~2~
I missed the sun. I knew when to miss it because of the twenty-four hour clock on the night stand. I longed for the gentle warmth of early morning, of the brilliant colours in the evening, of the dazzling strobe lights on the water in the afternoon. But even above ground, I doubted I would see it. It would be obscured by a haze of ash and dust and smoke, and when the fires died there would be only darkness, and cold.
I wondered how far the destruction had spread. Tried to tell myself that I cared about what had happened beyond Hope County. But I didn't. Not really. In fact I pushed it to the back of my mind to deal with later, if at all, because it was tormenting to think about the world that had been erased.
When I came home from My Time I'd found myself surrounded by corruption and greed, our country led by hate-mongers and fat cats only concerned with the mula they were forking into their own pockets. Not that that was a big change from before I was shipped overseas. This was one thing me and the Peggies agreed on. There was a lot of rot in the world. Or, there had been. No doubt the worst shitfucks who didn't deserve it made it – like Joseph – but for those that didn't, seemed a pretty steep price to eradicate them. Like blowing up a house over a cockroach infestation. The thing is, cockroaches could survive nuclear radiation.
So no, coming home wasn't as shiny as the movies made it out to be. Politics aside, I had left a well-lit house and a warm bed and came back to dark windows and cold sheets. My girl had left me. Oh, she still slept in my bed, ate my food and drove my car, but she had found a new friend. A sharp-nosed friend that took her further away than any plane could take me. And before I could convince her to get help, she went to a place I could not follow.
Finding my girlfriend suffocated by her own puke had not inspired me to pursue life very hard. I'd hung up my uniform, took my last army cheque and dicked off to another state. "To start over," said the squadron physician/therapist, my girl's friends, and a bartender. So I did, and I took up mechanics. Turns out I was good at it, too. I'd tinkered with cars and bikes growing up, like Pop, but little did I know that it would help me survive my next trial – a junior deputy of some back-country police department in Montana.
I guess I hadn't been happy helping folks fix their vehicles. I still wanted to help my fellow man, but after blasting extremist leaders from their high horses, turning a wrench seemed a little tame. The police academy was impressed by how I could handle a weapon, any weapon, and it didn't take long before I became the rookie under Earl Whitehorse's wing. He and his other deputies, Pratt and Hudson, only knew I was ex-military and was under no obligation to share what I'd done, so as far as they could tell, I was just a grunt without the balls to fight someone else's fight until I had no limbs left.
Ptcha.
And now here I was, contemplating the sun, wondering if I would ever see it again, while Joseph slept on Dutch's bed. He snored, but lightly, and I knew he would bolt awake if a fly farted. Trying to escape, I learned days ago, was punishable by starvation.
My tongue rolled sticky in my mouth. Tasted like I had cleaned the floor with it.
The clock changed to 6 AM. The silent shift of mercury woke Joseph, and the Father sat up with mechanical ease, grunting softly, before standing. I watched him, for lack of anything else to do, as he performed his usual morning routine of stretching and controlled breathing. Fuck, I wanted to hit him. He was too damn chilled. Too damn cool with this entire situation. His family was dead, his flock scattered, and he had a time bomb cuffed to the foot of his bed.
Finally, Joseph got on his knees, facing the Peggy flag on the far wall. He muttered a prayer, something he probably said every morning but I could never make out, and then got to his feet. He turned to me at last. He was shirtless again.
"Good morning, my child. Sleep well?"
I hadn't, and he knew it. He'd given me a pillow but that was hardly a comfort. I hadn't slept properly since being brought down here. I just stared at him blearily, clenching my teeth.
He let me out of the cuffs only to use the bathroom, and then it was back to my restraints, no offer to eat at the table. He hadn't offered for weeks. I hadn't shaved or showered for some time either – I looked and smelled like a goddamn Peggy. Maybe that's what the Father wanted.
After praying again, Joseph left me alone, and I settled to try and catch a few Z's. Sometimes it was easier when he wasn't in the room, and bad dreams had startled me awake several times in the night. If I nestled into the corner between the bed and the wall, the pillow between my shoulder and the bars, I could almost pretend it was a comfy squashy armchair. My ass was always cold and sore but it was still the best position to find peace behind my eyelids.
Peace. Hah. When I closed my eyes I saw Nick Rye and his family as slabs of charred meat, far from home, far from their beloved Carmina. I saw Pastor Jerome and Tracy and Hurk Jr., powerless against the coming storm. I saw Wheaty and Tammy running from the flames, taken from the safety of the Wolf's Den at the worst possible time. All of them, all the good folks I had helped, and were helped by, brought to that church to bear Joseph's judgment of yours truly.
And then, clear as a bell, I heard Jacob Seed's taunt in the back of my mind.
Don't you find it ironic that everyone you try to help winds up worse off? Eli... Pratt... Tragedy just follows you. If you really wanted to keep people safe...be a hero...you'd just off yourself. Safer for everyone that way.
