The congregation consists mostly of young women, but there are a few older men and some children smattered around. Not nearly as put-together as the Deacon, their appearance is far more mismatched and utilitarian.
And then he spots his beautiful brown-haired, brown-eyed girl.
She is sitting on the front pew on the left side, dressed in all white, her wavy brown hair cascading down delicately to rest on her dress.
Her eyes widen when she sees him. She glances at him, then away, but with a single expression and the quick, small shake of her head, she communicates for him to act as if he doesn’t know her.
With the slightest of nods he lets her know he understands and with the briefest of expressions he reassures her everything’s going to be okay.
—Perhaps before the Great and Terrible Day of the Lord we may have had time to repent, the Deacon is saying, may have had some leeway, but not now. Not when we’re living when and how we are. Not when all around us there is death and disease and destruction. No. Now we must repent the moment—I mean the very instant—we receive the word from God. When God sends his correction now, we must heed it immediately. No delay. No discussion. No wavering, brothers and sisters. Just obedience.
This gets a reaction from the group. Lots of nods and a few amens.
—Let me remind you where we are, he says. Lest you forget, friend. We are part of the New Jerusalem. Set apart, consecrated to God. We are a holy people. A city set on a hill. We are the Land of Goshen. Just like God’s people, the Hebrews, back in Egypt. Protected by the hand of God, by the blood of Jesus. Think of all that’s befalling the world around us, but not us. Not us. We are blessed going in and blessed coming out. We are the chosen of God, a peculiar people. Priests and kings unto God Almighty. Do you doubt it?
The congregation doesn’t doubt it and lets him know.
—Let me read something to you, he says, opening his large leather Bible. Listen to this. This is us, was written for us, about us, is true, prophetically, of us. See if it bears witness with your spirit.
He begins to read.
—He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.
He places the Bible back on the podium, then walks about from behind it.
—Oh, friend. Please hear me. Please listen. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. If . . . if and only if we repent when God reveals our sin to us. Do you want to be part of us or part of the ten thousand falling beside us, all around us? Do you want to watch the reward of the wicked from the safe place here in the secret place of the Most High, here in the shadow of the Almighty, or do you want to be the wicked reaping the harsh reward, the destruction that secret sin brings down on your head?
They want to watch and not be the wicked and tell him so.
—Think about the world we now live in, the world that we are in but not of, he says. How true is the word of God? How accurate and precise when it speaks of the terror by night. You’ve heard the horror that comes from the woods at night. You’ve seen the abomination that now slinks its way across the earth. Think about it. What did the Psalmist call it? The pestilence that walketh in darkness. You’ve seen them or heard about them. You know what they’re capable of. Do you want to be out there with them or in here with the righteous, the holy remnant of God remaining on the earth in these last days?
They definitely don’t want to be out there with the pestilence that walketh in darkness, but in here with him, and they make sure he knows.
—Then, he says, when God speaks to me, don’t just listen, really hear; and don’t just hear, but perceive; and don’t just perceive, but obey. Obey the word of God as it’s revealed. Without question. Without hesitation. He who has ears, let him ear.
The congregation bursts into applause.
When they finish, the Deacon is looking directly at Michael.
—We have another lost soul in our fold tonight, he says. What’s your name, friend?
—Michael.
—Stand up, Michael.
He does so very slowly, doing his best to seem timid and shy.
—Michael, like the archangel.
—Yes, sir.
—Sir? See that people? I’m younger than him, but he calls me sir as a sign of respect. He perceives the anointing of the Lord. Don’t you, brother?
—I do, Michael says, nodding.
—Has the Lord God brought you to us, Michael?
—I have absolutely no doubt of that, he says.
—Did what I say—the Deacon begins, then corrects himself. Did what God say through me tonight bear witness with your soul, Michael?
—More than you’ll ever know.
—Oh, I don’t know about that. God reveals these things to me, brother.
Michael nods and bows his head slightly.
—I didn’t mean that you—
—I know what you meant, brother. God knows. I know. Where do you come to us from, Michael?
—Atlanta.
—Atlanta? That’s quite a ways away. Tell the people of God here tonight what you’ve seen out there, brother.
—I’ve seen . . . the terror by night and the pestilence that walketh in darkness.
This response makes the Deacon ecstatic, and following his lead, the congregation erupts with amens and applause and other affirmations.
Before becoming a novelist, Michael had been a theology student and a prison chaplain. He’s familiar with people like the Deacon and their belief system, knows the language and how to use it, but will it sound sincere enough? Will he be convincing?
—So, Michael, the Deacon says when the crowd is quiet again. Where would you rather be? Here in the Land of Goshen or out there in the plague-ridden planet?
—Here. Here’s where I want to be.
The congregation erupts again.
—And what will you do to stay here?
