Saviour

by Christopher Gallagher

We got lost, officer.

  Could you open the back doors please?

  Followed by the puzzled looks at the plastic explosive, the realisation.

  He looked out at the dark surroundings of the moonless night as they left civilisation, and swept through quiet villages. A city lad, Beaumont hated the countryside with a passion. When Bocus requested his help on a trip to blow up a water facility in the Northumbrian Dales, he'd tried unsuccessfully over several days to resist. In the end, he’d agreed just to shut him up. He still thought every day about what had happened to his life. He had no job and an uncertain future. He was beholden to Four Kingdoms United. A fact that Bocus reminded him of every day. The pressure of being on the run was getting to him. He’d once voiced to Bocus that he was thinking of walking into the Polizei building on Elland Road and give himself up.

  Bocus had laughed, 'More fool you.'

  Of course, he hadn't. The memory of Henderson was too fresh, too seared in his memory. Anyway, Bocus wouldn't let him. Beaumont wasn't allowed out of the house, couldn't answer the door, and had to stay clear of the windows. He was a prisoner. Always on edge, waiting for the Ninjas to storm through the door, end one nightmare, and start a new one.

  Beaumont glanced across at Bocus. He was totally relaxed, hands light on the wheel. The radio was on low, Bocus humming along to the music. Bocus glanced across. 'Don't worry,' he said, 'it's always worse the first time.'

  Beaumont exhaled air, wondered how many bombs Bocus had planted.

  'Soon be there.' Bocus told him, swinging round a corner, heading down a single-track road, the headlights picking up scattering rabbits. A bump as the wheels went over one.

  Bocus laughed. 'Supper.'

  Beaumont felt sick.

  The track ended at two-metre high steel gates.

  'Is this it?' Beaumont asked.

  'Yep.'

  Beaumont frowned. 'We just drive straight up to the gates?'

  'Yep.' Bocus smiled. 'The most secure part of the facility, the gates. The rest of it is just a crap chain link fence.'

  'No cameras?'

  'Not installed here yet.' Bocus said, opening the door, 'Stay here till I call you.'

  Beaumont watched as Bocus approached the gates and pressed a button. He expected the gates to open automatically, and was shocked when they did to reveal a middle-aged man in a black uniform with a peaked cap. Beaumont caught a snatch of muffled conversation before the guard turned to push the gate wider. As he did Bocus swung his arm and caught the man a blow on the side of his head. It was like watching a film. The man's cap flew to one side as he dropped soundlessly to the floor. Bocus stood over him for a moment, and then came back. 'Come on, give us a hand.'

  Together they taped a plastic carrier bag over the man's head, secured his hands and feet with cable ties. Bocus went inside the building leaving Beaumont with the body. He'd thought the man dead, was startled when he heard a groan, saw the bag suck inwards as he desperately struggled to breathe.

  Bocus came back with a heavy chain, Beaumont pointed to the guard. Bocus shrugged, and fastening the chain round the man's waist dragged him inside the facility. Beaumont watched in silence. He felt sick, but followed Bocus and helped tip the man over the wall into the cold water of the reservoir.

  Beaumont waited until Bocus brought the van inside the gates and closed them before speaking. 'Did you know there was a guard here?'

  Bocus gave him a look. 'Of course.'

  'You came knowing you were going to kill him?' Beaumont was appalled, stunned at this turn of events.

  'Yes.' Bocus replied. 'We're not playing party games you know. We're fighting to rid the country, our country, of these Saxon bastards.'

  'But he wasn't one of them.' Beaumont protested. 'He was just an innocent man doing his job.'

  Bocus didn't reply, just set about unloading the explosive. If he wanted help, he didn't ask and Beaumont was in no mood to volunteer, instead he wandered off looking round the inside of the building. It was a small place. Apart from the plant room, where Bocus was placing the bomb, there was an equipment store, a toilet, a small kitchen with a kettle and a dog. A small, sad eyed spaniel that wagged its tail when it saw Beaumont. Must be the guard's he thought, stooping to pat it on the head. 'What are we gonna do with you,' he looked at the tag on the collar, 'Archie?'

