As she became more and more comfortable with her situation, she found herself telling Oudry’s walking body all of her ideas. From afar, it would look like madness incarnate. A tall, radiantly beautiful woman wearing dirty clothes, covered in filth talking to the reanimated dead body of a little African boy. Some days she would be so excited about her ideas she’d gesture as if she was reciting a long prepared speech to a gathered crowd. One might even imagine that she could be practicing a sermon, or a chant of inspiration to a gathering of imagined believers.
Oudry pointed out far more food to her after the dream of The White Room in Ghana. Michelle noticed this, and was deeply thankful. Her belly full far more often meant she had more energy, and could walk farther, and faster. She didn’t know where they were headed, but she knew who would be there when she arrived. The Warden.
Oudry took her to the coast where they walked for many a long day. She found the majesty of the dark blue ocean a comfort. Always to her left on the journey it reminded her of the immensity of the world, and the grandeur of the power that guided it along its path. She felt small next to it, and yet because it was so close, she felt like a part of something massive, beautiful, and powerful.
The odd duo walked for weeks and weeks, skirting the dead and living alike. Michelle trusted little Oudry to keep her safe, and instead of being angry and feeling controlled when he stopped, she felt protected. It was liberating to put her fate in the hands of the Divine, and to know that something was looking over her through the boy. All was well until their last day together.
The moist heat of equatorial Africa had been abandoned weeks before that day for the dry heat of the African desert. Michelle was grateful that the time of year was heading into the autumn, because if it were the middle of summer, she would’ve roasted alive. Even so, her skin had burned, blistered, peeled and eventually bronzed over in the constant sun. She didn’t have the map memorized, but she could read many of the remaining road signs, and she knew they had crossed into southern Morocco.
Oudry took them abruptly inland late in what Michelle believed to be November, though she wasn’t sure of the date. The road they followed had signs saying they were approaching a small Moroccan city called Tan-tan. Michelle had never heard of it. She asked Oudry if they were going through the city, or around it, but Oudry never answered her. He simply put one bare, black foot in front of the other, and pushed forward.
They had walked underneath a massive pair of sand colored statues hanging over the road in the shapes of kissing camels when Oudry abruptly changed direction. The afternoon sun blazed behind her, cooking her back and stretching her shadow fifty feet in front of her. It would be dark soon, and shortly after that, very cold. A long arrow-like road extended inland further, and yet another sign sat on the sandy corner alone, telling her where the road headed. Aeroport Plage Blanche de Tan-Tan it said.
An airport.
Oudry walked slowly now, choosing his steps deliberately, almost as if he were leading her through a deadly minefield. Michelle’s anxiety rose when she realized that she was feeling worry coming off him in waves. She’d never felt this way around him before. She had always been the one afraid, and now, she knew he was the fearful one. But fearful of what?
What could scare Oudry? He was already dead, he had so little to lose.
When the sun dropped into the ocean far behind her Oudry stopped. The night sky was nebulous above her, filled with a billion twinkling stars, and vibrant swathes of color from clouds of gases floating a lifetime away. She could see more constellations in the night sky than she’d ever imagined existed, and that comforted her. There was so much majesty she’d never experience it all.
She had her head tilted back, eyes fixated on the sky above, her long blonde hair brushing against her bottom when she realized Oudry had put his lone hand on her arm. It was telling that she simply looked to him, and didn’t pull away sharply. It had been a long time since she’d jerked from his touch, having come to grips with what he was, and what he represented. Michelle looked down at him, wondering what he wanted.
The night air had a brisk chill to it, and her skin puckered against it. As she asked her friend what he wanted, she caught that familiar essence of flowers once more. “Oudry what is it? Something wrong?”
They had more or less come to a stop in the middle of nowhere. She couldn’t see the airport ahead, or the original road behind. The flat, featureless terrain in every direction gave her no bearing. With the enormous blue-black speckled sky above, she could’ve been floating in space.
As Oudry inhaled a deep breath, she smiled, awaiting more words from the Divine. “We cannot go further. We shall rest here, and have a final talk. The Warden is close, but Evil is closer.”
Michelle’s heart suddenly thundered in her chest.
*****
Oudry gathered several small piles of sticks over the course of a few hours while Michelle sat on the edge of the airport road in the flat featureless night. She pulled the thin zip up sweatshirt she’d found a month ago around her to fight the cool air. It was a feeble effort, and she knew it would be a very long night, devoid of rest. She was kept warm and mildly cheerful only because Oudry had spoken of The Warden, and that he was near.
She tried to forget that he’d said Evil was close too.
Oudry moved about her setting up small piles of the dry wood he’d gathered. Almost in a ritualistic fashion he put the sticks down in three piles, spaced equally a few paces apart. She shivered and watched him intently until he’d arranged the fire piles to his mysterious satisfaction. When he finished, he took a seat on the ground in front of her, and looked at the pile nearest her. She knew he wanted her to light them.
When Michelle and Oudry were walking through what she thought was the former nation of Liberia, she’d rested in a small shop that sold tobacco products. Before she’d left the next day, she found a single remaining lighter on the floor, and she scooped it up. Michelle fished the small tool from her tattered pant pocket and went to work on getting the sticks to take the flame.
