Chapter 16
The Woodbury Commune
Do you know what you're doing?" asked Sal while leaning over Caleb's shoulder as he sent an e-mail.
"Well, not exactly. I know the basics, but it can't be that difficult since you humans do so much of it," he laughed. Sal put her hand on his shoulder as they sent their message and sat down next to him on a wooden bench as the robust Pentium squelched its message to Alex.
Caleb was still in his human form; and twice already, Sal asked him to change. She got a glimpse of his beauty earlier, a full-length view of him in her dream, and when he talked to Harry. Caleb refused to change, believing it was safer this way. He knew that every dark angel of hell knew what he looked like. Even here at the commune, there could be spies.
Sal pointed to the e-mail asking, "That isn't me and Jeff you're talking about, is it?"
"As a matter of fact, it is. You'll be leaving in about two weeks for Sewanee. God has a something for you to do. Isn't it nice to be needed?"
"I'm not even a believer, and you're asking me to go to work for God?" she asked, completely confused.
"You may not be a believer, but that doesn't mean you have to stay that way. Answer me this. Who do you think created me? Well, do you like his handiwork?" he asked without waiting for an answer and saw a shy "yes" nod.
"Then, if you can't do it for God, then do it for me. Would you go to Sewanee if it was important, and I asked you to?" he asked while reaching out and holding her hand tenderly, then looking directly into her eyes. He looked around carefully, then changed for a second into his angel form to make his point.
"Are you going too?" asked Sal, trembling with giddy emotion.
"I'm assigned to help you on this journey. I will always be near. That's my job. Remember, it's a job I asked for so I could be near you. I'm speaking the truth Sal, the honest-to-God truth."
"I believe you, Caleb. Yes, I'll go. If working for you means I'm working for God, then I guess I'm working for God now too," she answered and hugged him lightly around his neck, then kissed him on his cheek near his lips, having changed her mind at being too bold. She turned red in embarrassment for her thoughts and stood for a moment, then stepped back while breathing heavily.
"I don't have a dog, Caleb," she commented while still standing quietly in front of him and touching her lips self consciously as she spoke.
"Don't worry about the details. You'll meet the dog soon enough."
From the hall, Jeff passed by looking at them, then felt a rage of jealousy over Sal's kind Caleb ways. He could tell she liked him. He thought she liked him too much. There was too much giggling when Caleb was near her. That couldn't be a good sign. A man in camouflage prodded him with a M16 and motioned him to continue down the hall.
Jeff wasn't having a good day. He had followed the watermelon truck to Woodbury and watched as the gates of the commune opened wide for them. It closed instantly behind them, not giving him a chance to get through. He continued to honk outside the ten-foot wall of plywood and barbed wire they used to encircle themselves. It stretched for several miles around them. This was a sorting commune that took in everyone and determined which trade commune believers wanted to go. Their open-door policy extended and stopped at believers.
They wouldn't let him in. He hollered and yelled at them, including running his Hummer into their makeshift walls until Caleb and Sal made them realize he was with them. They let him in, but they put an armed guard on him who followed after him everywhere he went. They were leading him to a private room without windows and a fulltime guard. They weren't taking any chances; after all, he was marked. Just before he reached the room, a fragile, old man approached him from behind, and the guard ordered Jeff, "Stop, Jeff! The pastor wants to talk with you."
Jeff turned to see the pastor shuffling closer. He could tell he must be the pastor since he carried one of those white, leather-bound, family Bibles you get from mail order—the kind that always sits on a coffee table whether someone is a believer or not. He acted as if it was difficult to carry because he was listing to its side. Jeff saw his bony elbows and knees pushing under his wrinkled suit coat and clothes.
"Son, do you mind if we sit and talk a minute?" the man said gently. Jeff felt as if he had known the man all his life. He warmly remembered his own grandfather.
"Sure, Mr…?" he replied as he sat on the wooden pew bench in the hall. This building was like the town hall, but it was part of maze of Sunday School rooms at the Hilltop Nazarene Church.
"Just call me, pastor," responded the man in his quiet, raspy voice. "I know who you are. I've talked to Caleb." The guard drew closer trying to hear.
"You can go now, Jack. I don't think this young man will bother anyone. Let's let him be. Thanks for doing your job, though," he motioned to Jack with a back-a-way hand movement.
Jack shrugged and moved away obediently and reluctantly out-of-hearing distance, but looked back over his shoulder several times trying to figure out what was so special about this marked teenager.
"You talked to Caleb and Sal?" asked Jeff.
