Evangelists: A Reader's Request (Pt. 5)

Even after a month of mourning and another month and a half of praying and working through the melancholy, my nights, which had finally evicted their old ghosts, found themselves with new heartaches to dwell on.

I could still see myself fumbling clumsily with the pierce-proof gloves, syringes and pliers while one zombie became five.

I could still see Manuel trying to climb off of a rickety shelf to help me contain my mistake. I could see the pain and injury his attempts had caused him.

I could still hear the wet "crunch" of Joshua's suicide.

How had I let things fall so far out of control?

Day 582.

"I don't understand this. Why do you constantly need to antagonise everybody? Why am I stepping in, pulling you off a different angry victim every day?"

Brett didn't reply, he only leaned back in his chair and smirked. I let the question sit for a few moments.

I wanted to reach across the table between us and smack that smirk off of his face. I wanted to pull him to the ground, pound the arrogance out of him and cut out his defiance with my machete. If he didn't survive the surgery, my job would be that much easier.

This man brought out the worst in me.

"Look." I sighed,"I don't enjoy this. I don't like telling you off every day; I don't like feeling that you and I are on opposite teams. I want everyone here to work together. What will it take to get you on our side?"

More silence. More smirking.

"Three days." I hit my palm against the table and stood to leave.

"Step down."

I sat back down, leaning forward.

"Come again?" I asked

"If you step down, and leave someone aside from Manuel in charge, I'll play nice."

"So this is personal." I stated.

More silence. Another smirk. God's grace kept my machete in its sheath.

"Well, I can tell you this: I'm not stepping down just to satisfy your personal issues. Three days in Joshua's cell will probably accomplish nothing for your attitude; but it will give us all a break from you."

I stood once more and left the table. The small group of observers that had gathered around the public hearing in our cafeteria began to murmur as they dispersed. I heard one man complain, "It should have been a week at least."

Since my return to leadership, I'd made a point of being more active in protecting the people in my group. Outside missions had ceased altogether; our work with the cure had taken a back seat. In that season, I only took the syringes out of my freezer when one of our own had turned and we were able to tie the person down. All other zombies caught the business end of my machete. When it came to Brett, it seemed that the more I tried to dissuade him from bullying others in our small community, the more he felt the need to bully.

Forbidden fruit seems twice as sweet, I suppose.

I spent a few hours weeding and cleaning our rooftop garden. As I prayed about Brett and my attitude toward him, a crisp wind blew across the town, I stood and spread my arms out. Small graces were my whole sustenance in those days.  A soft shower fell later, carrying me through a few more hours before I noticed my mood darkening again.

Manuel wheeled up to me as I descended the ladder back into the store. He was riding a lawn chair we'd rigged up with bicycle wheels. His days of climbing much of anything seemed to be a thing of the past; and I could blame only myself for that. Walking at his side was a smiling Liz. They'd become an official "thing" a few weeks ago; and neither had stopped grinning since.

As I stepped from the bottom rung, I greeted them . Manuel began talking animatedly about an indoor forest idea, putting small trees in pots to filter the air inside. He'd even begun designing a gutter system to collect water from leaks in the roof and and drain it into the pots.

"The birds-to-stone ratio here is great! We can stop emptying those buckets we've got laying everywhere and make watering the trees a non-issue."

I leaned against the ladder, crossing my arms.

"I really like your  idea, Manuel. I just don't know where we'd find the materials for it. I mean, a gutter system that canvases the whole store would be quite a project. Do you think we've enough stuff laying around?"

Manuel shook his head, "No, I'm actually sure we don't; but the Hardware Depot across the lot still has quite a bit of goods left in it. If you sent a team of four or five, they could bring back most of the materials we'd need in two trips, three at most."

I looked down and began shaking my head as he spoke.

"No. No going outside. It's too risky."
 
Lifting my eyes again, I saw Liz rest a reassuring hand on Manuel's shoulder as he gave her a quiet smile that, for all its authenticity, bespoke a deep sadness - perhaps even disappointment. The man fell fifteen feet and landed in a whole new life, one with a myriad of restrictions he'd never had to consider before. Yet it seemed that he mourned for me.

"If you say so, boss." He gave me a respectful nod before wheeling away.

I climbed back up to the roof to soak in some more rain and wind. Small graces.

