The Risen: Courage

by Marie F. Crow

  As if the sudden blaze was a rehearsed signal, Travis walks solemnly from another exit of the school directly across from the amassed crowd. What rests across his arms sets my knees to water. His head is bowed over the long stretches of rope. Their nooses sway with his steps like silent chanting and I am chanting in my mind. As I watch Selma praying I can mentally hear my repeated refusal of what is about to happen and my own prayers to not let it happen.

  The men are loading the chambers of their spent guns with stealth-like movements. They hide each other as golden bullets are passed between closed fists. Their practiced moves are normally calm, but now they hold an air of urgency making their cold fingers clumsy. Like the Risen that was held hostage by the fence, I could scream at them with my frustrations.

  “Give me my clip.” I try to shield my voice from the crowd watching Travis’ painfully slow procession.

  Lawless only shakes his head, answering me and ignoring me at the same time.

  “Larance,” I clip between my teeth, “give me my clip.”

  He lifts his head only high enough to look at me. “No,” he tells me, returning to slipping his clip full of the little golden cylinders. “You’re going to, for once, since this thing has started, stay out of it.”

  “You really think that is going to happen?” Aimes asks him and her amusement is audible in her whisper.

  Lawless lifts his head again to stare at me. Our breathing becomes a pattern that echoes the feelings in our eyes. Every fear he has laid behind his tall walls is now bare to me. I can almost hear the beat of his heart.

  I forget sometimes the man behind the mask. I have lost him to the weight he now bears on his shoulders and the strength he has to summon to endure it. I begged Truth for his life. I fell to her feet with her black gown engulfing me. I wore my misery like a widow wears her scars, but he was returned to me on a night much like this. As Mother Nature kissed the earth, he was returned to me and all I have done since is throw myself at Death.

  “Please?” Lawless asks me in this bubble of time we have captured.

  I nod. I nod because my voice wouldn’t hold the strain of my thoughts or my regrets that constantly encase me. I nod because to put the agreement into words would be a lie.

  He holds me in a tight embrace and now I can feel his heart just as I imaged hearing it. He is frightened of what this night might bring. In some tragic way, it’s all repeating.

  He kisses me and I let him gather his strength and the belief in himself from my lips. I let him hold hope in himself to do what has to be done. All a man wants is someone to love him and someone to protect. I give him that and I let him take it from me.

  “I love you,” he says against my lips and it sounds heartbreakingly like a goodbye.

  “I love you, too,” I whisper, frail and frightened of what he must imagine tonight to entail.

  “You ready?” Marxx asks, crashing us back to the present like a meteor to the ground.

  We both nod, still holding to the other with the last moments of our bubble dissolving into the cruelty slowly becoming true; a cruelty we have seen swinging from large tree branches and left in ashes in the many rings upon the ground.

  Aimes pulls me to her knowing I won’t be able to let go of them on my own. I will march right through the crowd beside them if left to my will.

  “Congrats,” she whispers into my ear as we watch them walk away, “you get to be a girl. It kind of sucks, but you’ll get use to it.”

  “Don’t cry.” I tell her hearing her voice quiver.

  “I’m not crying. This is totally my game face.” She sniffles with the secret knowledge of what Travis is about to do. “I’m just really sad about the game we are going to have to play.”

  Travis has made his way to the front of the wooden cross and the area that has served as his pulpit. Selma stands beside him with a look of rapture on her face. As she calls the children to her, she almost glows with the compassion of motherhood. Her smile is the sweetest I have yet to see grace her face. Selma may very well have a sweet side, but it is coated in cyanide. One smile she gives to the children and they run to her. One smile she shares and their lives are hers with the strands of “Amazing Grace” floating around her.

  “My friends,” Travis shouts into the night air, “not all of us are made to walk in God’s glory. Only the most refined, the most tested by temptations, can truly know the suffering of reclaiming their lost divine grace. Only when we are stripped from all we cling to with false declarations, can we truly see the power of salvation. Tonight, I will show you that grace. You will feel that power and a few of you will even rise from the flames.”

  Travis kisses each rope, bowing his head as he anoints them with prayer before handing them over to a member of his Squad. My heart breaks hearing the children still laughing as they run in circles around a playful Selma with the music enhancing their joyful steps. The snow looks like magical fairies again as it twirls around them as if it’s marveling in the children’s beauty.

  Time slows as we watch the ropes being secured from the extended arms of the cross. Voices begin to rise with curiosity and anger over the obscenity of it. Little feet prance and the ropes begin to sway in time. Travis watches it all from above on his self-built stage.

  Aimes holds me in a reverse style of a hug. Her arms are draped around my shoulders, pulling me to her so that my back is to her chest. We can’t look away, but we aren’t strong enough to watch alone. Her arms tighten every time I instinctively pull to rush the stage. She swears under her breath with each new rope hung and I’m not completely convinced she is keeping me here for my good or for the good of her sanity.

  “We just can’t watch this happen,” the man from earlier says. I never saw him come to stand by us. My focus has been torn between the children and the nooses, letting the rest of the courtyard slip away. He is holding the blue hat in his hands, twisting it between his fists as he stares at me. “They have to be stopped.”