  Beaumont knew he couldn't leave it where it was, when the bomb went off the building would be flattened. He couldn't bear the thought of the animal being killed or injured. Knew also he couldn't take it, Bocus would never wear that, might even find another weight, drop it in the water.

  The solution was simple. He took the dog's lead from a hook by the door, fastened it, led it outside, up the track, and let it go in a field. Archie seemed reluctant to go and stood looking at Beaumont with its watery eyes. But, after a few words of encouragement, it scampered off into the darkness. He hoped it wouldn't just have a piss and make its way back to the building.

  Beaumont stood by the gate for a few minutes staring into the night. He'd been thinking about the prophet, Jesus. He'd toyed with the idea of leaving the house when Bocus was at work, seeking him out and joining his band of followers. A pipe dream, he knew he wouldn't do it. What would Jesus want with the likes of Beaumont anyway?

  His phone buzzed, he answered. 'Hello?’

  'Where are you?' Bocus demanded.

  'I needed some fresh air,' Beaumont explained, 'back in a minute.'

  'I'm done here, it's time to go.' Bocus cut the call.

  Beaumont sighed and made his way back to the van.

  ✝

  Disciple's campsite, Lake Windermere.

  Simon turned the bacon on the grill and stirred the pan of baked beans. Sipping his tea, he stared into the dark greenness of the woods. He'd heard movement in there earlier, but had dismissed it as the wild boars that lived in the forest. He'd caught a glimpse of one yesterday. A fearsome looking brute, far bigger than a domestic pig. It had looked at him for a second, and then moved off. Jesus had appeared from the trees a few minutes later. He hadn’t seemed bothered by boars, or beer drinking ghosts.

  The weather looked set fair to be another glorious day, not that Simon had been enjoying life for the past few days. He'd been jumpy ever since his night-time abduction. After his encounter with the voice, he'd been given his sleeping bag, bundled out of the van, and warned to keep quiet. It had taken him three hours to walk back to the camp. Dawn was breaking by the time he’d arrived. He'd just had time to get his bag back in the tent he shared with Jamie when it was time to get up.

  Simon was ashamed of giving that name to the voice. But as he kept telling himself, what else could he have done? He heard talking from the path. A few of the lads were up and about; he expected they’d been down to the lake for an early morning swim. They came trooping round the corner. Peter and John were having a heated discussion about a parable Jesus had told them. Jamie came over and asked if he was okay. Simon assured him he was, and told him breakfast would soon be ready.

  'Need any help?' Jamie asked.

  'Yeah, you can check the eggs.' Simon told him, lifting the grill from the open fire. He looked at the serving table. Everything was set and he was about to call out breakfast was ready when a news report on the radio caught his attention.

  '...in the centre of Manchester causing major damage. The Governor responded by promising the perpetrators, when caught, would be shown no mercy. In other news...'

  Simon wondered whether any of his old cronies were involved, thankful he'd left the nationalist movement when he had. The call from Jesus had come at the right time, he'd been on the verge of signing up for a bomb making course He hadn't hesitated, joining the disciples that day, leaving his old life behind. He shuddered as he realised that he must be on a list of suspects. He could have planted a bomb, thought he'd got away with it, and been arrested within hours. Jamie raised his eyebrows. Simon smiled a reassurance.

  Later, plates emptied, stacked, ready for washing, Juda
s nudged Jamie's arm. 'Look.'

  'Another ghost, is it?' Jamie smirked.

  Everybody laughed.

  'No. Look.' Judas pointed. 'That's no ghost.'

  A man stood on the edge of the clearing just inside the tree line. He didn't speak, just stood and stared, his head bobbing up and down. It looked to Simon as though he was shaking. He could hear him muttering away to himself.

  'Boss?' Andrew caught Jesus' attention.

  'I've seen him, Andrew. I've been expecting him.'

  'What do you think, Boss?' Peter asked. 'Can we help him?'

  'He has to want help.' Jesus replied. 'He needs to come to me. Just ignore him. He’ll come over when he’s ready.'