Day 583.
I took a plate of food to Brett at lunch the next day. I sat in front of his cell and ate with him, as I sometimes had when Joshua lived in it.

A few times during the silent meal, I had to close my eyes against the memory of Joshua's death and shame and pain it pulled up.

After Brett handed his empty plate and cup to me, he spoke.

"You know what the difference between you and me is?" he asked.

I'm not a dirtbag?

"Which one are you thinking of right now, sir?" I replied.

"You care too much."

I am sure that whatever expression I had on my face in that moment was almost telepathic in how openly it betrayed my skepticism.

You mean, I care.

"I know I sound like the heartless bad guy here." he nearly drawled, "Listen to me."

Yes, listen to the heartless bad guy.

As much as I wanted to leave, to dismiss the man once more, I decided to stay and listen. Small graces can facilitate grace.

"When crap hit the fan," he began, "I knew that being sentimental was something I couldn't afford. I needed to stay alive, nothing else. Not listen to people's problems or be their friend. I didn't have time to gain trust or respect; so their fear had to do. You treat me like I'm some kind of threat to people here; but let me to tell you something: Your feel-good nonsense about curing everyone and sending folks out on rescue missions is going to get us all killed.

"So yes, I am a jerk. I don't care about how people feel about me; I speak my mind; and everyone knows I'm not going to play the noble game when it comes to getting out alive. At least I'm not like you. I don't have them all rooting for me while I take bets with their lives."

I thought for a few minutes before taking our dishes up to the roof for cleaning.

I handed two plates and two cups to the crewman overseeing the aftwernoon's dishes and returned once again to the far edge of the roof. The sun was high in the sky and the air over Longview clear, lending me a wide view of my town. Once more I wondered what the streets would look like if I walked them right then. Looking down, I could see a horde had gathered around the side of the store, where a few unfortunate dogs had made their last stand.

Something in me shifted as I watched the grotesque feast going on below me. Something about what Brett had said to me made me feel weak, as though my desire to be trusted and helpful made me a spineless leader. As I took in the heartless, zombie-eat-dog world laying before me, I wanted to prove that I could make difficult calls and do those uncomfortable things that needed doing. I wanted to prove that I could be rock-hard.

I turned away from the scene and made my way back down the ladder. Across the store, I stopped short at the emergency door Joshua had entered through as a zombie. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping outside.

Alone.

I swept my blade upward at my first assailant, gutting him as he fell. Before he hit the ground, I grabbed the zombie behind him, pulling on the front of her shirt until she tripped over her comrade. As I curb-stomped the one, I spun around to decapitate another. I push-kicked the headless body, knocking down at least three behind it. A hand grasped at the back of my shirt; I turned, took off both arms and bashed the man's head against the wall until I heard the satisfying "crack" that told me he was done. By this time, the two dogs had been eaten and my potential as dinner made me far more interesting than anything else in the parking lot.

A zombie offered its head to me, snarling and snapping. I took it as payment toward Manuel's legs. I took the next one's legs before laying it flat and piercing his heart. That one was for Joshua. Next came one for the eleven people we'd lost to the battle during Linda's attempted escape. Then I worked my machete across a throat as retribution for burying my sisters. A head flew off as I recalled killing a cashier I had been charged with leading. An attacker fell to the ground because I'd had to read my best friend's last words as a text message. Another for the times I'd loved recklessly and walked away with a heart more broken than I knew was possible. Another for my mother's death when I was sixteen. Another for every pet I'd buried in our back yard to the dirge of my sisters' tears.

With a crowd around me, I went nuts. I pushed and kicked and hacked in every direction. A cry escaped my lungs as tears blurred my vision. I felt furious and grief-stricken and inhuman. For some reason, I thought of Mel Gibson.

Arms wrapped around me, pulling me off my feet. Another set of arms wrapped themselves around my legs. I was suddenly carried away at a speed and with a purpose that seemed atypical to the hungry creatures surrounding me. Using what little of my arm was loose, I tried to cut my way free. One of the zombies yelled my name; and I started screaming.

Suddenly, I was inside the Vallenmarkt building, dumped on the floor. One of my crewmen was grabbing his arm, cursing and bleeding. Manuel, looking like a Brazilian Professor X, told the other men who'd brought me in to tend to their friend. He pointed a crossbow at me.