"No, only Caleb. He explained some things to me about you and Sal. God thinks you're pretty special. I want you to know that. He's got something very important for you and Sal to do. You'll discover it soon enough. By the time you get the job done. I'll be gone. Don't have much time left. Eat up with cancer. Had it 40 years. Keep praying and getting healed, then it comes back. I was supposed to have died 39 years ago. Guess God beat those odds, right? But, I'm glad I was able to meet such a brave kid like you. We won't ever forget you. Nothing you do will be forgotten. It's just like our Lord to pick a couple of unlikely teenagers to take on such a momentous challenge." He reached over and hugged Jeff, whose mind was reeling with the mystery he had just been handed.
"What challenge? What job? What are you talking about?" he was almost shouting.
The pastor put his finger to Jeff's lips to keep him quiet. "Quiet down, son. You'll find out soon enough. Probably said too much. Just enough to aggravate your curiosity. Sorry about that. But I need your help too. I have a favor to ask you."
"Wait a minute, pastor. You opened up this big can of worms about something great Sal and I are going to do. You won't tell me what it is, but everyone but me knows about it, then you ask me a favor? What kind of person are you, anyway?" asked Jeff, stupefied by it all.
"An old pastor who shouldn't have said anything, but no one knows but Caleb and me. Not even Sal, yet. Could know now, but that's up to Caleb. You'll find out soon enough. Stop whining and let me tell you what I want you to do," he answered while patting Jeff's nearest shoulder in a "be patient" movement.
"Okay, pastor. How old are you anyway?" he asked, thinking he looked to be over a hundred.
"Old, try 125 and counting," he answered and watched Jeff's shocked expression.
"No wonder he looks like he could break into pieces at any minute," Jeff thought to himself.
"Alright, what do you have in mind?" asked Jeff as he surrendered more from respect for his age and frailty than wanting to be nice.
"My dog. I want you to take my dog with you when you leave," he replied while picking dog hairs from his suit sleeves.
"Your dog? Leave? Where are we going? Why do we have to leave?" he asked in staccato fashion.
"You'll only be able to stay here for a couple of weeks. Then, you'll go with Sal to Sewanee. We have two friends waiting for you. They just found out about it themselves. By the time you get there, they'll have instructions for you. Will you do it?" asked the pastor.
"Do what?" forgetting about the dog.
"Take my dog?"
"Pastor, whenever that time comes, it will be Sal's decision. I'm not an animal lover. They don't like me much, either. You'll have to talk to her. Not that it makes any difference, but what kind of dog is it?" asked Jeff out of polite curiosity.
"He's hard to describe. Stay here. I'll be right back."
The pastor got up slo
wly while his joints creaked and groaned. They sounded like rusty hinges needing oil. He turned and shuffled off. It took him 15 minutes to get to the end of the hall some 30 feet away. Jeff thought he moved in micro inches rather than inches. He saw him pull his dentures from his mouth and put them in his pocket. He pulled another set out of his other pocket with a gap in the two front teeth. With his whistling dentures and his fingers in his month, he made a high, shrill whistle blast that Jeff thought would shatter his eardrums. He immediately took the dentures out and put the others back in and seemed to be waiting.
Moments later, a four-legged shape tackled the pastor to the floor while licking at his face while the pastor laughed and wrestled with the dog's ears in play. Several uniformed guards were following the dog in anticipation of what they had to do. They helped the pastor to his feet and brushed him off. One had a small sponge and was cleaning dog spit from the pastor's suit coat.
The pastor pointed his finger at the excited dog and commanded, "Company!"
The dog immediately sat still with his head up in the air. A guard leashed him and gave him to the pastor. It took him another 15 minutes for them to get back to Jeff. Jeff watched them closely as they neared. Something was peculiar about the dog. Jeff finally realized what it was. First, he was terribly ugly, although he didn't look that old. He was a motley color of browns and blacks with white spots decorating him—a more colorful hyena. Suddenly, Jeff saw the white-spot pattern. It was in the pattern of a cross. It looked more like a constellation until he got closer. Then the points drew his attention to the cross on his head, the base of it following the top of his face and snout. He looked like he was marked on the forehead for lack of better words—then that mouth. He had white hair around his mouth all the way to his ears. It made him look like he had a permanent smile. It was so strange that it gave Jeff goose bumps.
The pastor said quietly, "This is Nicodemus. Nicodemus, this is the boy I was telling you about." Nicodemus moved in front of Jeff and bowed his head to the floor at Jeff.
"What's he doing?"
"He's paying you respect."
"Why didn't you just use a whistle?" asked Jeff, sarcastically.
"Not the same. More fun this way. Means no one can copy my whistle. He only responds to me. Kind of like it that way."
"Oh great! You want us to take care of a dog that won't come when we call. That sounds like a deal."
"He'll come, won't you Nicodemus? Just not as fast."
"Is that a cross on his head? Did you paint those spots on him, or did he come that way?" asked Jeff as he reached down and petted the outline of it gently. He felt a surge of power from Nicodemus when he touched him and jerked his hand back.
"Oh, forgot to tell you. He's a Holy Ghost dog. In fact, he didn't come with that cross pattern, just that stupid white smile." Nicodemus looked back and growled at the pastor for that remark.
