled of stone.

  "Let's go a little more modern, how about this one?" Creeper asked, clearing his throat and breaking enthusiastically into song. "Hey -- you're a crazy bitch, but ya' fu--"

  "No, no no!" Washington laughed as he interrupted. "Too crude. That's not music, man, that's trash!"

  "Trash?" Matea argued. "Come on, man! That's a modern classic!"

  "What do you know about classics, Creep?"

  "Plenty! I'm a fuckin' music connoisseur!"

  "Oh please. It doesn't matter, I ain't singin' that shit, man."

  "Alright then -- what've you got?"

  "How about this one?" Washington lowered his already masculine voice, drawing on his Nana’s love of Motown.

  "It was the third of September.

  That day I'll always re-mem-ber... yes I will."

  Despite Washington's jabbing, Matea did, indeed, know the Temptations classic. He joined in, the two of them belting it out together.

  "Cuz' that was the day -- that my daddy died."

  They broke off now, taking turns at the verse with Washington going first.

  "I never had a chance to see him...

  never heard nothin' but bad things about him."

  "Mamma I'm dependin' on you - to tell me the truth."

  "Mamma just hung her head and said - Son..."

  Together again...

  "Pappa was rollin' stone...

  wherever he laid his hat was his home."

  "And when he died -" Matea.

  "All he left us alo-ne!" Washington smiled widely. "That's what I'm talkin' about, not bad! You've got a lot of soul - for a white boy!"

  Creeper chuckled. "Wait, I've got another one -- here we go, here we go... "

  "What goes up

  Must come down.

  Spinnin' whe-el, got to go round!"

  Washington listened in silence, unfamiliar with the tune.

  "Talkin' bout your troubles,

  it's a cryin sin'...

  ride a pain-ted pony

  let the spin-nin whe-el spi-in!"

  "Your taste is whack, dude!"

  "Bullshit! You've just got no culture, big Mamba!"

  "Nah, that ain't it. I'm a man of many tastes."

  "Let's hear something you didn't dig out of mothballs, then! Maybe even something by white people!"

  "How about some Motley Crue?"

  "Eh, still a little dated -- but I'm sure the image of you singing hair metal will make up for it. What ya' got?"

  "Here it goes, now." Washington put on a ridiculous falsetto and started up.

  "He's the wolf screamin' lonely in the night,

  he's the blood stain on the stage."

  Matea fell in with him, though they were in no danger of harmonizing.

  "He's the tear in your eye,

  been tempted by his lies.

  He's the knife in your back, he's rage!

  Well he's the razor to the knife,

  oh - lonely is our life,

  my head's spinnin' round and round.

  But in seasons of wither

  we stand and deliver, be strong

  and laugh and --

  Shout!

  Shout!

  Shout!

  Shout at the Devil!

  Shout!

  Shout!

  Shout!

  Shout at the dev-il!"

  There was no laughing at the conclusion of this 80's hit. They sat silently instead, the content of the lyrics bringing them to consider their predicament.

  "So --" Matea eventually broke the silence sternly. "What are we supposed to do now?"

  "Beats the ever-loving shit out of me." Washington responded.

  "How long do you think we've been in this place?"

  "Well," Washington thought. "Hard to tell so deep in this cave."

  "Tell me about it -- I'm not sure I remember what the sun looks like anymore."

  "I used to keep count of how many times I fell asleep." Washington recalled. "But I stopped at thirty-nine. That seems like forever ago, too."

  "So -- two, maybe three months then?"

  "Longer, I think. Maybe as much as double that."

  "I wonder what's going on out there."

  "Out where?"

  "Out in the regular world."

  "So you don't think we're dead anymore? Decided that we aren't in Hell after all?"

  "Nah... don't think we'd get the water and tasty bush if this was Hell." Matea explained. "We may still be dead, though."

  "Then this is Heaven? Shit... I don't think so."

  "What, you were looking forward to the harp music?"

  "This is not Heaven." Washington insisted. "We're still just as alive as we were when we left base."

  "Yeah, for what though? To sit here and rot away in this cave? No offense, Rob -- but I don't like you enough to spend the rest of my life just hanging out with you singing old songs."

  "Ditto."

  "So what do we do?"

  "I suppose we stick our heads outside and see what we can see. There's no telling what's going on out there -- might not be anything left. I don't remember much about Sunday school, but I'm pretty sure Jesus was
n't supposed to stop in just to say hey and leave us to get on with life."

  "Right... If nothing else, we have to find out what happened with Ali Sabra... we've never let one get away, Robert. I'm still pretty sore about that."

  "Me too, but I don't think Ali Sabra's fate was ours to seal. That one might've gotten away for good, Creep. What are we waiting for, though? Let's get going and check things out - you're not getting any prettier in here."

  The men sat up and rose to their feet, Matea taking one last hit at the fountain before they made the hundred-yard walk to a bend in the cavern.