"I need a word with our leader." he gave me a look that foretold of the reprimand to come.

At his asking, I told him about my conversation with Brett and all that had followed. He still had that look on his face; and he was still pointing a crossbow at me.

"So, let me get this straight: To prove that you're a good leader and that you know how to be strong and independent, you decided to put yourself in pointless danger and risk bringing the infection back inside with you? You know, that really does show everyone -Brett especially- that you don't play games with our safety."

I felt more than a little foolish.

"You forgot to mention injure one of my crewmen." I sighed.

"What's going on with you, Isaac?"

I didn't meet his gaze; and I didn't respond. He leaned forward in his makeshift wheelchair.

"Isaac, do you realise you left a pile of dead people out there? Not zombies, people. You slaughtered a bunch of people we could have helped today -people we could have cured - and you did it because you're sad? You won't rescue people or get supplies because 'that's too risky'; but you'll go kill a crowd of people to prove something to Brett?

"I feel like the Mad Hatter in that Tim Burton movie. You were so much bigger and braver and smarter before. What happened? You've 'lost your muchness'."

I felt like crying just then.

"You need to get it back, Isaac," he continued,"'cause your version of caution is going to get us all killed."

Manuel sentenced me to two days in Joshua's cell, granting Brett an early release.

Day 584.
Liz came and prayed with me the next morning. She told me that Manuel had been working his way through Linda's computer. He'd found an address for the scientist she'd been working with.

"He also found a whole grip of music. He put this together for you; he thinks it could help you get your muchness back."

She handed me a small iPod and some earbuds, presumably taken from the pile of electronics we'd moved to set up out theatre. I turned the player on and found a playlist called "Action Hero". I switched it off, talked with Liz a bit longer and slept.

Manuel woke me later, having been carried up the ladder to my locked perch by one of our larger crewmen. He sat in front of my cell with his misshapen legs turned to the side. I threw my blanket off and sat with my face very nearly up against the bars.

"Did you listen to the playlist?" he asked.

"Not yet." I admitted, "I've been sleeping most of today."

"You should listen to it. It'd do you some good."

It was quiet for a few moments.

"I'm a mess, aren't I?"

Manuel laughed quietly, "Yeah, yeah you are."

"How do I undo that? How do I keep from failing you all again?"


Again, there was a short silence.

"You wanna know what's funny about that?" Manuel mused, "You didn't start failing us until you became convinced you were failing us. Once you started trying to not fail us, you started making a wreck of things."

"How? How does making an effort to keep more people safe cause so many problems?"

"It's not that you were trying to do things better; it's that you thought it was about you at all. Remember grace orientation?"

"Yeah, 'It's not about me.'"

"Exactly. You're carrying too much weight. You think that we succeed or fail because you're awesome or not. There was a time when you were satisfied to do your best and let God handle everything else. That includes all the things that have been breaking your heart."

"I guess you're right."

"Of course I am; and there's something else I'm right about."

"What's that?"

"You need to go on mission. You need to take the cure to Linda's doctor friend.."

I groaned.

"...and get it mass-produced."

"Manuel, listen-"

"No, you listen." Something about how he said that made me stop short, "There is an entire world out there, burning to the ground. We have a way of saving it - the only way of saving it. You mean to tell me that you can't be bothered? You mean to tell me that you're not willing to give up your cozy little cell for that? That is not the Isaac I follow. That is not the character of a leader I'm interested in fighting for. I mean, look at yourself! I believe in you more than anyone else here; and I'm locking you up!"

As he spoke, his frustration dissolved into disappointment; and I couldn't be sure which was worse.

"I don't know what to say, Manuel. I'm sorry?"

"Don't apologise; just remind me of our motto."

"What?"

"Our motto, Isaac. What is it?"

"Um, 'Deadly in battle..."

"...lively in good deeds.'"

The second half we said in unison. I couldn't help but smile.

"Be that man again, Isaac. Listen to the music; it'll do you good."

The crewman appeared without command, carrying my closest friend back to his chair.

After a few minutes, I put the headphones in my ears and let the music do its work. I spent the rest of that day and night listening to the songs on that iPod. Manuel was right, it did me quite a bit of good.

Day 588.
"I'll be taking our best fighters on this mission. It will be the most dangerous trip we've made and will take us further away than anything we've done thus far. Manuel will be left in charge again. Are there any questions?"

