by J. Thorn
John smiled.
“I guess that wouldn’t be a good idea, would it Rambo?”
“Rambo was a Green Beret.”
Alex sighed and the men shared a quick laugh. They heard water dripping in the distance.
“Oh, and by the way,” John said, “how come you were asking me back at the Jigsaw about how to shoot a goddamn gun?”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know exactly how much I could trust you to be honest. I wanted to know how much you knew about weapons. I apologize.”
“Yeah, all right. Forget it. As long as you keep knocking those fuckers over like shooting-gallery ducks.”
Alex nodded.
John sat on the floor and stared through the broken windows.
Chapter 24
The cold stone of the church could not keep the warmth inside. Generators provided electricity but the boiler broke down every hour. As more people took their seats in the pews, the temperature climbed. A mix of white robes, camouflage, field gear and civilians filled St. Michael’s on the first Sunday after the First Cleansing.
Father peered out from the back room behind the altar across the sea of pious faces. He smiled and turned to make the final adjustments on his vestments.
A murmur brewed before the start of mass but dissipated when the altar boys took their positions at the back of the church. The organist struck a bellowing chord and began the processional hymn. Father appeared and stood between two altar boys. A third held the crucifix high above his shoulders and began the steady march toward the altar.
The congregation sang along with the organ, bellowing the hymns of the Book. The faithful beamed at Father as he proceeded toward the altar. He took a luxurious pace to his destination.
The boy holding the crucifix stood at attention, riveted to the stone floor. Father and the servers flanking him, bent at the waist in reverence of the crucifix hanging above the altar. They walked to the right and turned to face the church members. All four stood in front of their designated chairs.
Once the mass began Father fell into an ingrained routine of song, prayer and reflection. His fingers caressed worn rosary beads as the words fell mindlessly from his lips. A young woman performed the first reading and led the church in the responsorial psalm.
Father climbed to the pulpit. It rose four feet from the altar in a turret of red veined marble. Latin phrases in golden borders lined the top and spread in an arch above the altar. St. Michael, the archangel, sat atop the marble canopy ready to battle satan’s minions.
Built in the late 1800s, St. Michael’s proved to be the most populated and profitable of all the local churches. It stretched majestically into the air overlooking the main railroad line leading to the Erie Canal. However, in the past three decades, the church and its parishioners fell into destitution and despair. Population loss and unemployment forced the diocese to consolidate many parishes. St. Michael’s held out the longest but could not stem the tide of the economic downturn. By 1995 the number of parishioners dropped below one hundred, a staggering decline from the more than four thousand in the 1940s.
Father looked up and realized he was standing silently in front of the congregation. He finished the gospel reading and the members of the church waited for the sermon. Nobody shuffled or moved, as if awaiting their shepherd’s command.
“God created all things. Through the agency of your parents He created you. Thus, you came from God. You hope by living a decent life to return to God. From birth unto death, or from God to God, you travel through this world over a path known as God's will. Thus, in all the eventualities of life—misfortune, war, disappointment, disillusionment, sickness, and death— you hear God-fearing people exclaim, ‘Thy will be done.’ No matter what vocation or job, whether you are a professional man, tradesman, defense worker, soldier, sailor, aviator or nurse, the same way must be traveled, and that is the way of God's will.
“Therefore, we intend to present the lives of saints who happened to be servicemen, soldiers, to show even they – amid all the perils and despite all the temptations they met as soldiers – could, with their eyes on God and His will, live good, moral lives, even to the extent of becoming perfect.
“We are all soldiers in this fight against the infidels. Every one of us can rise up and beat satan’s forces. Many evils will tempt you from His perfection. Remember, ‘Thy will be done.’ The Holy Covenant will prevail. The First Cleansing required the Holy Spirit to guide God’s hand in the same way the Spirit guided the waters of the Great Flood. Before we can heal we must excise our sickness.
“I call on each and every one of you to serve His will. Whether it be with gun or Bible, volunteer work or prayer, you must all do your part. Satan will not surrender. He will not lie down in front of the glory of the Lord. And he will not provide mercy. Continue to alert our soldiers, the chosen Warriors of Christ, of the location of any infidel. They may be your neighbor or your brother but they are also the concubine of Lucifer. God before all so, ‘Thy will be done.’ Bow your heads and pray for God’s blessing.”
As was custom, the parishioners shook his hand as they filed out the back doors of St. Michael’s. Many commented on the beautiful, holy sermon just delivered and they spoke of the richness of a full church. Father shook hands with men. He hugged women and lifted little children in the air.
God’s love will triumph, he thought.
***
“Just us?” Commander Byron asked.
“Is my conversation alone not adequate?” Father asked.
Commander Byron laughed. He arranged his beret to cover a balding scalp. The medals on his chest clinked together with every movement. Byron’s olive green jacket stretched across his expansive stomach. His cane sat on his lap and an eye patch hung in place. The Commander’s scars ran through a wrinkled face with a bulbous, pockmarked nose in the middle of it.
“Of course it is, Father. A brandy or cigar would make our discussion quite enjoyable.”
