Everything would crumble. Everything. The very root of human understanding and western civilization was based on humanity’s relationship with the Holy Church. But time passed. People moved on. Art, music and philosophy led to science and mathematics. Human beings became secular in the modern world while those other nations that clung to the old ways fell behind. Science itself became the new God as industry and invention became the true benchmarks of human progress. The Man with the Big White Beard became a myth. People stopped believing.
Well shit.
Maybe He was coming to kick everyone’s arses. All the scientists and scholars. All the religious leaders who preach falsely. All the politicians who talk out of both sides of their face.
Actually, a do-over might not be a bad idea.
Then I remembered Egypt. I remembered the Angel of Death and Transformation rolling across Pharaoh’s lands as a thin grey mist that killed every firstborn. This was a God who became angry and vengeful. A God who flooded the Earth. (I won’t get into the ark debate. There were about five thousand arks. The good book is incorrect.)
Very simply, The Man with the Big White Beard kicked ass. This is the dude who created the heavens and the Earth in six days. (He did. An elemental day is 2.32 billion years. It all adds up.) He chose humanity as his eternal beloved and humanity fired his sorry ass. It’s possible He was coming to kick humanity’s ass because He was tired of their bullshit. I can’t really say I’d blame the guy.
Speculating about what might be is a waste of time. I don’t know why I do it so much. Maybe that’s the sum of my previous host’s parts still lingering inside my elemental consciousness. My thinking gets a little rewired with each new host and I hadn’t been wearing Scott Richter’s skin for that long. I could have been over analyzing because, at the end of the day, The Man with the Big White Beard was coming in less than two days. He surely wasn’t popping by for some tea and a wee chat.
I glanced at Sparks. Both hands gripped the steering wheel hard to the point where her fingernails had to have been digging into her flesh. Her eyes were fixed on the road ahead but every second or so with near clockwork precision, she’d glance in the rearview mirror to see if we were being tailed by anyone.
“Stop looking at me, Reaper. It’s creepy,” she said flatly.
I blinked a couple of times. “I never said I wasn’t creepy. I might well be the king of the creeps. You know my reputation.”
She snorted. “Pfft … your reputation? You do realize that most of the people in your inner circle, present company excluded, are douchebags, right?”
I threw her a wounded look and pointed to my heart. “That really hurts, Carol. You know, douchebags have feelings too. We’re like porcelain deep down inside.”
“I’ll give you something to feel hurt about, Reaper,” she snipped.
“You both are secretly in looooooove” Charlotte chimed in. “You two argue like you’re married or something.”
“WE’RE NOT MARRIED!” Sparks and I said simultaneously and, I might add, with near disgust in our voices.
Charlotte started to giggle and then she fell into a short fit of laughter. I glanced at Sparks and she rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck in the reverse position.
“That’s what people who are in loooooooooove say,” the little girl snickered.
I’d have laughed too but that would have invited a shot in the arm from Sparks. We passed a sign that said Bridgewater was twenty kilometres ahead. Soon we’d have a chance to catch our breaths and to maybe figure out through Charlotte whether The Man with the Big White Beard’s forthcoming visit would bring a shit storm of holy vengeance in His wake.
***
It was shortly past seven thirty in the morning when Sparks pulled her SUV off the main highway to Bridgewater and up a roadway comprised of crushed red shale, the kind you see on softball diamonds. It would be just like Barbie Ross to claim that she rolled out the red carpet for the kids each summer when they’d spend July and August praising Jesus and swimming in the lake at Life Anchor Bible Camp. After a couple of minutes, we stopped at the main gate and I hopped out of the vehicle. I took a deep breath of air and smiled to myself because the air at the camp was just as crisp and clean as the air at my now destroyed bunker.
It’s the little things that matter, am I right?