  The hole in the Earth that was their home was a bulbous space at the mouth of a very narrow path that tightened as it approached the crevice through which they had entered. The two were able to walk side-by-side until a few yards around the curve where the space became wide enough to comfortably accommodate only one at a time.

  Washington wasn't generally claustrophobic, but he had a fear of being trapped that was triggered by wedging himself between the rock walls.

  It became more of a terror than a fear in this space, just as it had when they entered so long ago. There was a stretch of the tunnel in which the men had to raise their arms like goal posts, palms held flat, and turn their feet as though walking like an Egyptian in order to get through. Matea seemed to have no problem clearing the six-foot chicane, but Washington found himself trying to hide his hyperventilation for fear of being ridiculed.

  "Tight squeeze, eh?" Matea remarked.

  Washington didn't answer, focusing instead on getting himself through the moment. Once clear, the soldiers had to crouch and waddle through the next section to proceed towards their exit. Creeper made it out first, stopping the moment he set foot on the exterior ledge of the mountain.

  "Oh shit!" He exclaimed as Washington pulled his thick frame clear of the cave. "I was right -- we're dead! Look!"

  Matea pointed at blackness; a barren void surrounding them. This wasn't the darkness of night, it was the complete lack of any light at all. It smothered them from every direction - the cave and ledge seeming to be all that existed.

  Washington looked up to what should've been the sky but saw nothing. Where the mountain should have risen behind the crevice there was similarly nothing; just blackness. Beneath the ledge on which they stood should have been five hundred feet of sloped stone, but it too was missing.

  It seemed they were no longer standing simply at a hole in the side of a great stone giant perched high above the ground... they were at the crossroads of the material universe and what lies beyond.

  Creeper reached out in front of him as though to feel the dark. The air was still, no detectable breeze disturbing it. He stepped closer to the edge of the ledge. Dropping to his knees he felt the ground, sliding his hand over the ledge in an attempt to determine what was below.

  "Be careful!" Washington ordered, waiting for Rod Serling to reveal himself and explain that they had crossed over into The Twilight Zone.

  "I hadn't planned to be careless." Matea assured him.

  It made no sense at all; the men had climbed a nearly vertical wall to reach this ledge, yet Creeper was able to pass his hand under the stone on which he stood. It was as though the ledge was just floating there - unsupported.

  "I don't get it." Creeper said. "I was scared shitless when we climbed up here... kept looking down and thinking about how bad it would hurt to roll down this mountain and splatter myself on the ground below. Now it feels like we are on the ground, though. There's no sensation of altitude at all."

  "This can't be real." The commander speculated. "It's a trick... a hallucination."

  "No." Matea disagreed. "I think it's real. There's nowhere to go -- we're stuck here."

  "We can go back into the cave. We have everything we need in there."

  "Then what? We just sit? Grow old together?"

  "What else can we do?"

  Matea looked at him with a frightening glimmer in his eye, then turned to examine the void over the ledge again. Washington knew the man too well to wonder what he was considering; it was obvious.

  "No!" Washington snapped. "No way in hell! You're crazy!"

  "We have to try!"

  "Why?"

  "To see what happens!"

  "And if you fall? Then what?"

  "Look, the face we climbed was only about twelve feet above another ledge. If the mountain is still down there, I should drop right down onto it."

  "And what if it isn't there. What if there's nothing underneath us?

  "Then I'll be dead -- if I'm not already, that is."

  "And you're okay with that? Shit, you are crazy."

  "Look, I'd rather die trying than live wondering. I'm not going back into that fucking cave, Robert. That's not for me... you can wait for whatever it is you think is gonna happen as long as you want. I have to find out what's going on, though. So far as we know that blackness we see under this ledge might be solid... I may just step off onto a new ground of some sort."

  Washington hurriedly tried to think of a way to dissuade his companion, but he quickly realized he wouldn't be able to. Creeper had always been a determined man; snipers generally are. He sighed in resignation and put his hands on his hips.

  Matea backed away from the precipice a bit, looking to Washington. The Commander's feelings made little difference to him, but he felt a sense of debt to the man.

  "Look, Robert -- if you're right... if I step off of this ledge and never come back..."

  "You just want me to know that you love me." Washington interjected. Creeper looked surprised. "I know, I've seen this movie before."

  "That's not exactly what I was going to say." Matea responded. "But you got the gist."

  "How am I supposed to know what happened to you?" The Commander asked in frustration. "Remember everything I saw in freefall before I cleared the cloud cover? Some crazy shit... When I got down underneath, though, everything was normal -- no sign of what I saw above. Let's say you fall and then are just gone -- just blinked out of being. How do I know if you're dead or just back in the real world?"

  "Well," he considered. "I dunno. I guess you won't."

  "Then what do I do?" There was a pause before Creeper answered.