Michael begins to say exactly what he knows the Deacon wants him to, but figures that might be too suspicious, too much like a setup.
—Anything, he says instead.
—Anything, yeah, okay, but . . . brother . . . in the . . . on the backdrop of God’s revelation to us tonight . . .
—I’ll repent, Michael says. I’ll hear the word of the Lord and obey without waiting, without questioning or doubting.
—Amen, the Deacon says. Brothers and sisters, I do believe God has brought us another new Disciple here tonight.
6
As Nobody had predicted, they put him in what they call the guest tent in the back corner of the compound.
The small tent is not only isolated, but located as far away from the front gate as you can get. If the guest tried anything not sanctioned by the Lefters, he or she would be spotted and stopped.
Because of the tent’s position in the compound and its proximity to the back fence, Nobody had buried a couple of weapons beneath it before being banished. She was also right about it being a great place to toss things over the wall or pass small items beneath the trailer and between the chain link—such as notes and even weapons.
For tonight, he doesn’t attempt any of those things. They have a plan in place and he plans to stick to it. Tonight he is only interested in being a docile, submissive Disciple, weary from the Tribulation going on outside the compound walls.
For tonight, he’s just happy to
be here—to have seen Meleah, to know she’s still alive.
He knows he’s being watched. And not only by the two Brothers guarding the gate. Thanks to Nobody, he knows most of what’s going on around him—and where and who’s involved. Unless it has changed since she was here, he knows who is in each RV and tent and what is in each storage container. She had told him where the bathroom and showers are—something that almost led to a fateful mistake when earlier in the evening he had started to walk over to them without asking anyone where they were. She’d even told him where the gardens are—though the crops have changed since she was here. She had also been right about the single gate serving as the only entrance and exit being as much a liability as an asset.
In addition to having two semi tractor-trailers full of nonperishable food the Brothers had gathered from a fifty-mile radius, they are growing their own food—including raising livestock for milk, eggs, and meat.
Michael’s trying to figure out a way to get a little sleep without totally letting his guard down for any real length of time, when a shadow appears at the front of his tent.
—Brother Michael?
It’s Meleah’s voice.
—Yes, he says, scurrying over to unzip the tent. Come in, please.
—I can’t come in, she says. It’d be improper and disrespectful to the Deacon, but if you could step out here for a minute . . .
—Oh, sure. Sorry.
She’s just as beautiful, her big brown eyes just as intelligent and kind, but there’s a weariness and wariness about her not there before. A sadness too.
His little girl. One of a small group of people on the planet he feels utterly responsible for. He’s overwhelmed to see her, overcome with the desire to hug her, to grab her hand and run.
She is holding a basket, which she hands to him when he’s out of his tent and standing before her.
—The Deacon and I would like to personally welcome you with this token of brotherhood and friendship.
He tries to read her eyes.
She nods and attempts to communicate something to him but he’s not sure what it is.
She glances down at her hand and widens her eyes as she reaches out to shake his.
—Blessings be upon you, she says, shaking his hand as she brings her other one over to pat his other.
He’s so happy to be so close to her, to actually be touching her again that it takes a moment or so for him to realize that there’s a folded piece of paper in her small hand.
—We’ll wake you for work in the morning, she says. Rest well. You’re safe here. Good night and God bless.
As she turns to leave, he holds the note so that the basket conceals it.
—Night, he says, then watches her as she walks across the compound to her camper, which he can’t help but notice is right next to the Deacon’s parsonage.
Heart happy, he rushes back inside his tent, zips it up, drops the basket of hygiene products, Gideon Bible, paper and pencil, and begins to read the quickly scrawled note written in her own hurried hand.
I can’t believe you’re here. I’m so happy to see you. I never thought I would again. I wish you weren’t here—these are very dangerous men—but I’m so glad you are. I’m okay. Actually, being treated like a queen. That’s because the Deacon has designs on me. He hasn’t tried anything yet, but I can tell it’s coming. They’ve made it clear that I can’t leave—though I didn’t think I could survive for long outside anyway. Any word from Micah, Travis, Mom, Mema, Papa, Taylor? Are any of them alive too? Listen to me, Dad—leave while you can. They’ll kill you if they find out who you are, and there’s no way you can break me out of here. There are too many of the Brothers and they are too well armed. Most of them are sociopaths like the Deacon. I love you so much and just knowing you’re alive means more to me than you’ll ever know. Take care of yourself and the rest of the family. Now that I know you’re out there—and maybe others too, I’ll escape when I get my chance. Or if any kind of order is ever restored to the world, which I know is very doubtful from the look of things, send the authorities to shut this place down. I was always going to make a move before I was forced to become his bride, so . . . Love you. Destroy this letter as soon as you read it. They routinely search the living quarters for contraband. They’ll kill us both if they find this.