The gate was a standard eight-foot chain link setup with the words Love Is Kind and a picture of Jesus teaching children how not to go to hell. Jesus was holding a lamb in his arms and he, along with all five of his young pupils, were white folks. I was around back in those days. I claimed a lot of souls. There weren’t really any white people in the middle east at that time unless they were Romans and those guys all had amazingly tanned skin. It must have been the olive oil they used on their skin like today’s people use bath and shower gel. It took me a few minutes to find the right key for the lock on the keyring that Barbie Ross had handed to me, but I got it eventually. I opened the gate and waved Sparks through, then I closed the gate and locked everything up good and tight.
The red shale road disappeared down a hill but I could see the lake from where I was standing. A few tiny flecks of snow started falling from the sky as I dropped the keyring into a pocket of my trench coat and climbed back into Sparks’ SUV. We drove down the road for another two or three minutes until it emerged from the woods and formed a loop. There were six buildings alongside the roadway loop, the tallest of which was a chapel. Each of the buildings was log house style; presumably to give the camp that real pioneer feel. There were two dorms; one for the boys and one for the girls, a camp administration building, a dorm for the camp staff and one building with the words MESS HALL painted on a large sign overtop the doorway. Behind the buildings, there was a large baseball diamond, a soccer pitch and a number of paths into the woods which I assumed were for hiking. A large blue spruce tree stood tall and proud in the middle of the roadway loop with more than two dozen handmade signs; each in the shape of an arrow and each pointing different directions. Each sign had the name of a city or town along with its distance from the camp. Nothing like a sign telling you how far you have to hitchhike if you get homesick.
Sparks stopped the SUV and we all climbed out to take a look around. A sharp gust of wind kicked up the light dusting of snow that had fallen. It wasn’t enough to shovel but more than enough to remind you that winter would be here within a few weeks. “And how is this place supposed to be off the grid for angels, demons and heavily armed priests?” asked Sparks.
I looked around for any obvious signs or symbols which might act as a ward or a deterrent to anyone or anything that might want to take a shot at us. I walked over to the girl’s dorm and saw there were small engravings on every log on the exterior walls and each log had a thick, luxuriant sheen of varnish to protect from the elements. I ran a finger along the engravings and saw they were symbols the likes of which I’d not seen before. There were spirals mixed in with stick figures of people and it reminded me of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. Over the doorway and over each window was a large sprig of dried thistle – this must have been the blessed thistle that Barbie Ross had mentioned, and I chuckled at how she was able to pull off being a preacher while simultaneously condoning pagan magic rituals.
Charlotte walked over to where I was standing and regarded the engravings with the same kind of eye for detail that you’d see from a gemologist. “These are protections carved right into the wood,” she said in her grown-up voice. “Every single log on this building and on all the other buildings contains similar protections, but we aren’t entirely invisible. Nothing truly is when dealing with ancient powers, but it should provide some measure of protection for us if we get attacked again.”
“Or when,” I said grimly. “There are thirty some odd hours until The Man with the Big White Beard is supposed to show up. Hopefully, we can stay off everyone’s radar until we see what He wants with us.”
Sparks came up behind me. “Does it strike an
yone as odd that a fundamentalist preacher has all these weird carvings on the buildings in her bible camp? They’re not even remotely Christian.”
“Yeah, it’s odd,” I admitted. “It’s also odd that a fundamentalist preacher would wind up in Dave Exner’s debt ledger as well so if you think we shouldn’t trust Barbie Ross, you’re one thousand percent correct. I just take comfort in the fact that I trust Dave’s debt ledger and the ramifications of not carrying out your end of an owed debt more than I don’t trust Barbie.”
Sparks shrugged. “That kind of makes sense. It’s not like we have a lot of options right now. Hand me the keys and I’ll unlock the mess hall. You can bring the groceries inside and then we can see about getting ourselves settled.”
Her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. I’d been hearing it vibrate on and off ever since we left Life Anchor Ministries. “You’d better answer that at some point or your superiors are going to get suspicious,” I said as I tossed Sparks the keyring.
“They’re already suspicious,” she suggested. “I have to hope that if we get out of this alive there’s gotta be some reward for helping out the home team.”
I snorted. “Well, remember that He is well pleased with you. Whatever the hell that means.”