Surprisingly the tinder caught with little effort. Once she had the first small pile of sticks burning on its own, she sat back down, and looked to the patiently waiting Oudry. The dead boy turned his head and leveled his eyes on the second pile of sticks, and she put two and two together, and began to light the remaining piles of branches. Much like the first pile, the final two piles took the flame from the lighter almost immediately, and burned warm and bright. Surrounded on all sides by golden yellow flame, she was cocooned in warmth. The night’s chill was shooed away as she sat down cross legged on the cool dirt across from Oudry.
She watched the flames flicker across his face for some time, waiting for him to do something, anything. Oudry’s pale white eyes took on the light of the flame and for the first time in a long time, she started to feel fear again. Oudry’s expression was blank, and distant, but as the golden light of the flame lit up those white eyes, she started to feel as if something was wrong.
“Oudry, you said we needed to have a final talk, what did that mean?” Michelle asked the immobile child with one arm. Putting the words out there made the pit of her stomach knot. For months now she’d been with him in one fashion or another, and the idea of this being a night of endings for that relationship scared her. It frightened her. She didn’t know how to be alone anymore.
Oudry turned and looked over his shoulder in the direction Michelle thought the airport was in. His white eyes fixated on the horizon, she couldn’t help but look to where he was. She saw nothing but the flat, empty terrain of western Africa. There was a slight bump where she thought the airport might’ve been, but it could’ve easily just been a mountain in the distance.
“Michelle Annabelle Lewis, tonight is the last night you will ever spend in Africa.”
Michelle’s chest caught in surprise. She didn’t expect him to speak so suddenly. Especially not in The Voice. She replayed the sentence in her head and realized that just l
ike the first time she’d heard it, The Voice was not aloud, but inside her mind. She didn’t know what to say, or how to respond, so she remained silent, and watched the boy as he continued to stare over his shoulder at the dark horizon.
“By the breaking of dawn you will either die here, or The Warden will come in time, and begin his task of protecting you.”
Michelle realized that her eyes had filled with moisture. She wasn’t even crying, just welling up with emotion. Her heart soared as the pit of her stomach continued to sink. She was everywhere emotionally. She wondered how she would know The Warden when he arrived, if he arrived.
“You will know the Warden by his garments of white.”
Michelle nodded at his silent, timely instruction. She was relieved her unasked question was answered.
“I can impart to you some knowledge this night. I can illuminate some truth. I can remove some falsehoods, but time is short.”
“Thank you.” Michelle whispered. Oudry turned to face her, and she was stunned. His white eyes had disappeared, replaced with eyes of striking, rich blue. Set in the face of the dead child they were powerful, and reminded her of the blue of a newborn’s eyes.
“You are familiar with the parables.”
It was not a question. Michelle nodded at him.
“There is a parable that has some truth that I will point out to you. How much truth it contains is yours to debate. In the Parable of Weeds the world is as a farmer’s field, and the people are as the crops. Evil grows amongst the people just as the weeds grow amongst the crops Michelle.
The time has come that there are as many weeds as there are crops in the fields, and that cannot be abided. I have let the weeds run rampant now, and only the heartiest and most deserving of the field’s bounty shall survive this culling.
But the weeds are cunning. They grow underneath the crops, taking the richness of the soil from below, and blocking the sun from above. Some weeds appear as beauty might, taking the form of a flower, tricking the world into leaving it be.
I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live. Will they turn from their ways Michelle? Can you rebuild the field once more, sow it, and cultivate life, and joy, instead of death, waste and hatred?
The weeds are taking the fields Michelle. You are one of three that are tasked with saving the bounty that is humanity, and culling the weeds that are the dead.”
Michelle had no idea how to respond to that either, so she sat silently, absorbing it, eyes locked on the baby blue eyes of the Divine. Oudry’s voice was silent for some time, and Michelle gained the courage to ask a question aloud. “How do I do my part? My father told me I was part of The Trinity, and I was called the Savior, or the Soul. What does that mean?”
Oudry’s tiny mouth cracked a smile. “The names you have been ascribed have no more meaning than what you give them. Know that you will succeed together, or fail together regardless of what you choose to call one another.”
“My father said I was supposed to lead humanity to a better world? That I could reinvent how we looked at God, and faith, and each other. How do I do that? How do I lead the whole world?” Michelle asked.
Oudry smiled once more. It was a knowing smile, as if he expected her to ask that very question. “It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell.”
“That’s Buddhist, isn’t it? I’ve read that before.”
Oudry nodded. “There is much to be taken from every belief. Not every belief is right, or wrong, what is most important, is to believe.”
Michelle nodded, starting to put everything together in her mind. “I think I get it now. If I lead the life we should all lead, then others will follow suit, and I’ll reach every corner of the Earth through my life’s work.”
Oudry shrugged slowly. “This is your choice to make. I cannot tell you how to fulfill your task. It would not be genuine and real if you were to take guidance from me beyond what we have already spoken of.”