  The disciples chatted between themselves, glancing at the man from time to time. Simon studied him out of the corner of his eye. He was clean-shaven, his long hair tied back in a ponytail that swished from side to side as he moved his head. His jeans and T-shirt, although clean, were crumpled. Mid to late thirties at a guess. If he hadn't been muttering and jerking his head around, he would have appeared normal.

  After a while, he approached and stopped a few metres away. Jim offered a hunk of bread, holding it until the man crept close enough to grab it, and wolf it down. Now he was close, Simon noticed the numerous cuts on both his arms, some fresh, others scabbed.

  'He self-harms.' Simon pointed out.

  Jim nodded. 'Yeah.' He filled a beaker with water and put it on a table. The man seized it. He drank the water and was about to move back into the trees when he noticed Jesus. He became agitated, jigging about from foot to foot, muttering all the while.

  Jesus spoke in a low voice. 'Come out of this man, you impure spirit.’

  The man dropped to his knees. 'What do you want with me, Jesus, son of the most High God?' He screamed. 'In God's name don't torture me. Help. Help.'

  He looked at Simon. 'You'll help me, won't you?'

  Simon, embarrassed, looked away, and was amazed to see half a dozen wild boars emerge from the trees. They stopped, looked towards Jesus, as though they were watching the scene, almost as if they could understand what was being said.

  'What's your name?' Jesus asked.

  'Legion.' The man answered, pronouncing it Lee-jon. 'For we are many.'

  It seemed to Simon, every time the man spoke, it was with a different voice. A young man, old woman, young girl, uneducated, refined, they were all there. He looked back towards the trees. The boars were still coming. In small groups, they emerged from the woods. He nudged Jim, whispered, 'Look.'

  'I've seen them.' Jim replied. 'Weird.'

  The man was speaking again, this time in a small boy's voice. 'Please, Jesus,' he begged. 'Don't send me away.' He looked at the disciples asking each in turn if they would help him. He noticed the boars, who by now were too numerous to count, and seemed to have moved closer. 'The pigs,' he pointed. 'Send us into the pigs.' He turned back to Jesus. 'You can do that, can't you, Jesus. Let us go into the pigs.'

  'Go.' Jesus said. 'Leave this man.'

  The man moaned, and then slumped to the floor. There was a roaring noise like a tornado approaching, but no movement. After a moment, everything became still and silent.

  Simon and Jim, at Jesus' command helped the man to his feet. They all moved away from the tables and gathered at the edge of the camp. Nothing happened for a few minutes, but then the animals began moving, grunting, squealing, and bunching together, they trotted forwards, their bulky bodies swaying. Picking up speed, they rushed straight through the camp knocking over tables and chairs, and demolishing tents. A rancid smell was left in their wake as they sped along the track around the bend, and rushed down towards the lake.

  Jude and a few others followed, but most of the disciples stayed back, talking among themselves. Simon gave the man a mug of sweet tea. He smiled in gratitude, and told them his name was Dixon. He explained how he'd been living deep in the woods in a concealed shelter for fifteen years, surviving by breaking into people's garages and outbuildings, just taking what he needed to live a frugal life. He couldn't say when he first became demon possessed, but thought it was after he’d been living rough for a number of years.

  Jude, Jamie, Phil and Tom returned and said they'd seen the wild boar plunge into the lake, thrash about, and then drown. Jesus, who had listened to Dixon's story in silence, blessed him and told him he was free of possession. Dixon wept tears of joy, and asked if he could join them.

  Jesus shook his head. 'No, I'm sorry. You need to go back to your own people. Tell them all that the Lord has done for you, and how he has shown you mercy.'

  ✝

  Lake Windermere, Northumbria.