  “We can’t do anything until he does something.” Aimes tells him still watching it all unfold. “If we rush him now, he will just use it to convince them more of his God-power.”

  “It’s not us who have to stop him. Simon has to lead us all now.” My voice is a strained whisper with my doubts.

  “If he waits too long, it will be too late.” He steps towards us with a threat and yet pleading with his eyes for Aimes and I to listen to him. “I won’t let him do it again. Not again.” He is gone in the mass of moving bodies before I can do anything. I have no name to call out to stop him, or to regain his attention. I send a prayer, if anyone does still listen, for the man. My prayers are more riddled with demands than questions though as of late.

  Paula finds Aimes and I in the cluster. Her face is blanched and it sets my stomach deeper into a pit of rolling sickness. She is saying something, but I can’t hear her over the screaming of the crowd. I turn my eyes from her as Aimes whispers another pretty little syllable behind me.

  Selma has the children now lined up and still playing like this is a game. Each child stands under a rope, reaching for it on their tiptoes like the brass ring from an old merry-go-round. To the children, it’s a fun game, but to the parents, it’s proof of what the lengths mean. Selma is showing us all that their tiny little hands can’t reach the ropes and their tiny little feet won’t reach the ground, either.

  Paula is shouting again. I can hear the sound of her voice, but the words are just melodic with the amount of chaos now inspired around us. Women wail for their children as the men scream for blood. Both sets are lost as to what to do not wanting to risk any harm being brought to the smiling faces watching them.

  “It is time to prove to the Lord how thankful you are he has kept you safe. He has saved you and your families when so many others have been brought low. He has guided you here, as he has us, to rebuild in His name. He will purify your souls so you may tr
uly know His love for you. All He asks is that you believe in Him and He will grant you everything,” Travis says. He is pacing along the wooden beams nearest to the crowd. His fists are raised, shaking to accent his words with religious passion to draw attention to the syllables and to hide the definitions. “Are you ready to believe in Him? Will you give everything to prove it or will you let your everything be taken from you because of your fears? All He has ever wanted is your trust, your belief and your love. Can’t you give that to Him? Do you have the courage to prove your beliefs?”

  The crowd is shouting every possible phrase of “yes” they can remember. I bet the crowds always do as they watch their children make toys out of the tools of their deaths.

  “Bring me the mothers. Mothers, come to me. Come to your children who God has blessed you with,” Travis demands and turns his back to solemnly stroll to the far side of the stage to not block the show.

  Paula is screaming now. She is waving her arms and pointing to the forgotten crate with its hissing warning sitting by Travis. I still can’t make out her words and my curiosity doesn’t hold strong enough to try.

  Women shove their way to the stage. Some don’t even bother with the steps, hauling their bodies onto the wooden platform with assistance from the men behind them. There are no manners as they rush to make it to their children, pulling them away from the ropes they saw as swings.

  Travis and Selma let the moms touch and hug their children as the line of God Squad fights to keep the men back from the stage with frightening force. I can see random flashes of the grinning skull on its black leather moving through the area like shadows. They are attached to the drama, but adrift from it as they keep their own plans to heart. If they could give me some hint to what those plans might be, my heart might climb down from my throat. It also might climb right out of my mouth if I knew.

  “Are you listening to a word I have been saying?” Paula shouts into my ear as yet another person sneaks up on me. The bell threat from before comes back to mind.

  “I can’t hear a word you’ve been saying!” I shout over the crowd’s anxiety, keeping my eyes to the stage.

  “That crate. I know that crate,” Paula says as if that is the most important thing up there. The look on my face must have expressed my doubts. “I was there, in the meeting at the lab, when the Ice Queen, as we called her, told us the truth. She told us the vaccines were corrupt and causing side effects we hadn’t prepared for. As I was leaving to take this assignment, we were being told there was another strain of the vaccine that had been released to humanitarian workers. It was designed to be faster and stronger to help combat the illness that seemed so abundant in third world countries. It was supposed to have been confiscated, but some were shipped before it could happen.”

  “Wait, you’re telling us this isn’t just local? This… thing… is global now?” Aimes’ eyes are the size of saucers as she is shocked at what Paula is trying to say. It was depressing to think this had become our life, but it’s terrifying to know that it could be everyone’s life, everywhere.

  “Yes, it could be, but that isn’t the point.” Paula says, sounding colder than I have ever given her credit for. The “Betty Crocker look” is long gone. “That is one of the shipments of the vaccine. I would know that crate anywhere. We called them Pandora’s Boxes and Travis is about to open it right here in the middle of the school.”

  “Why would he have it? How could he use it?” Aimes asks, releasing me from her grasp with her habit of using her hands and arms when she speaks. “Oh, and when did our nurse-slash-cook become some secret spy? Can we officially freak out now?”

  “You can,” I tell her with my voice dipping into the numbness that always brings me trouble.

  “You can’t go up there Helena.” Paula grabs my arm with as much awareness as my family has for my suicidal habits. “If he is going to use those shots, you’ll become infected.”