Father reached for the decanter before Byron finished asking for it. Byron chuckled under his breath and followed the comfortable ritual of their friendship.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Father.”
Father poured a two finger dose of brandy into a paper cup and handed it to the commander.
“As you can imagine, we may need to make adjustments until the Covenant has secured the region.”
Commander Byron took the cup from Father, held it to the light and downed the red liquid. A burst of color filled his ample cheeks. “I can live with it. Maybe you can fill it again?”
Father repeated the process and removed two cigars from his desk. He unwrapped them, used his cutter to remove the ends and lit one with the deep blue flame from a cigar lighter. He handed the cigar to the commander and lit one for himself. Since John’s escape, they’d relocated the field hospital to a school a mile away. The administrative assistants chose to pray together in the convent attached to the church. A lone guard stood by the steps leading up into the entrance. Father nodded toward the man. With one flicker of his hand, the commander dismissed the guard, leaving them in privacy.
“I love the Acid cigars,” Commander Byron said.
“As do I, my old friend.”
“I’m sure you did not invite me down here for a brandy and a smoke.”
Father tilted back in his chair. He loosened the white collar under his black shirt and looked at the commander.
“I need John the Revelator.”
“Why?” Commander Byron asked.
“He will lead us. I simply know it’s God’s will and I know this man is crucial to our victory.”
“Do you want him alive or dead?” the commander asked.
Byron blew fragrant smoke circles into the stillness of the basement as the question itself also hung in the air.
“I need him alive.”
“What do you know?”
“Very little. We have a physical description. We also know he has paired with a vet that helped him escape
.”
“Which war?”
Father’s laughter erupted causing the commander to drop his cigar.
“He’s a veterinarian.”
The commander giggled until the medals on his chest shook with each uncontrollable fit of laughter.
“Do you have any intel on the vet?”
The word elicited another smile from Father.
“We have his name, address, business address and other random items. It should be enough for you to run through the database and get a decent profile. That might lead you to John.”
“And him, John?”
“Practically nothing. He is probably not a priest although he was found wearing the collar. You cannot let the troops know he is secular as it could cause public relations issues. The clerk will hand you a photo and physical description on the way out.”
“Are you asking me to leave, Father?”
Father waved both hands in the air.
“There is more brandy to drink and more cigars to smoke. Stay until you’ve had your fill.”
The commander nodded and smirked. “Perhaps the females of the congregation need some attention?”
Father exploded across the table and grabbed the commander by the back of the neck. He slammed his face down into the hard, oak desk twice. Blood from the old soldier’s nose smeared the rest of his face. Before Commander Byron could reach for the revolver on his hip, he heard a sharp metallic click in his right ear.
“Insult me? God will guide this bullet through your diseased brain if you so much as sniffle.”
The commander raised his gun and placed it on the table.
“Commander Byron. If you ever – ever – speak blasphemy again, I will send you to your Judgment Day. Do you understand me?”
Father let go of Commander Byron’s neck and handed him a white handkerchief to wipe his face. The commander sat back and grinned at the priest.
“You are one tough son of a bitch, I’ll say that. It’s no wonder we’ve been friends for so long. Is there anything else I need to know about John the Revelator? I think I’ve worn out my welcome here.”
Father fixed his shirt and dabbed the commander’s blood from his own shirt.
“There is one more thing. He is married to a woman named Jana. You can use her to draw him out if she is still alive.”
The commander stood and extinguished his cigar in the remnants of his brandy. His nose still dripped blood on his uniform. He wiped it, unconcerned. The seventh broken nose would not heal any better than the previous six.
“Jana. Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem at all. I’ll start with the Cleveland white pages.”
He spun around and headed for the door, hoping the sarcasm would not earn him a bullet in the back.
Chapter 25
The rest of the survivors in the gas station took care of the mess created by Jake. Morning came and washed the memory of the night away. Jana sat on the floor by Sally and Jay. The boy cuffed up his jeans and buttoned his shirt all the way to the top. Jay had a crayon attached to his hand and was scribbling on any scrap of paper he could find. He made a note for Jana, signed it and dated it.
“Why thank you, Jay. It says, ‘To my new friend Jana. I like you. Jay November ate.’ It’s wonderful.”
“I drew a picture of me and you holding hands,” he said.
“Yes, I can see that. Maybe you can be my boyfriend.”
Jay blushed without knowing why.
Ruth paced about the back room and looked out the door. Sally noticed her unease.
“What’s wrong, Ruth?” she asked.
“Honey, how long we gonna stay here like animals? Worse than animals ‘cause we know we’re caged. I realize it was the first place we felt safe since they attacked us, but I don’t know how long I can stay here. You know they’s gonna come back for us.”
The Station Crew, as they had begun calling themselves, looked around at each other. Peter’s absence cast a pall over the group.
“I know,” Sally said. “I was thinking the same thing. We don’t have much food left here and the stuff we do have is mostly salty junk. Nothing to keep us sharp and in the game. My ex has a beautiful house out in Geauga County. There isn’t another house for miles and it sits on acres of farmland. There are even old barns and equipment left over from the time it was a working farm. I’m not saying it’s perfectly safe, but I think it would be easy to spot a threat coming from a distance.”