“It means that He is mindful of what you have done in His name,” said Charlotte. “He knows that both of you have given away so much to protect me.”
“Yeah, well, always good to know He is a happy camper,” I said. “Let’s hope He stays that way when He arrives and He doesn’t do something stupid like smite the entire planet. I have to assume that He is going to somehow be in touch to tell us where to meet.”
Charlotte nodded. “Of course. I can try to read what is to come if there is a place for me to draw out my notation. I can also see if there are any chinks in the protections surrounding this place. They are still looking for me. They won’t stop coming – they’ve been coming for me all my life.”
I put an arm around the girl thinking that she might want some comfort after a statement like that. She accepted my gesture by putting her twig-thin arm around my waist.
“Bad guys are always coming, kid. There have always been bad guys out there. Want to help bring in the groceries? Maybe we can figure out our next move over something more nutritional than canned ravioli or McDonald’s breakfast.”
She looked up at me. “Do the bad guys ever win?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes yes and sometimes no, but don’t worry too much. I have a few tricks up my sleeve if they show up here anytime soon.” I had to make Charlotte believe me even if I didn’t believe myself. Angels, Demons and the Holy Church were gunning for her. I could only hope they would be the extent of it.
“I’m glad I’m here with you Mister R,” said eight-year-old Charlotte. “I think that I feel safer now with you than I ever did before.”
It was a nice sentiment. I was glad I helped a little girl feel safe. The only problem was that we weren’t safe. Charlotte knew it and I knew it, but sometimes lying to yourself is the only coping mechanism you’ve got left when your back is against the wall.
14
We ate a hearty breakfast. Bacon and eggs, toast, hash browns, beans and coffee. Orange juice for the kid, of course. The mess hall at Life Anchor Bible Camp was well equipped with state of the art grills, fat fryers (we could have French Fries!) a huge walk-in freezer that had cases of strip loin steaks, frozen hamburger patties, Italian sausage and at least a pallet of ice cream. Not a bad place to hide out at all.
We decided it would be best if we all shared the same dorm. The girl’s building was identical to the boy’s building save for the colour scheme when you walked in the door. The boy’s dorm was essentially one colour – deck stain brown. From the pine stained bunks to the pine planked floor and ceiling. Everything was brown with the exception of the large framed photograph of Barbie Ross wearing a one-piece bathing suit that suitably provided ample evidence of her female assets. Sex sells, apparently. Even at bible camp.
The girl’s dorm, on the other hand, was an explosion of rainbow colours. Splashes of red, yellow and blue mixed in with a dash of fuchsia here and a bit of teal over there. It looked like a paint manufacturer had vomited up the gaudiest colours of the last four decades all over the walls and bunks. Of course, Charlotte loved it. She had never seen anything so bright and vivid before which kind of made sense seeing as how the kid had been on the run all her life.
There was no large portrait of sexy Barbie Ross in the girl’s dorm, though. Instead, every bunk had a built-in shelf containing Barbie’s self-published book series for girls featuring a thirteen-year-old Barbie Ross on the cover. There were four books in each bunk; I assumed it was the entire series. I grabbed a copy entitled, Barbie Ross Adventures: The Prophet in the Attic. I scanned the cover art featuring an image of a trapped prophet in ancient clothing hiding out behind some old steamer trunks in a dusty, cobweb infested attic. The young and entirely fictitious Barbie Ross was holding up a trap door and aiming her flashlight at the good prophet. She looked surprised to see him and I wondered for a moment how an ancient Judeo-Christian prophet dressed in a robe and sandals managed to make it into a modern-day attic. Maybe it was a time slip or something. I’d have read the book, too, if I had any shits to give. I tossed it on an empty bunk.
There was a large pot belly stove in the middle of the dorm along with a nook containing a flat-screen TV affixed to the wall and a large plush powder pink carpet for the girls to lounge on while watching whatever the hell propaganda that Life Anchor Ministries felt would be appropriate for kids at a bible camp. The boy’s dorm didn’t have a TV or books. The girl’s dorm had colour, electronics and reading materials. Obviously, Barbie held little girls in higher esteem than little boys. Who knew?