Michelle took a deep breath and nodded. She swallowed and looked to the sky, tasting that familiar sweetness of honey once more. The presence of the Divine had such wonderful rewards. She looked down once more and saw that Oudry had turned away, eyes locked on the horizon towards the airport. She swallowed once more, and the sweet flavor of honey had changed subtly. She caught the faint hint of copper. She tasted the familiar and unwanted slickness of warm, salty blood on the air. In a flash of memory, she was brought back to that midnight in the glade, and the cold presence of the first entity that had begun the end. Michelle’s eyes widened, realizing she and Oudry might not be alone after all.
“Evil is near. This body and spirit will only protect you for a little while longer. The presence of Evil dictates that I must defer this one’s body back.”
“What will happen then? Where is this Warden person?” Michelle stood up, looking around into the pitch black darkness of the desert on all sides.
Oudry’s one remaining arm raised itself slowly, and pointed to the star filled sky. As he did so, Michelle heard two noises simultaneously.
Far in the sky above, and growing louder each second she heard the familiar buzz of a large plane’s rotors chopping at the air. She was by no means an aviation expert, but it sounded like a massive plane, and one that was coming in her direction. Against the night sky filled with white stars she saw the tiniest of flashing lights, and she knew the plane was indeed nearby.
The second noise she heard chilled her to the core. When she’d stood a moment before, Oudry had taken to his tiny feet with her. He’d placed his miniscule frame between her and the horizon towards the airport. Michelle looked down from the small blinking lights of the plane and looked into the darkness beyond the small boy. It looked to her like the entire Earth was vibrating, undulating, shifting. She was sure it was a trick of the eyes. Perhaps it was the flames nearby? Was it a mirage? Maybe it was her confusion from the presence of such greatness?
Then she realized what the noise was.
Feet. Not one foot, nor ten feet. She felt the trembling of the desert floor below her as a legion of the dead approached. The shimmering ground was not the ground at all, but their bodies, moving closer, directly towards her and the small trio of flames burning bright around her.
The Voice spoke through the corpse child one last time.
“The Warden’s moment is nigh. Pray he lives up to this task Michelle Annabelle Lewis, or both you and the fields shall succumb to the weeds for all time.”
May 4th
I’m wiped. This needs to be a fairly short entry, or I’ll face plant into the keyboard and wake up tomorrow with a bunch of little square key impressions on my face. The only thing worth talking about is 114 Park Street, and how I am not crazy.
Read that again Mr. Journal. I am not crazy. Stupid maybe, but not crazy.
I didn’t go with everyone today as Gilbert requested (he correctly thought I might be too invested in everything), and when everyone returned, they all looked at me like I was... I don’t know, special or something. Like I was one of those weird guys on the late night talk shows that claimed they could channel spirits and talk to your dead relatives and shit. I felt a little ostracized, but also validated at the same time.
Andrea, Madison, and Lindsey were at that house. I guess my people rolled in making plenty of noise to ensure that they couldn’t be mistaken for having snuck up on them, and Abby approached the house on foot, right out in the open. I originally put up a stink about her going, but she insisted on accompanying them, and frankly, she’s as adamant a supporter of me and my lunacy as there is, so having her there as my advocate was probably a decent idea. I am just scared she’ll get hurt seriously one of these days.
They parked the trucks away from the house, and Abby walked through the abandoned street with her arms held high, and called out to the house that we knew they were there insi
de, and that Doug had asked us to come get them. Abby was greeted with a shotgun barrel out of a window. I guess Lindsey didn’t quite believe her. Kudos to the other three for not lighting that house up when they saw that barrel poke out into the sunlight. At the range she was at, there was little chance Abby would’ve been hurt badly with the spread of a shotgun blast and all, but shit, if I saw someone point a gun at Abby, holy shit it is fucking curtains for them. Game-fucking-over.
Abby spoke to them about why they were there, and from what Gilbert said, she fucking told them exactly what happened. Dream story and all. I’m not sure if that helped, but after a tense half hour, the barrel disappeared, and Lindsey let Abby and Patty inside so they could talk.
When they left this morning, we loaded the truck up with some canned food, some water, a little bit of hygiene shit, and some clothes we thought would work for them. The mother and daughter brought the stuff, and they sat down with the remnants of the Manning family, and talked about what happened.
Patty said she was the one that shot Doug, and Lindsey of course cried. If she hadn’t cried, I guess that would’ve been kind of damning. However, Lindsey was thankful that Doug didn’t suffer long, and most importantly, didn’t come back to hurt anyone else. I guess there’s the silver lining in finishing off one of us if we’re going to die. We need to be mindful that we’re doing right by that person, and not the alternative.
Abby and Patty told them we had a secure facility on the outskirts of town, and that we (read, I) promised that we’d take care of them in the wake of Doug’s death, and if they were interested, we’d take them in here, or at least help them get set up somewhere safe. Lindsey said she’d have to think about it, and that’s understandable. As Gilbert said, we were the enemy yesterday. They agreed on another meeting on Park Street on the 7th at 9am. Hopefully that meeting is less awkward, and I get to go. I’m feeling better every day now, and I am optimistic that I will make that trip.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 5): Wrath Page 5