“That sounds nice, Sally, but I think I’m heading south toward Kentucky,” Andrew said. “I’ve got a brother in Lexington. Nothing says that’s any safer than South Euclid, but I can’t sit here and wait any longer.”
The others stopped, surprised by the length of Andrew’s response. He’d spoken little since the ordeal began.
“Well, you’re all free to do what you want but I think Jay and I are heading east,” Sally said.
Jana lifted her head and spoke.
“I’ll go with you.”
“I’m gonna head into Cleveland to see if my cousin is still around,” Ruth said.
They chose a destination and stockpiled bags and purses with as much food as they could carry but waited until nightfall before departing. The group spent the rest of the day giving each other pep talks and building their courage to leave.
The low sun set behind the empty buildings. Ruth stepped out of the gas station first. She hobbled through the parking lot and onto Mayfield, heading east into the city. As she approached the edge of the sidewalk, she turned and waved to the group. Andrew left next. He went due south on Warrensville Road in hopes of picking up Route 271 and taking that southwest toward Kentucky. Sally, Jay and Jana stood in front of the shattered windows.
“Now or never,” Sally said.
“Let’s go, Mom,” Jay said.
“Stay as close to the buildings as possible. There’s less of a chance we’ll be seen that way.”
The two women and young boy maneuvered through a number of residential streets until they stood on Wilson Mills Road. If they traveled on this road without any trouble, it would take them east out of Cuyahoga County toward the more rural areas of northeast Ohio. They had a long way to go to escape urban sprawl.
Jay picked up a rock and threw it over the guardrail. It tumbled through the weeds and struck something metal. The sound echoed through the still night.
“No rock-throwing, Jay,” Sally said. “Jesus, I never thought I’d see Cleveland like this. It’s a ghost town.”
“Don’t say that, Sally. Let’s hope there are more people like us.”
***
“Sir, I’ve got movement on the street. Do you want me to engage?”
“Give me the night vision.”
Commander Byron looked through the infrared binoculars, wincing as they rested on his tender nose. He smeared a trickle of blood from his upper lip as he spotted three distinct shapes.
“They’re traveling with a kid. They can’t be that dangerous. Let’s move down and get an eye on them.”
The commander hobbled down three flights of steps to the bottom of the apartment building. His combat boots smacked the marble floor and rang throughout the lobby. His forces stormed this building and secured it for the Holy Covenant on the night of the First Cleansing. He’d been using it as command central ever since.
With two soldiers to his right, Commander Byron slid out the back door and looped around toward the main entrance facing Wilson Mills. His drew a pistol and while standing with his cane in the other hand. The three figures moved further east. They stopped under the awning of a corner store.
“Follow them but do not engage without my permission. Understand?”
“Yes sir,” the soldiers said.
They ran to the opposite side of the road and disappeared into the silent gloom of the evening.
***
“I remember these places from my own childhood. This store used to be an ice cream parlor. My parents would drop us off with a buck or two and we’d spend most of our
time trying to decide what flavor milkshake to get.” Tears welled up in Sally’s eyes as she spoke. “He’ll never have that experience.”
“Sally don’t. Jay needs you to be strong. If we start to get emotional we might as well give up now. Hold it together.”
Jana’s words gripped Sally. Her eyes widened and she shook her head.
“Sorry, you’re right. Let’s move through. If I remember correctly, there should be a sandwich shop up here a bit further on the other side of Wilson Mills. If we can get there it might be a good place to sleep.”
“Maybe, but we’re going to need to cover more ground if we only venture out at night. Otherwise, it’s going to take us a long time to get out of the county.”
“True, but what’s the hurry? I don’t think our old lives are waiting for us to return.”
“Let’s get to the shop, Sally. Maybe we’ll luck out and find food. Whaddya think, Jay?”
The boy put his head down and did not respond, tired and frightened from the ordeal.
The number of buildings defaced with the pentagram astounded the trio. Jana tried not to imagine how many people were murdered during the recent ordeal. Her mind continued to struggle to keep it all in perspective. If it wasn’t for a lousy shot to her thigh, she would be one of the dead too.
Alley cats hissed and whined in the distance sending a stray dog into the street. The dog loped down the middle of Wilson Mills Road. He grasped a hunk of flesh in his jaws. The dog stopped to look at them and then continued on its way. Sally pulled Jay close to her leg until the mangy beast entered an open door on the other side of the street.
The sub shop Sally described stood on a corner. A stone bench sat out front on the sidewalk. A bookstore stood on one side of the sub shop and a chiropractor’s office was on the other side. Both empty doorframes smiled at the trio. Glass sparkled in the diffused glow of the moon. The wooden door to the sub shop remained on its hinges but barely open.
“Take Jay and go around the corner. Wait there until I come for you. If you hear a struggle run and don’t stop.”
Sally nodded and led Jay by the hand around the corner and out of sight.