Brett's hand was up before I'd finished speaking.

"You already know that I think this is a stupid move that is likely to get you all killed. But you're going to do it anyway. And you already know that I don't want to serve King Isaac's favourite as successor. But you're going to leave him in charge anyway. Well, I'm done being dismissed. I refuse to see the few lord over the many."

"Brett," I smiled as I spoke, "you know that we do most things by vote. You also know that I hold a very loose grasp on my leadership here. If a vote shows that Manuel is not wanted as a leader, we'll find someone else. I appointed him because I trust him."

Brett sneered, "I'd ask for a vote, but you've already won all these people over to your nonsense; I see through it, Isaac. I see straight to your slimy, lying bones. I won't do this anymore."

"Well, Brett, you are welcome to leave at any time." Manuel smiled broadly. A soft laughter rose from the group.

"That's not what I mean, Your Highness." the man nearly spat the words, "I'm going to handle this the way folks did hundreds of years ago, before humanity went soft." He pointed a finger at me and declared, "I'm challenging you to a duel."

The whole group burst into laughter, myself included. Brett stormed up to the box I was standing on and turned to face the crowd.

"I mean it!" he shouted. We quieted down, "A tyrant is only strong until the people he oppresses stand up; and I'm tired of waiting for this nutcase  to do something that really will kill us all!"


"You can't be serious!", one man guffawed again.
  "Oh, come on Brett!" Gladys spoke up, "Isaac's made mistakes, sure. But you've always had a thing against him, since he rescued your sorry butt from that church. Some people would think a bit of gratitude's in order; but not you!"

"Stow it, Gladys." Brett growled, "Just because he saved you doesn't mean he's going to save us all."

"No, that's Jesus' job." I interjected. Sometimes, I'm an incorrigible smart alec.

"Actually, sir," the whole of Brett's college group was standing; but only one of them spoke. The speaker was a young girl, holding tight to Liz's hand, "you'd be doing me - I mean, us -  a favour if you fought with Brett."

That silenced even Brett.

I stepped down from my milk crate and asked, "What makes you say that?"


In the silence that followed, tears escaped the girl's eyes. Liz put an arm across her shoulders and murmured reassuringly. When the girl spoke again, I recognised the uneven tones of heartache and fury.
  "He's made our lives hell since Back When. We've always been afraid to say anything because he threatened to kill us if you or Manuel found out. We think, if you two fought, maybe he'd stop."

I was stunned. Manuel looked unsurpiresd, but no less furious than anyone else in the room. Brett started to storm toward the speaker of his group; but the whole of our community stood up at once.

"All in favour of a duel?" Manuel asked.

No one laughed; the vote was unanimous.

Brett approached me as the group dispersed and spoke with quiet vehemence, "Make no mistakes, King Isaac: one way or another, this is to the death. If I am still alive when you leave -and I will be- your buddy in the chair will be the first to go. His blonde girlfriend will be next. I am done with all of you."

Manuel approached us and issued a one-hour preparation time.

I sat at a table with my machete while Brett made his way to the back room. Manuel pulled up next to me. Our usual quiet camaraderie preceded any speaking. I broke the silence.

"When we go on mission, I think I'll have to leave the machete behind."

Manuel turned in his chair to express his puzzlement.

"Why?"

"Because, if I really believe that the zombies I encounter are people in need of the cure we have, I have no business killing them. I'll probably have to resort to some kind of incapacitation, but not killing. "

Manuel started laughing and clapping his hands.

"What?" I demanded, "I think it's a valid point!"

"Yes, yes I agree!"Manuel crowed, "This is the Isaac I'd follow into battle! This is the fearless, selfless man I believe in! Now," his voice dropped to a whisper, "what are you going to do about Brett?"

"Kill him." I was surprised at how level my voice was, "The kids have asked for their revolution; and he's already told me he'd kill everyone he didn't like as soon as I was gone. I can't take the chance."

Manuel nodded.

"Deadly in battle, right?" he smiled.

After a pause, I said, "Thank you for the playlist. Somehow, it's exactly what I needed - something to remind me of what it means to be truly 'manly'."

Manuel just nodded again.

