CATACLYSMOS Book 1 Part 3: The Deacon: A Post-Apocolyptic Serial Thriller Read online

  The thought of this sociopath burning with lust for his daughter is nearly too much for Michael and he has to change the subject.

  —Do you ever send out search parties? he asks. Then realizing his mistake adds, I mean missionary parties to find others and share the message of repentance with them?

  —We believe God brings those to us who are meant to be here. Like you, Brother Michael.

  —Amen, Meleah says softly.

  9

  At breakfast, beneath a pavilion in the back left corner, with everyone gathered, the Deacon looks across the length of the table they’re sitting at opposite ends of and locks eyes with Michael.

  —So, Brother Michael . . .

  Everyone stops talking and even eating and listens.

  —Yes, sir?

  —What secret sin was it that caused you to miss the Rapture?

  —I’ve been thinking about that a lot since it happened—even more after your message last night.

  —And?

  —I believe my main sin was that of pride. I thought I was right with God, but well, it was a self-righteousness, based on my own merit and works. I don’t know . . . I could be wrong, and I’m sure over time I will see more, but . . . I thought I was a good person and that that was enough.

  The Deacon nods his approval as Michael speaks.

  —Our righteousness is as filthy rags—literally menstrual pads—compared with the righteousness of God, the Deacon says.

  Michael lowers his head even more and nods.

  —I see now mine was, Michael says. Still is. But now I’m relying on the grace of God and the blood of Jesus.

  —You say all the right things, the Deacon says, but . . .

  Michael raises his head and locks eyes with the Deacon again.

  —But? Michael says.

  —I don’t know. I just wonder . . . are you who you seem to be? Do you really mean what you’re saying?

  —A tree is known by its fruit, Michael says. Talk is cheap. Everything is made manifest in time. I can leave if you think that’s best, or in time . . . who I am, who we all are, will be made clear.

  —Yes, it will, brother. Yes it will. Stay. Work beside us and let God make everything plain.

  10

  He’s been here such a short time and is already under suspicion.

  I was afraid of that. I’m saying the right things—too right, I guess—but my lack of conviction is showing through.

  Means he can’t wait. He must carry out the plan at lunch today.

  Going through everything over and over again as he helps around the compound, he prepares himself for what he’s about to undertake, for what could cost him his or his daughter’s life.

  Can he do it? Can he really risk his little girl’s life?

  What choice do I have?

  Is there any way to save her while also guaranteeing her safety?

  Would she be better off if I do nothing? Would life here in this compound be better than no life at all?

  Hasn’t she already answered that? She said she was going to make a move before being forced to be his bride.

  During his short break before lunch, he cuts a hole in the back corner of the tent and removes the weapon buried there—a rusty and pitted snub-nose .38 Smith & Wesson with five rounds in it and a hunting knife.

  Hiding them in the waistband of his jeans and making sure his untucked shirt covers them, he goes to lunch early to sit as close to the Deacon as possible.

  11

  —How can I be of the most service here? Michael asks.

  The Deacon is at the head of the table. Michael is in the seat next to him, Meleah across from him in her usual place of honor.

  —That will be revealed in time, brother. Be patient. God gives each of us gifts to use for his glory. Each of us is a different member of the body of Christ and each does a different task, performs a different duty. In time your place here will be made manifest, but I’ve got to tell you . . . I see great things here for you.

  —I just want to serve, to do my part to—

  —You will, the Deacon says. Excuse me a moment while I address the congregation.

  He stands and begins to say a few words and quote a scripture in preparation for blessing the food.

  Nobody said this would be the best time to attack because the entire group would be in one place at one time—with only one Brother guarding the gate where normally there are two. It’s also the best time because with no clocks and effectively no time, using the midday lunch hour is the surest way to synchronize the plan.

  —But before I do that, the Deacon is saying, I have something I need to do first, something I want all of you to be witness to. As you know, my wife was weak, a test sent to me from the Lord. I passed that test and the Lord took her when the Great Tribulation began. Since that time, I have been praying for God to send me a helpmate, someone who can serve me as I serve the Lord in this vital end-time ministry. Well, the Lord God has heard my prayers and brought to me a young woman who I know my soul can be knit to. Y’all know I’m talking about Meleah, and today, in front of all of you, our true family, I’m asking Meleah to marry me, to become my full partner in all of this, in all of life.

  He doesn’t get on one knee or really even address Meleah. He is their leader, the embodiment of God on the earth and he will not be seen bowing before anyone.

  —I believe God is calling you to be my wife, he says, finally looking at her. Will you answer the call and be my bride, the bride of Christ?

  There’s a reason he’s had her wearing all white and sitting on the left side of the sanctuary—the side the bride traditionally stands on during a wedding.

  Meleah looks at Michael.

  He nods and signals her with his eyes that shit’s about to go down—though he has no idea what message she receives.

  She slowly stands. Beautiful. Radiant. Clearly apprehensive.

  Thankfully before she has to lie to stay alive, the Deacon’s stepdaughter begins the diversionary tactics, the balloon goes up, and the plan to rescue his daughter is underway.