A searing pain forced my eyes open, and I cried out, sitting upright and clenching my right hand – or what was left of it. The ring and little fingers were gone, blasted off by Jacob's MBP .50 sniper. I'd been so careless, so sloppy trying to get the demented marksman in range, that I hadn't thought to withdraw my hand behind the rock I was huddled behind for cover. Jacob had laughed as I screamed.
It was phantom pain I was feeling now. I knew of fellow soldiers experiencing it after losing limbs to grenades and mines, but was surprised at its sudden intensity. It hadn't really bothered me since Tammy patched it up, although it had made using firearms more difficult.
Unwrapping the filthy bindings around it, I tried to get a closer look, but the cuffs were making it difficult to twist my hand into adequate light. I got onto my knees and squeezed my arms through the footboard bars, and then I could see – layers of puckered and nasty-looking skin stretched over the stubs. They throbbed as though they'd been shot off only yesterday.
I flinched as someone else's hands came out of nowhere and grasped my wrists. I had not heard Joseph come in. He didn't say anything, just turned my hand to see for himself. When he released me, his toes nudged my ribs. I ignored the order until he kicked again, harder. Withdrawing my arms from between the bars, the cuffs' chain clinking against metal, I kept my eyes averted from him, pretending he didn't exist, and went to sit back again. But he put a hand on my shoulder to stop me, and a small glass of water was held before my face.
I wondered, Could I dehydrate myself to death? Rebelling against Joseph in any way possible sounded like a good idea, but I highly doubt he would let me do that. So I allowed him to tip the water into my mouth, little by little, softening my tongue. When the last of it was gone, I watched the glass being taken away with reluctance.
Joseph was now offering me rice crackers and berries. Seemed silly, having a salty snack when water was rationed. But I needed the electrolytes so my muscles wouldn't freak out. I ate whatever he gave quickly, wanting him to go away, and when the last cracker was gone I nudged closer to the bed again, dismissing him.
But he did not go. He sat cross-legged on the floor a few feet away, a white book in his hands. I glared at it. It was a copy of the Word of Joseph, sticky-notes littering the pages. How the hell did that thing get down here?
Then I remembered: Dutch. He'd hated the Peggies as much as anyone, but to bring them down, he would have had to know all there was to know, and that meant studying their bullshit scripture.
"You are familiar with this?" said Joseph, smiling at my expression. "The Truth as God revealed it to me, bit by bit, whispered in my ears for decades. Some of it, my own. My life, the life of my family. You read it?"
I had flipped through a copy or two. Jacob had apparently burned down the foster family home when he was a kid. Swell guy. Most of the Word was a bunch of religious claptrap blown out of Joseph's asshole and I hadn't absorbed a word of it. Peggies were bad, not because they followed a lunatic's orders so blindly, but because they hurt others to do so. That was all I needed to know.
"There are many stories in your friend's little library," said Joseph, oblivious to my derision. "Churchill. Tolkien. Chaucer. But nothing has the power of divine revelations." He opened the Word at random and began to read.
Like prayer time, I simply shut him out. I wasn't sure if he'd fooled himself into thinking I was paying attention or if he didn't care I wasn't. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to be around me, because he no longer had his flock to keep him company.
Regrettably, I knew that I'd be craving his company in the coming weeks, putrescent as it was. Humans were social animals, and solitary confinement was a method of torture, not a punishment.
I realized my gibbled hand didn't hurt anymore. Curling and uncurling the thumb and remaining fingers, I nestled back and once more tried to sleep. I must have succeeded, because when I next became aware, I was covered in a blanket.
Day 43
My child is strong. Like me, his Father, his spirit is ancient, and I start to question my initial impressions of him. I thought he was merely the rogue pawn, the stray sheep, but now I wonder if he'd been the catalyst since the very beginning. Born and destined to initiate the Collapse. I know he was not brought here by coincidence or chance.
Even with the Bliss still flowing through his veins, he has resisted me at every turn. This must be God's last test for me. To embrace the lost, defiant soul, the nonbeliever, the heretic, the murderer, as though he were my own blood, and guide him to the righteous path. Prove that every soul can be saved, so long as someone remained to save it.
I've always known it would be difficult. My family had their challenges, and sometimes, they admitted, the soul perished before it could be cleansed. They all mourned their failures but never, never gave up.
And now God has placed with me the darkest soul of all. The harbinger of hell, the shadow of the white horse. And it would be all the more difficult in the coming days, for the deputy will be returning to his original state soon. If he survives, his will shall be his own entirely, and what is clay will become stone. But even stone can be tamed. Shaped. Sculpted.
I do not want to hurt him. He will hurt himself, punish himself, far more than anyone else could. If he doesn't, I will fail. And I cannot fail.
I shall not fail.
"If you just walked away, what could I really say? Would it matter anyway? Would it change how you feel? I am the mess you chose, the closet you cannot close, the devil in you I suppose, 'cause the wounds never heal."
Everything Changes, Staind