Our "duel" was arranged more like a boxing match. We stood at opposite sides of an open area next to our cafeteria, with everyone in the store gathered around us. Manuel listed the rules: one-on-one, any weapon, to the death. Many people gave a double-take when he added the last clause; but no one protested aloud.

I had my machete out of its sheath; Brett appeared to be unarmed.

Manuel stepped out of our impromptu ring and shouted, "Begin!"

I read once that, if you must fight, you should strike first and strike hard. I've yet to find a situation to which that did not apply.

I rushed forward, swinging my blade upward as I had so many times before. From behind his back, Brett drew a pistol and leveled it at my rapidly approaching face. It was a large-caliber revolver, nearly a handheld cannon; and Brett looked like he knew how to handle the thing. As I dropped into a somersault, an explosion sounded though the whole building. Standing, I found myself exactly where I had hoped to be. His arm was over my shoulder; and his face only inches from mine.

There was a grunt and a spurt of blood as I broke the man's nose with my forehead. He stepped back once. Before he gained his footing, I brought my blade around and took his head.

"A true man fights not for hatred of what stands before him but for love what what's behind him."
-Evan Beacom

In the silence that followed, I found that tears were again falling from my eyes. Brett's headless body stood for a moment, blood spraying from his truncated neck; and a soft, sad note played like a wind flute as his last breath escaped his open throat. As the dead man finally slumped to the floor, I sobbed.











Turning around, I found Manuel and Liz tending to the poor man who'd taken the bullet I dodged. The man would lose his arm, but live. I found one of the buckets we used to collect rain water and washed the blood from my machete. Brett joined the rest of our fallen in the pit behind the store. 

We have a habit of canonising the dead. Somehow, even the worst men we know are not so bad when they step across the threshold of Eternity. Though the people in our community had long hoped Brett would leave us, they mourned for the manner of his departure. Though everyone would later hear of the horrors he had committed against his  students, those same students wept bitterly  as we set the pit ablaze. 

Manuel later asked me if I repented at all for killing Brett.

I told him no, that I was certain I'd done the right thing.

He said nothing.

On the roof, I prayed about all that had happened, thanking God especially for friends like Manuel, gifts like music and attributes like bravery. I prayed about the next day's mission and all the uncertainties involved in trekking across a zompocalyptic wasteland. I promised to never make fun of Elijah Wood again.

Day 589.
Liz and I dug through a pallet of baseball equipment. She was annoyed that I wouldn't use any of the aluminum bats we were surrounded by or any of the wooden ones we'd already inspected.

"Why does it matter?" she complained.

"Because it does!" I retorted.

So we kept digging.

Another 15 minutes later, I shouted in elation, holding up the prized item. Liz walked over and inspected the words burned into the wood implement.

"Louisville Slugger?" It was clear they held no significance to her.

"It's pronounced 'LOO-ah-vull' or 'LOO-ee-vill', depending on who you ask."

She rolled her eyes.

"Seriously, though. This bat is legendary. If I'm going to non-lethal my way to Linda's doctor, I'm going to use the best equipment."

As I spoke the words "non-lethal", my friend began to look nervous; and I knew she was counting on her archery and knives to clear a path back to Manuel. I assured her that this was a Romans 14 thing, a matter of personal conviction.

"I get that you think of it as self-defense; and I'm not going to pick a fight with you over it. This is my thing."

"Oh, good." she sighed. After a few moments, she asked, "So, do you feel ready for this?"

"For what?"

"For this - our mission, fighting across post-apocalyptic Longview and Kelso to the house of a man who may or may not still be alive and may or may not be able to do anything with the cure we're bringing to him. Are you ready for something like that?"

"Oh that? No, of course not."

"Me neither."

"Good."

To be continued...

 Isaac's "Action Hero" Playlist
Seven Nation Army (Remix) - Glitch Mob/White Stripes
The Distance - Cake
Welcome Home (Clean Edit) - Coheed and Cambria
Flower - Moby
E-Pro - BeckSail - AWOLNation
We're Not Gonna Take It - Twisted Sister
The Word is Strong - Nate Grossman
Handlebars - Flobots
Boom - POD
John Woo - Newsboys
Code Name Vivaldi - The Piano Guys
Ain't No Rest For The Wicked - Cage the Elephant
Beautiful Things - Gungor
Du Hast - Rammstein
Alive - POD 
Moonlight - The Piano Guys

-isaac