"Into the Dark"
He watched the darkened streets of Alexandria with great interest from his vantage in the tree. Obscured by the cloying, green leaves, bathed in shadow, he watched the goings-on, the muttering figures that walked the streets, with a muddled mixture of both contempt and envy.
Envy was not the Lord's way, for it was one of the Seven, and he pushed it down into the darkened depths of his soul, angry at himself for his predilection for sin.
He watched the shadowed figures as they walked the streets beneath the muted glow of the lamps, oblivious it seemed, to the Tribulation beyond their walls. They'd constructed their own Jericho, building ever closer to Babel, these Alexandrians, unrepentant and impious. They'd ignored the signs, the message of the Lord; they cared little for it and for this insolence, they'd need to be punished. He learned his lessons well, for he was one of the Hands, those who served, and sometimes the Lord necessitated that the Hand become a fist. The Speaker had told him what was required by the Flock, the gift the Lord would accept, just as He'd once asked Abraham to demonstrate his convictions in the form of his son, Isaac. He knew, he listened, and the Speaker was seldom ambiguous.
Then he saw her.
The black woman. The Pretty Woman. She sat silently on her porch with the Tall Man who appeared to be her husband, leaning her head against him, her hand in his.
Again, he felt the sour twinge of envy and attempted to shake it away, as though a cloud of insects were set about his mind. So proud were these sinners in their impiety, he thought, and in their arrogance, had the audacity to love and be loved when they deserved it not. When the Lord had declared the beginning of Armageddon, when the archangel Gabriel's trumpet had sounded, they huddled together for comfort and warmth in the last of the fading light. Frivolous, but at once all-too compelling.
The Pretty Woman and the Tall Man loved each other. This was obvious to any with eyes. Even in the darkness about them, they seemed to shine, to burn with it. He'd watched them for some time these last days as his vigil over the Alexandrians grew more rapt, as his study of them deepened. Never close enough to fully discern their conversations, never far enough that he couldn't memorize their routines. He'd been tasked by the Speaker with this holy mission and he'd not fail. This undertaking was to be a difficult one, but he would not fail.
Still, to see the Pretty Woman and the Tall Man together as such, to experience, even from a distance, the intensity of the love they shared, he felt the black, yawning gulf of his own loneliness. He so desperately wanted to gather that warmth to himself, to devour it greedily, to shrink from the cold of this world and find some momentary solace.
He tightened his grip on the branch upon which he balanced himself.
"No," he growled under his breath, shaking his dark-blonde hair from his eyes, attempting yet again to strangle that unpleasant emotion, "A Hand wants for nothing, a Hand needs for nothing, and shall take succor in the Lord."
It was a mantra he repeated several times throughout the day, the drone a comforting one, the words seemingly becoming truer, the reality of them solidifying with each utterance. Even on the days when his slight frame quivered with hunger and his swollen belly ached, when the insects were gnawing at him, the words gave him comfort and solidarity. So strange how sin could disguise itself, cloak itself in something as pure as love…
Another figure approached the Pretty Woman and the Tall Man. The Hand, Jacob, recognized this one immediately. His identity was evident in both his measured gait and the intensity radiating from him, an intensity that never seemed to ebb or fade; he was always on edge, perpetually coiled and prepared to strike. It was the Cunning Man, the one with the crossbow. He worried Jacob, this Cunning Man, as his eyes were sharp and his instincts were finely-honed. Jacob had always been clever and fleet of foot, a man easy to miss given his slight stature and quiet, meek nature. But the Cunning Man, this one, he seemed like a lion, a beast tamed only just enough not to tear off the arm that feeds it. Jacob couldn't enter those walls with the Cunning Man still inside, no, not as Daniel to this den of lions. The Cunning Man would know. Jacob found himself wondering, even now, if he didn't already know, toying with Jacob at a distance, biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to level his crossbow at him and…
No.
He couldn't possibly know. Jacob had been too clever, too quiet, taking such great pains to remain unseen, sleeping during the day and slinking towards this den of iniquity moving from shadow to shadow at dusk or under cover of darkness. He'd avoided the other woman, yet another woman with beauty that gnawed at Jacob, the Sniper, she with the silenced rifle and the eyes so like a hawk. He'd so masterfully avoided her gaze he couldn't help the swell of pride in him.
If the Cunning Man had known, even suspected, Jacob would likely be dead already. He'd tell the Sniper and she'd level those big, pretty brown eyes at Jacob (he'd admired her through his binoculars many times), see him through her scope, and he'd know nothing beyond that moment.
Jacob grinned, feeling his parched lips cracking. The icy pain returned his focus.
None of them knew.
The stillness of this night was both a boon to Jacob and quite unsettling. The sound of each of his minute movements seemed amplified, to reverberate through the windless calm.