  12

  Gunfire.

  Grenades exploding.

  Molotov cocktails raining down around them.

  Pandemonium.

  Screaming.

  Yelling.

  Running.

  People begin to climb to their feet, knocking over their chairs and the table as they do.

  —We’re under attack! one of the Brothers yells. Man your positions!

  As members of the congregation run for cover, the Brothers draw their weapons and move toward the wall.

  —Relax, brothers and sisters, the Deacon says. No weapon formed against us can prosper.

  —Let us get you to safety, one of the Brothers says to the Deacon.

  —Just respond to the enemies of the Lord at the gate. God will protect me.

  —Do you know who it is? Michael asks. Does this happen often?

  —All enemies of God are the same, the Deacon says. Deceived and defeated.

  —Everyone return to your living quarters, another one of the Brothers says. Await instructions there. We’ll have this taken care of in no time.

  As everybody scrambles, only the Deacon, Michael, and Meleah remain standing still.

  —You’re not frightened, are you, brother? the Deacon says to Michael.

  —Like you said, no weapon formed against us can prosper. He that dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide in the shadow of the Almighty.

  —Amen, brother. Amen. You’re absolutely right. But for the sake of order and wisdom, let’s return to our living quarters while the Brothers take care of this.

  Michael nods and slowly turns and begins to walk toward his tent.

  —Come with me to the parsonage, the Deacon says to Meleah. We can see what’s going on outside in the monitors. We have cameras set up along the perimeter.

  He takes Meleah by the arm and leads her toward his house, making a point to walk upright and slowly
, showing no fear.

  It doesn’t take long for all the members of the congregation, mostly women and a few old men, to disappear into their living quarters. Only the Brothers remain visible on the compound, and not only are they distracted dealing with the fireworks, but the direction the Deacon, Meleah, and Michael are walking takes them farther and farther away from them.

  As Michael nears his tent, he ducks behind a storage container and doubles back toward the Deacon and Meleah.

  Please protect her. No matter what happens, please keep her safe and help me get her far, far away from here.

  Nearing the parsonage now, the Deacon is walking faster, pulling Meleah along beside him.

  Michael scans the area around them. No one is in the vicinity. Pulling the .38, he comes up behind the Deacon and presses the barrel to his temple.

  The Deacon stops walking. Without moving his head, he cuts his eyes over toward Michael.

  —You? he asks in surprise.

  —Let go of her.

  He does as he is told.

  Meleah steps back beside her dad and he hands her the knife.

  —You’re behind all this? the Deacon says. For her? You’re here for her? Who are you?

  —I’m her father, you creepy motherfucker.

  —Why do all this? Why not just leave? We’ve never held anyone against their will.

  —Then help us escape quietly now.

  —Sure, but why not just let me lead you out the front gate?

  —Because I saw what happened to the last person who went out the front gate.

  —What? What do you mean?

  —He was gunned down in the street, killed for trying to get back in.

  —No way. I would know if that—

  —Walk, Michael says, pressing the gun even harder into his temple.

  He wonders if it’s possible the Deacon really is ignorant about what happened to the pale chubby man who dared to come back after being excommunicated, but decides there’s no way he doesn’t know everything that happens here.

  I bet the order came from him.

  —Where are we going? the Deacon asks.

  —To the fence behind your house.

  He continues walking in that direction without hesitation, seemingly unafraid.

  —I meant what I said, the Deacon says. No weapon formed against me shall prosper.

  —Just walk.

  —Was everything you said a lie? he asks. All the scripture, all the . . . Are you a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

  —That would be you, Michael says. I’m more a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

  —But—

  —No decent person seeks power over people the way you do. No sheep wants to control and enslave and rule and be worshiped.

  Eventually the gunshots and explosions from the other side taper off and cease, and there is only the fire started by the Molotov cocktails.

  A few moments later there’s what sounds like a wreck near the front gate.

  —What was that? the deacon asks.

  —That was Nobody, Michael says.

  —Huh? What was it?

  —What it was supposed to be was another semi tractor-trailer from Shelton’s blocking the front gate to discourage y’all from following us.

  —We’re not gonna follow y’all.

  —Come on, Michael says. They’ll be coming.

  When they reach the fence, Nobody is there beneath the trailer cutting the chain link with bolt cutters.

  When the Deacon sees her he shakes his head and laughs.

  —Should’ve known, he says. Let me tell you something, Brother Michael, you’ve hitched your wagon to the wrong mule. Talk about a leaky bucket. You’re in real trouble if you’re counting on her.

  —Don’t say another word about her, Michael says. Don’t even look at her. Don’t look at either of them.

  She finishes cutting the fence and pulls it to the side for Meleah to crawl through.

  —All that talk about repenting, Michael says. Think about trying it yourself. The passages you use to make sense of what’s happening were written about other things—mostly events that happened around 70 AD, but none of it, none of it was written about you or this place or what’s happening now.

  —Why don’t you stay and let’s discuss theology a while, the Deacon says. I’d really like that.