The washroom facilities were, thankfully, plumbed in. There would be no need to take a crap over a stinking hole in the ground while seated on a wooden toilet seat inside a phone booth-sized outhouse. I saw there was an electric pump that drew water from the lake to a large boiler that provided hot water for the entire camp. I made a mental note to try and get us some hot water because there are few things worse than a cold shower when you are sober.
Sparks had found a few reams of poster paper in an arts and crafts locker. She spent a good twenty minutes stapling each sheet to the east wall of the girl’s dorm and she found a bucket of different coloured felt markers. When she was done, Sparks had managed to create an enormous blank canvas for Charlotte to do some of her formula work. With a little luck, she’d give us a clear indication of what might be coming down the pipe either from the guys who wanted her dead or The Man with the Big White Beard who might want everyone on the planet to be dead. Or not. It’s tough to tell with the big guy.
I decided to venture outside and see what I could do to get the hot water going while Charlotte went to work on her new canvas. Sparks agreed to keep watch, so I headed out of the dorm and down another red shale path that led to a shack with the words BOILER burned into a wooden sign over top the doors. I unlocked the thick padlock and left it dangling as I swung open the door to see a VW Beetle-sized contraption with at least thirty or forty pipes feeding out of it. I looked around and noticed a clipboard with the words “BOILER START-UP PROCEDURE”. It took me a good fifteen or twenty minutes of fiddling with the machine but I got the heating oil flowing to the burner and soon there would be lots of hot water for showering, laundry and more.
It was getting chilly and I shivered as I glanced at my watch. It was shortly past noon when I locked the door to the boiler shack and headed down a shale path leading to the lake. I estimated the dorm was less than two hundred meters to the lake itself, I could sprint that with my eyes closed if the shit hit the fan. I don’t know why I wanted to check out the lake; maybe the pastoral scenery of a lake in late autumn would inspire me to think creatively as to how I might protect Charlotte from the bad guys. I knew that Barbie Ross said the camp was protected, but I didn’t trust any kind
of protection save for the protection that I could offer. Too much bad had happened in the last few months. I’d been swept into heavenly politics. I wound up working for The Man with the Big White Beard without even knowing it and now I’d been drawn into who the fuck knew what? I decided it was time for some answers from the only person who could provide them – if she would provide them. Ambriel/Amy said she was my guardian angel so I figured she’d be obliged to fill in the blanks as to the nature of Charlotte and why He was coming in two and a half day’s time.
I pulled out a cigarette and lit it as I sat down on a large boulder overlooking the lake. Overhead a trio of crows looked on from atop a large oak tree with only a handful of leaves left on the branches. “Ambriel, or Amy,” I said to the sky because it was better than saying it to myself. “I need your help. I need something … anything that can help me protect this girl. I don’t know if you can hear me and I’d like to think that you can, but, I’m in way over my head here. Charlotte is … something. I mean, I know that she’s just eight, but she’s not. There’s a voice inside her that says it’s her but only from the future, so I have to assume that’s her right? She’s going to survive this. I mean, she has to. If that’s her voice from the future? Shit … I’m not equipped to figure out what’s happening right now and—”
I felt a hand on my shoulder and I immediately spun around with one of my Berettas cocked.
“You seek guidance, Reaper,” said Ambriel as she stood an arm’s length away from me. Instead of being clad head to toe in shimmering golden armour, she wore the whitest robe I’d ever seen. Whiter than freshly fallen snow in the moonlight on Christmas Eve. She folded her wings back and smiled warmly.
“I guess so,” I sighed, avoiding her gaze. She was beautiful in life. As an angel, I didn’t think I had the right to gaze upon someone so utterly breathtaking. I always come to the table with dirty hands from dirty deeds. I didn’t want any of that rubbing off on Ambriel.
The Girl On Victoria Road: A Tim Reaper Novel Page 13