However, despite the dull hum of the cicadas that seemed to orchestrate the backdrop of every moonrise, Jacob could dimly make out their voices.
"Just before dawn..," the Tall Man said, "You and me…got to…Eugene said…"
Fragmented and tinny, but Jacob knew of what they were speaking. At last, at long last, his moment approached. Jacob attempted to stifle the giggle, but he simply couldn't help himself. His heart leapt in his chest, but no heads turned his direction.
The Tall Man and the Cunning Man would be patrolling for something at the behest of the Chubby Man and they'd leave in mere hours. Jacob had always liked the Chubby Man. He seemed earnest, for the most part, but evinced an awkwardness and diffidence that reminded Jacob very much of himself.
"More rounds," the Cunning Man said, "…eighty or… Gotta swing by the…"
Bullets. Jacob was convinced. The Alexandrians made their own bullets. This he'd gleaned as he crept close, dangerously close, to the wall as he foraged one late afternoon. It was the Big Man who'd said it. The Big Man with the red hair was loud and garrulous. Jacob did not care for him at all. Men like him used to torment Jacob before the Tribulation. Unfair, so miserably unfair that the Big Man was one of those behind the safety of these walls, that the Sniper kissed him goodbye before she went about her watch. Unfair, but not even slightly surprising.
But his moment was so soon!
Jacob's belly ached at the thought of returning to the Flock, of eating his fill of anything he chose from the larder, of drifting off to sleep with a full belly and beneath the comfort of his blanket. It was approaching and quickly so! He'd have to move the car closer. Of course he would. Remove the branches and leaves he'd piled over it and move it nearer the gates. He'd need that to transport his cargo, that which the Flock would require, the gifts to the Lord. He'd finally return to the sanctity and security of the Church, smell the musty scent of the rectory in which he now slept as a Hand, and his vigil with Alexandria would be over.
Still, he couldn't help but feel that he'd somehow miss them and that without the Alexandrians, there'd be an empty space in his existence. He'd not again partake in what they had, whatever the distance. This thought unnerved him more than he would have liked.
He heard the clear, confident voice of the Pretty Woman.
"Seven hours…not much…need to rest for…"
Ah, so they'd be going off to bed, then? The Tall Man and the Pretty Woman would be off to bed soon, no doubt to make love as they were frequently wont to do. Jacob understood the fear this world now inspired, why the Tall Man and the Pretty Woman cleaved so to each other, but the love they radiated… that was simply beyond his ability to comprehend.
That love, the degree to which he felt alienated by it, that love which made him feel ever more distant from these people, was the only thing in Alexandria that ever made Jacob want to cry.
Again, he attempted to shake the thought away. A Hand needs for nothing.
The Pretty Woman and the Tall Man bid the Cunning Man farewell and went in doors, still hand in hand. Jacob scowled, even as he was inwardly elated.
He need only bide his time a few more hours, to listen for the telltale sound of a car starting within the gates, and slip in over the wall. It would be mere minutes of opportunity when the guard rotation changed, so he would have to be swift and quiet, but Jacob was exceptionally good at those things. Get the car, yes, turn off the lights, and creep along the road. THAT was the first order of business. Hide it JUST out of view, cover it up, and set about his task.
The wind gusted suddenly and in the distance, Jacob heard the rumble of thunder. The heaviness of the air promised rain and soon. Jacob smiled earnestly, his cracked lips now bleeding.
"Thank you, Lord," he whispered, "Thank you."
It couldn't be more perfect, now. The rain would muffle his sounds even further, deepen the darkness, and lull the Alexandrians. His moment was coming! Oh, God was good. God was very good!
The Speaker had been quite clear. The Alexandrians needed a lesson in penitence, particularly the Tall Man who, along with the Pretty Woman, lead them. The Tall Man would bend knee and be contrite. He'd be given no choice but to do so. The Speaker would see to it, the Flock demanded it be so.
All that was needed in order to force the penitence of the Tall Man was to strike at the foundations of his sin.
Take it from him, have him be stripped to his foundation, and let him see the full face of his transgression.
"Take the Pretty Woman. Take her, and the One-Eyed Boy. Bring them before the Flock for purification." These words had been, more or less, precisely those of the Speaker.
When these two were purified by the Speaker, when they'd been cleansed, when all the Tall Man loved was taken away, he would be contrite. He would be as the Job of this Tribulation, so said the Speaker. When their souls had been sent to the bosom of the Lord, the Tall Man would realize his sins, and when he knelt, all of Alexandria would kneel with him.
"There is no rest, sayeth the Lord," Jacob whispered, "Unto the wicked."
Jacob waited, he watched, and the swollen, dark clouds began to roll in over Alexandria…