  "You'll just have to decide whether or not you want to follow. Whether or not you want to take a leap of faith; literally."

  "This from the atheist."

  "Alright," Matea said, rocking back and forth with his feet spread apart as though preparing to break from sprinter's blocks. "Enough talk... here I go."

  "Good luck, brother."

  "No such thing as luck..." His rocking grew quicker. "In three -- two -- one -- NOW!"

  Washington watched intently as Matea bolted for the edge, throwing himself over and into the arms of the void. He fell for a second, then vanished through some sort of rift that flashed with white light when he hit it.

  "Creeper?" He asked cautiously. He listened closely but heard nothing... no thud, no scream -- nothing. "Goddamn it!" He shouted. "What the fuck happened to him?"

  For perhaps the first time in his life, the decisive Commander was torn. An escape from this place could lie just a blind leap away, but death could just as well be waiting for him there instead.

  "Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" He argued with himself within the confines of his mind, two courses of action battling it out to decide his fate. He glanced back at the cave; then at the cliff... then the cave again... the cliff.

  "Alright..." He decided. "I jump! I just fuckin' jump! "

  He prepared himself, rocking in his step just as Matea had. Taking several deep breaths, he counted down silently. Just before he broke for the cliff another flash of white light appeared above him. He stopped short, looking up just in time to see Matea falling from the blackness. The man crashed down on him brutally like one of The Three Stooges trying to ride a busted dumb waiter down into a concrete fl
oored basement.

  They grunted as they fell together to the ground, the force driving the wind out of Washington's lungs.

  "Shit, man!" He groaned, having gotten the worst of the exchange. "Where the hell did you come from?"

  Matea didn't speak; he simply stood and looked around at the darkness again before throwing himself off the cliff once more. It didn't take nearly as long for him to reappear this time, crashing full-force to the ground without the Commander to break his fall. After impact he clutched his chest in pain, apparently deciding not to try again quite as quickly.

  "Tony?" Washington called as he recaptured his breath. "What the hell happened?"

  Creeper groaned and gasped, not answering.

  "Tony?" The Commander called again as he approached him where he lay on the ground.

  Matea tried to roll himself over onto his stomach as though he were planning to take another stab at it. Feeling at his bare chest, it was clear to Washington that several of Creeper's ribs were broken.

  "You're hurt, man!" He explained. "It's over!"

  Still, Matea tried to get to his feet. Washington took to holding him down, refusing to let his friend cause himself any further harm.

  "Relax, Creep! You think it's gonna be any different the next time?"

  "There's someone in there!" Matea said through his groaning. "There's someone in the void!"

  "What?" Washington asked, befuddled. "Who? Who is in the void?"

  Creeper's suffering seemed to worsen, speech growing difficult as his breathing intensified. Washington was able to make out just one of the words that he fought to say and wondered what it could mean.

  "Priest!" He asked. "You saw a priest in there?"

  Wanting to see for himself, the Commander jumped to his feet and made a mad dash for the edge. When he reached it he slammed into something that had the effect of a brick wall on his body. He fell back sharply, seemingly repelled by some kind of space-age force field. The pain was intense; he didn't dare try again.

  Matea sat upright, though recoiling in pain as he did so.

  "Robert..." He wheezed. "We're stuck here! We can't get out!"

  Suddenly the void began to change; the blackness taking shape in silhouette. The rocky surface on which they sat transformed into a smooth slab of painted concrete.

  The entrance to the cave sealed over in cinder block, a steel toilet appearing before it. Two new walls appeared perpendicular to the first, encasing them on three sides. A dirty off-white surface rolled out upon the blocks, a double-stacked bunk appearing against one to the right of the men.

  Sounds grew from the silence; a human ruckus seemingly comprised of a hundred threatening voices bantering amongst one another.

  Washington sat up just in time to see the shadows that had thrust him to the ground form into bars, turning to metallic gray iron. As the final bits of darkness morphed into sedated colors it was clear; they were in some nightmarish prison cell.

  A man appeared on the other side of this cage, dressed in a distinct brown uniform that declared his authority.

  "Alright, lovebirds!" He barked at them as he slid a large key into a locking mechanism on the door. "Shower time! Hold on to that soap, I'd hate to have infidelity come between the two of ya'!"

  Matea's pain vanished as he watched his chest contort, his ribs seemingly mending themselves and fusing together.

  "NOW!" The officer ordered.

  The soldiers looked at each other, an anxiety greater than that which they had known on the eves of battle evident in each of their eyes. A shower would be a welcome comfort; but what was in store for them to follow? What was this place - and why had it risen from nothingness to claim them?

  Had they in fact died on the battlefield so long ago? Was this the realm of suffering and misery which Dante had referred to as The Inferno?

  Were Commander Robert Washington and Captain Tony Matea in hell?

  Chapter 17