  “He is going to use them. It’s why some of the piles weren’t shot. He let them burn once they were infected. He “purified” their souls.” I’m putting the pieces together and the puzzle is looking nothing like the box it came in. The box was shiny and promised hope for the future. It wore smiles and charm with lies about being our saviors in our time of need. It still is wearing the same smile, but it’s killing us now with our naivety.

  Some silent moment let the members of the Squad who stand on the stage know to pull the women from their children. The screaming starts anew with the action. Children reach with fully extended arms to their mothers as they are dragged back to the ropes. With their rough hands, they force the women to kneel as they fight for their kids. A few are even slapped when their struggles start to become unmanageable. Travis winces with each connection in a mockingly amused manner and it brings the men watching to a boil.

  “My friends,” Travis shouts, bringing their angered focus to him, “there is nothing to fear!” His voice is an intervention of comforting. He says, “The lives of your children and women are yours to save. If you are a true believer, if your soul is worth saving, you shall live tonight to claim your place by God’s side. Haven’t every single one of you told me how you have wanted to survive this nightmare with peace and comfort for your remaining days?” He stops, staring into the crowd of men while his words sink in. “Why now do you throw arms against us as we bring what you have desired to you?”

  Travis was so intent on his show, he too was snuck up on. Selma wasn’t inside to see the man’s face when Lawless handed him his son’s hat. She never knew the danger she let stand beside her, as he was once one of their own. When the click of the safety being turned off sounded behind Travis’ head, she discovered too late the truth.

  “Tell them what you are about to do,” the man demands. His over six-foot frame towers behind Travis. He glares with eyes holding the anger of a man possessed. “Tell them what your salvation means for them.”

  “It means a chance to weed out the non-believers. We can rid ourselves of the weak ones who only mean to bring us down with their weight of doubts.” Travis’ explanation sends chills down my spine as it echoes so similar to J.D.

  “Tell them the truth!” the man shouts, pressing the barrel of the gun forcefully against Travis’ head making him tilt with the pressure.

  “Eugene,” Selma calls from behind the man and somehow he knew that Selma wasn’t the only one who let danger slip past their awareness.

  Eugene pivots his weight, pushing Travis to the ground as he turns to Selma. Their guns lift at the same time and the echo of their timed shots shudder the walls. There is a moment when everything is suspended. Time retreats to an almost stop as everyone holds their breath.

  The small, blue hat falls to the space between the two like a leaf taken by the breeze. Selma watches it fall as her knees crumple under her. She presses a trembling hand to her upper shoulder with shock. She stares at her blood-covered fingers with disbelief while Travis crawls across the stage to where she has fallen. Instinctively, I look for Rhett and find him leaning on his black warhorse in the shadows of the yard. The glow of his cigarette highlights a face filled with a lack of care as he watches the stage. The shadows take him with his exhale like the comforting arms of a lover.

  Eugene is bent over, leaning on his knees, on the stage when I return my attention to him. Selma’s shot didn’t miss. The tall man is clutching his stomach as he watches with eyes of burning coals the two in front of him. Their mouths move in whispers lacking the strength to reach our ears.

  “They will stop you,” Eugene seems to say and it only makes Travis smile again. “I let you kill my son, my wife. I might not have stopped you, but I’ll take your whore to hell with me.”

  The women on stage scream as Eugene lifts his gun again with shaking hands from the pain of his wound. He’s too slow with that pain. Travis has Selma’s gun lifted and fired before Eugene can pull his first shot. Eugene’s body bounces w
ith each round that lands until his body falls limp on the stage. His last moments are spent staring at his son’s blue hat. A hat his wife most likely purchased what feels like a lifetime ago to him. His fingers reach for it, crumpling it in his hand before those same fingers fall as still as his body.

  Travis stands, letting Selma recline on her own accord. His pressed dress shirt is covered with her blood. The dark mass ruins its perfection the way the scowl on his face ruins the precision of his earlier performance.

  “It starts now,” Travis tells the men by him even as two lean to help Selma from the stage.

  The theatrics are over as the real show begins. The children are lifted on the shoulders of the men. Seven men, seven children, seven ropes are waiting for Travis while seven women beg at his feet. He is beyond any showmanship now. The depiction is over. The truth is about to begin.

  He kicks the lid of the crate open. It flies to the cement floor below the stage with a violent sound. He pulls the first premeasured dose from the crate with a sick look of glee. He has lost his mask. He has lost his care to wear the mask. The moment he has been setting into motion is finally here and he doesn’t need to pretend anymore.

  “He can’t be allowed to do this!” Paula hisses beside me. “That is not the normal strain. I don’t know what will happen to whoever receives it.”

  “You promised!” Aimes says on my other side.

  Like two waging wars, Paula and Aimes both stare at me for different reasons. I never imagined Aimes to be wearing a halo any more than I pictured Paula wearing horns, but the children on the stage; I always knew I wouldn’t allow them to become victims.

  “I promised two little kids I would keep them safe. I lied then, too.” I let that guilt propel me into the crowd. I feel what were their last moments because of me. I see Ashley staring at me with resignation. I hear Conroy screaming my name in agony and fear. The sing-song chant of the children at play overshadows any hopes of “Amazing Grace”. I love Lawless, I do. I just love my guilt more.