  A small group of men gathered by the lakeside. Todman looked at them with satisfaction. His group, his men. Todman followed Jesus, which didn't say much. He'd followed other prophets that sprang up from time to time. Those whose stars had flared for a time before darkness overtook them. He'd been optimistic that this guy Jesus was the real deal. He'd thought Jesus was going to make a difference. That he was the Messiah. That things would change because of him. Todman expected life to change for the better but was still waiting on real change. He was finished with promises. He'd been part of the crowd fed on scraps yesterday, but, despite the miracle of the food, he was wavering, on the cusp of leaving. Jesus often spoke in riddles and Todman found him difficult to understand. He resented being told to use his ears to hear. What else would he do with them? It didn't help that Jesus wasn't here this morning, where Todman and his group had expected him to be. It was mid-morning he should be here. The miracle of yesterday was forgotten. He wanted bigger, better miracles today. It was fair to say Todman was a lukewarm, fair-weather supporter. While the going was good, he followed and got out of it what he could, but he was always ready to jump ship.

  He looked at his men. They followed Jesus because Todman followed Jesus. They were sheep and he was their shepherd. But even sheep became dissatisfied. They were grumbling at having to wait for the Messiah. Somebody mentioned that Jesus was still over the other side of the lake, at his campsite, where just the official disciples were welcome.

  Well, bollocks to that.

  He called for a boat, one of his men found one and they crossed the lake. Nearing the far shore, they were amazed to see the drowned bodies of wild boar. They nudged a course between them, pushing them clear with a boat hook. There must have been several hundred. His men were quiet and fearful, wondering what had happened to cause all the animals to end up in the water.

  Tying up the boat, they made their way up the narrow track towards the campsite, Todman leading the way. Coming into the clearing, they were met with a scene of devastation. Tables and chairs had been over turned, tents torn down, clothing strewn about. It looked as though a tornado had swept through the camp, that, or a herd of wild boar, Todman thought and smiled wryly.

  Jesus and his followers were in a huddle in the centre of the camp. Nobody noticed them and Todman seethed at being ignored. He was sure one or two of the disciples had noticed him, but nobody spoke, they just carried on with their meeting. Todman, determined not to mention the chaos in the camp, called out, 'You're still here, Jesus.'

  Jesus turned and addressed the newcomers. 'I tell you the truth,' he said, 'you are looking for me, not because you saw the signs I performed but because you ate your fill of the bread and the cheese.' He shook his head. 'Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For on him God the Father has placed his seal of approval.'

  'What is this work that God requires?' Somebody behind Todman called out.

  'The work of God,' Jesus replied, 'is to believe in the one he has sent.'

  'What sign will you give,' another asked, 'that we may see it and believe it?'

  Peter exchanged glances with Andrew, not another bunch wanting a sign.

  'Yes.' A voice from the crowd called. 'What will you do?'

  'The thing is,' Todman said, 'our anc
estors ate manna in the wilderness, as it says in the ancient scriptures, "He gave them bread from heaven to eat."'

  'Don't you find it amusing,' Tom muttered to Judas, 'When people quote the ancient scriptures at the Boss?'

  Judas shrugged in reply.

  Jesus smiled and said, 'I tell you the truth, the bread of God is the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.'

  Todman bowed his head. 'Then always give us this bread.'

  'I am the bread of life,' Jesus declared. 'Whoever comes to me will never get hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. But,' he paused, and shook his head sorrowfully, 'as I told you, you have seen me and still you do not believe. All those the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away.’

  'I'm not quite getting that Jesus.' Todman said, with a puzzled look at his small group.

  It's quite simple, 'Jesus replied. 'My Father's will is that everybody who looks to the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life, and will be raised up at the last day.'

  A few in the crowd started muttering.

  'That's ridiculous.'

  'Who is he to say he's the bread of heaven.'

  'Said on internet, he used to be a builder.'

  '...from a poor family.'

  'Come down from heaven?'

  'I don't think so.'

  Jesus held up his hands. 'Oh, stop grumbling.' He commanded. ‘I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh which I will give for the life of the world.'

  The disciples listened as the crowd began arguing among themselves.

  'How can this man give us his flesh to eat?'

  'Bloke's a cannibal.'

  'I bet they all are.'

  'It's the end of the world.'

  'Is it a parable?'

  'Listen,' Jesus raised his voice above the clamour, 'I tell you the truth, unless you eat the flesh of the son of Man, drink his blood, you have no life in you.' He paused, looked at them all, included the disciples, 'Whoever eats my flesh, drinks my blood remains in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me and I live because of the Father, so the one who feeds on me will live because of me.’