"I baptized him myself, in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The spots appeared on his head after he was baptized. Kind of strange, isn't it? Had to be God. He used to herd goats and sheep on a farm not far from here. I saw that silly white smile of his and had to have him. He was just a pup, then. I just didn't expect the smile to get as big and goofy as it is now. The kids think he's cute. I just think he's Nicodemus. We put up with each other."
"Just promise me one thing, pastor. When we leave, whenever that is, and take this mutt with us, don't donate your whistle teeth to us, will you?"
"Not me. Going to be buried with my teeth, both sets," he said chuckling.
"Why did you call him Nicodemus?" asked Jeff while thinking he had heard that name mentioned at the Lord's Chapel, but not remembering the details.
"Chapter Three of the Gospel of John. It’s about being reborn from the Spirit of God. I thought about calling him Jesus, but figured I'd aggravate everyone when I called for him. Can you imagine? Where's Jesus? Here Jesus! Get the rabbit, Jesus. Changed my mind. Nicodemus works better. His nickname is Nikki, for short."
"Nikki! Sal's Auntie was named that. Man, she's going to freak!"
"I'm going to freak about what?" aske Sal as she walked up behind the pastor with Caleb.
"This dog goes by Nikki for Nicodemus," he laughed, "and look at that white smile of his. He gives me the creeps, pastor. This is Sal's pet not mine. Okay, Sal, he's all yours."
"All mine. Is this the dog you were talking about, Caleb? You're giving him away? Why wouldn't you give him to some kids?" she asked, then reached down to pet him, then jumped back, as she felt that same surge of something coming from him. "What was that?"
"The pastor baptized him, and the cross showed up on his head. He said he was a Holy Ghost dog. He felt like electricity when I touched him. What was it again, pastor?" asked Jeff, who had moved to the ground in front of Nikki and peered into his eyes.
"I believe this dog is full of the Holy Spirit. You're feeling it coming from him. Hey, the Holy Spirit stayed in Elijah's bones after he died enough to raise a man from the dead. Why couldn't the Holy Spirit saturate anything He wants? He sleeps with me, and I'm anointed with His spirit. Maybe, it's rubbing off."
"Come on Nikki. It's time for a nap," he replied. The pastor looked sneakily at his guards standing nearby and winked. They smiled slightly and nodded in approval. "Say good night, Nikki."
Nikki turned to Sal and Jeff and bowed towards them saying, "Good night, kids."
Sal screamed in shock and stepped back several feet. "He talked. The dog can talk! Oh! My heavens! The dog can talk!" Jeff never said anything, especially when he saw the guards and the pastor laughing. Caleb was beside himself and grabbing his sides and heaving in uncontrollable giggles.
"Oh, get over it, girl. It's part of the ventriloquist routine I do for the kids. That dumb dog can't talk!"
Nikki turned again at that "dumb" statement and growled back at the pastor, then they both turned slowly around and walked away with the guards following.
Sal looked at Jeff still on the floor, back to Caleb, then shook her head. "Is everyone around here a little touched? Or something?"
Caleb answered, "Yes, touched by something. Jesus," then he disappeared.
"Man, he just vanished. Wow, what a trick!" commented Jeff.
Sal didn't say a word, only went to the girls' dorm quarters to her own assigned bed and began crying into her pillow. Jeff shook his head about everything that had taken place and went to talk to the perimeter guards. They had orders not to bother him. The guards told Jeff about the commune. He found out there were over a hundred a day coming from every direction, mostly from Nashville. Many had lost loved ones from the sharpshooters while they tried to get here. Most decided to split up and go in every direction crossing the most dangerous stretches, especially interstates and main roads. There was jubilant reunions and terrible grief as they arrived to find out those who made it and those they had lost.
Jeff talked to guards for a long time, and they let him handle their weapons when he asked nice. It had been a long time since he held a gun. His sharp-shooting days were long behind him.
"Don't fire a round, son. We need every round we can get," commented the soldier. "I don't know exactly what's up with you and the girl, but the pastor seems to be taken with you both. I heard some pretty strange things from the others on the watermelon truck. Was that guy with you really an angel?"
"Seems like it. I just saw him disappear before my eyes a second ago. I think that Sal has a crush on him," he answered while looking dejectedly at the ground.
"Oh! That crazy man from Nashville? You have to be kidding! A cutie like that falling for him? You must be dreaming," he replied in shock, not knowing the real Caleb.
"Not the way he looks now, but the way he looks in his true angel form. Sal says he's completely different."
"If an angel can change into someone like that, he can be anything or anybody."
Jeff, answered, "Like a dog?"
"Don't go there, son. We all think the pas
tor is off the deep end with that mutt. We don't touch the dog anymore, either, but the kids love him."
Armageddon Darkness Page 18