  —Another time, Michael says. If our paths ever cross again.

  —Oh I have no doubt they will, the Deacon says. No doubt.

  —Until then, then.

  —It didn’t have to go this way, the Deacon says.

  —You’re right. Could’ve been much, much worse. Remember that when the duller side of you wants to retaliate. Also remember what your stepdaughter can tell your congregation about you. Now, sit down here and back up to the fence.

  —I don’t know what she told you, he says, but she’s a sick little girl, as crazy as her mama—and that’s sayin’ something.

  Michael gets on the ground and backs through the hole in the fence so he can keep the gun on the Deacon.

  When he’s out, he has the Deacon slide all the way back to the fence and put his hands behind him through two of the holes in the chain link. He then zip ties his hands at the wrists as Nobody twists wire around the loops she cut.

  —Did you save one for me? Michael asks when she’s finished.

  —Yeah. Here.

  She hands him a plastic shopping bag like the ones so ubiquitous before the end began.

  —You’re carrying them around in a plastic bag? he asks in shock.

  —Why not?

  He shakes his head.

  —Head to the truck, he says. Get to a safe distance. I’ll finish here and be right behind you.

  —Dad? Meleah says, coming back toward them from a few feet into the woods. We need to go. Now.

  —We are. Go with . . . her. I’ll be right behind you.

  —But—

  —I’m coming. I promise. Go. I’ll be right behind you.

  She reluctantly goes with Nobody.

  When they are gone, he withdraws the grenade from the plastic shopping bag and places it in the Deacon’s hands.

  —Don’t let go, he says, and pulls the pin.

  —What the . . .

  —This is just to give us a head start. I sincerely hope you won’t come after us, but I don’t think you’re smart enough not to. Eventually, y’all will get the front gate open and someone will come around here to remove this from your hands, but hopefully we’ll be halfway to Marianna by then.

  —We won’t come after you, he says as if weary of saying it.

  —You should know there’s nothing I won’t do to protect my daughter. You got off easy this time. If there’s a next time, no matter what else happens, you won’t. It won’t go well for you.

  —You know why we’re not coming after you? the Deacon says.

  Michael doesn’t say anything.

  —’Cause y’all won’t last a day out there. You with two fragile young girls. Not a single day. You reap what you sow. You’ll get yours. God’ll see to that. Touch not my anointed and do my prophets no harm. You’ve sealed your own fate, friend.

  —Are you a prophet or a confidence man who hid some bodies after a car wreck and cried Armageddon?

  Michael stands to leave but turns as he sees movement out of the corner of his eye.

  Nobody is coming up beside him, the small .38 he had earlier in her outstretched hand.

  —What’re you . . .

  She doesn’t stop until the barrel is pressed to the back of the Deacon’s head.

  —Don’t, Michael says. You shoot him we’re all dead.

  —Your daughter’s waiting for you in the truck. Go.

  —No. Come with us.

  —Go. Now. I’ll make sure you’re not followed.

  —All you’ll do is get yourself killed.

  —I’m already dead. I’ve been infected. Only thing keeping me alive has been this—this moment.

  She jams the bar
rel of the gun even harder into the back of his head.

  —Tell Michael how many times you raped me. Tell him.

  Now he understands the tear tattoos, the hacked off hair, the distrust and disillusionment, the distant stare.

  —I . . . I didn’t rape you. We’re not related. Sins of the flesh are as nothing compared to the sins of the spirit.

  —You need to go now, Nobody says to Michael. I wanted to wait until his little sheeple gather around so they’ll know what a fuckin’ monster they’ve been duped by, but don’t think I’ll be able to.

  Michael falls to his knees and grabs the grenade, holding it tightly as he removes it from the Deacon’s hands.

  —What’re you—

  —You want to kill the monster, fine. It doesn’t help like you think it will—but I understand. Just don’t kill yourself too. Do what you have to and come with us. Now. Let’s go.

  She nods.

  And pulls the trigger.

  Nothing happens.

  She fires again, and again nothing happens.

  The Deacon begins to laugh.

  She pulls the trigger again and again and again.

  —I told you no weapon formed against me would prosper, didn’t I? I told you.

  The Deacon sounds surprised but elated.

  —I told you. This proves it. I am a prophet of God. I am.

  —Come on, Michael says to Nobody. When we’re far enough away I’ll toss the grenade back.

  She shakes her head and removes the rusty hunting knife from beneath her shirt.

  —Say it again, she says. Say it again.

  —No weapon formed against m—

  While he’s speaking she slides the blade across his neck, slitting his throat open. Blood spurts out and he begins to cough and spit and sputter.

  —Say it again, she says. Say it.

  Michael grabs her arm and pulls her.

  —Come on. We’ve got to go. Now. You did it. You silenced the false prophet. You slayed the dragon. He’s dead. Let’s go.

  He drags her through the narrow path in the woods to the old pickup on the shoulder of the road where Meleah waits for them.

  He jumps in the driver’s seat and Meleah slides to the middle as Nobody climbs into the passenger seat.