He reads it three times, then rips it into strips and eats it.
She is so brave, so strong. Always has been. But she can’t really think he’d leave her here, that he wouldn’t risk everything, including his own life, to save her.
He thinks about what he should do. Will the plan work? Can he trust Nobody to carry it out? Should he go get help and come back? But who? Augustus? Lynn when his leg has healed? Lyle and Teesha’s group? Continue to Wewa and see who’s alive there who might help?
He doesn’t want to wait, doesn’t want her to be in this toxic place one more second, but he doesn’t want to do something that will cause her to get hurt or killed.
Fuck!
He’s just not sure what’s best.
7
He falls asleep thinking about what a strong-willed and independent child Meleah had been. She had arrived with an extraordinary sense of self. She knew what she liked and what she wanted—and good luck talking her into anything but. Rarely would she accept help with anything she could do for herself, and she had a fierce determination to do most everything for herself. With dogged determination she set her steel-like will to learning to tie her shoes, read, ride a bike, dress herself, fix her own hair.
He smiles as he recalls the extended period of time prior to starting school that she not only wanted to dress in her Disney princess costumes every single day but insisted on being called by their names.
I’m not Meleah, she’d say with frustration and conviction. I’m Ariel.
Another day it was, I’m not Meleah, I’m Jasmine.
Still another day it was, I’m not Meleah, I’m Belle.
He had watched the old VHS tapes featuring the Disney princesses over and over and over and over again with her, wearing out the tapes and buying replacements.
He had always been completely involved in her life, but became her primary caregiver when she was three. He was a full-time student with a flexible work schedule who kept Meleah while her mom started a new career. Caring for her had been at the center of who he was, who he had always been, and it had been something he had done, in various ways and to varying degrees, her entire life.
He had seen taking care of her, protecting her, not only as his primary purpose but as the greatest privilege he’d ever been given. And he had felt the same way when her little brother Micah had arrived. And again later when Travis had joined the family.
Just before succumbing to sleep, he recalls how protective—some would say overprotective—he had always been over his kids. Believing it was his job to get them safely to adulthood, he had attempted to see accidents before they happened and prevent them from ever occurring—a skill he had perfected over the years, one that his wife, Dawn, who took a different approach with her son River, laughed at him about. But Meleah’s only significant childhood injuries—slicing her tiny thumb open when reaching for a knife on the kitchen counter and burning her little arm while reaching for a cookie on a cookie sheet that had just been pulled from the oven—occurred when he wasn’t around, when he was at work instead of working to prevent her from experiencing serious injury.
She’s an adult now and for many years has needed him nearly not at all. But she needs his help now, and that part of him that wants to protect her from people like the Deacon and events like the apocalypse is still every bit as resident in his core as it ever was. Maybe more so.
8
Morning comes.
He’s slept very little.
He’s spent the night thinking about what he should do and still doesn’t know.
All he knows for sure is if he’s going to change the plan it has to soon. Otherwise, when noon arrives so will Nobody. Th
e balloon will go up and it will be too late then to do anything but see the plan through.
But is that true? Can he really count on her to do all she’s supposed to? It’s a lot to ask of someone he barely knows. And she’s not much more than a child. A damaged orphan with heart tear tattoos.
Yeah, I need to rethink this plan. It relies too heavily on her.
Everyone gathers in the sanctuary for morning prayers and he realizes what this all reminds him of. It’s like one of the religious summer camps he went to in early adolescence. Or maybe more accurately it’s like life in a monastery—religious duty and observation integrated into every aspect of daily living.
He is greeted warmly by the other members of the community, treated with kind regard by everyone he interacts with.
These are decent people. Why are they following someone like the Deacon? Why have so many millions and millions of well-meaning people trusted and followed monsters throughout human history?
Concerned someone will notice the family resemblance he shares with Meleah, he keeps his head down, letting his hair hang down over his face, grateful for his thick beard and disheveled appearance.
On the walk over to breakfast, he is joined by the Deacon and Meleah.
—What do you think of our little Land of Goshen? the Deacon asks.
—That’s exactly what it is, he says. A haven. A sanctuary. Do you think there are others around the world?
The Deacon nods.
—God always has a remnant. God’s people, the body of Christ, is present in every nation of the earth. Like us, they are people who had been deceived but now see the truth, who had been drinking and marrying and giving into marriage until Noah closed the door to the ark and the rains came and the flood carried them away.
Michael nods as if he not only understands but agrees.
—Not that there’s anything wrong with marriage, the Deacon says, leering at Meleah lasciviously. It’s an honorable estate given to us by God because it’s better to marry than burn.
CATACLYSMOS Book 1 Part 3: The Deacon: A Post-Apocolyptic Serial Thriller Page 3