Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ

"Wake up, T.J... wake up, sugar!"

  Terry Jackson hadn't been called T.J. in over twenty years. It was his standard moniker for much of his life, but it described a younger man than he had become in its flair and simplicity. Once passed the forty-year mark it seemed only natural to stop introducing himself as someone he didn't believe he was any longer.

  As a strapping young six-foot tall plumber, complete with denim overalls, baseball cap and heavy tool belt on his side, he looked and behaved like a man called something as energetic as T.J. He was full of life; always the first to crack a joke, break a smile or go out of his way to help someone in need.

  He and Michelle had been married when he was eighteen. She was just fifteen at the time, but getting hitched very young was commonplace in the south in their day. They lived within the realm of segregation and were subject to intense disdain, but neither let that stand between them and enjoying every second of their lives.

  Terry took up plumbing shortly after they were married and quickly became a trusted handy-man in his small neighborhood. Even some of the more outspoken whites had entrusted their homes to him. There was just something about him -some intangible likeability- that drew people to him.

  He made common people feel like royalty with his unselfish nature. His quick wit gave him a charm that was simply irresistible to men and women of all walks of life. No one was a stranger when Terry Jackson was in the house; this was reflected in his customer's generosity when it came to tip time at the end of a job.

  Work ethic was something he had in spades as well, often putting in seventy hours a week to be sure his wife never had to worry about how the bills were going to be paid. His earnings allowed her to stay home with the children they started pumping out when she was just seventeen years old.

  Before the book was closed on their reproductive lives they had brought five children into the world. Some said this was too many, but their smiles fueled the happy couple and drove them to keep going until there was simply no more room to fill in their cozy home.

  Life had gone perfectly for them, neither one able to imagine a scenario more befitting their desires. That all changed, though, shortly after Terry's forty-first birthday.

  He was working on a rooftop in the rain, installing vents for a newly constructed home, when he slipped and fell. Everything he knew his life to be crashed down into the mud with him. He lay there, cold, wet and in unimaginable pain, for several hours before another contractor showed up and called for an ambulance. His hip was shattered and had to be rebuilt, resulting in years of physical therapy and an insurmountable debt in medical bills. He had suffered a severe concussion as well that would haunt him, causing terrible headaches every day of his life thereafter.

  His life, and along with it those of his wife and children, was forever changed. With their savings drained and no potential for Terry to return to work in his field, the Jackson family was forced to turn to government support. It was thoroughly humiliating for this formerly proud man to fill out an application for assistance; but there was simply no choice... there were seven mouths to feed under their roof.

  SSI and welfare put a dent in things but didn't provide nearly enough income to support the family in anything that resembled their typical standard of living. At thirty-eight years old, Michelle Jackson had to get the very first job of her life.

  She found work as a housekeeper at a local hospital, toiling over floors, countertops and bed linens for hours on end. With her husband essentially bedridden between the pain and depression, caring for the children fell on her shoulders as well when she finally got home each evening. She would never complain, but Terry knew the long days were hard on her.

  Michelle found strength in her faith and spent every spare second of her time singing in her church choir. Slowly she became something of a fanatic; speaking of God's will as though it were something promised to them... something to look forward to. Terry had a hard time swallowing that notion. He believed only in what he see, touch and experience. He doubted the very existence of Michelle's God. If there was any possibility that he did exist, Terry hated him for what he had done to them.

  Still, the hymns followed Michelle to work in the form of a sweet humming that comforted the patients in rooms she cleaned. Many had tracked her down after their stay simply to thank her for bringing light into their darkened worlds. She had assumed Terry's role as the beacon of the family, its smiling face before the world... this made him proud and tore his heart out in one fluid motion.

  When Terry would stare in the mirror everyday at that point in his life, he did not see T.J. The person who bore that name had died in the mud on a rainy day in the city. Michelle obliged when he asked that she start calling him simply Terry - and from that point on it had been the only name by which he was known. Hearing the expired tag echoing in his head took him back to a different time, one that was happier than what he had come to know.

  "T.J. -- it's time for you to wake up, now!" Michelle's angelic voice repeated. "It's time to answer the call of The Lord!"

  His eyelids were heavy, having slept deeply for longer than he knew or could possibly imagine. As he blinked away the crust in them he saw her beautiful face, looking momentarily like the young and vibrant woman he had known before his accident.

  "Michelle?" He said, his eyes finally adjusting to being awake again. His wife was standing over him smiling, a stranger at her side. "What's happened?" He asked, studying the face of the one-eyed man.

  "We've been asleep for a long time, Terry." She explained. "God needed us to rest up for what he has in store for us."

  "Good morning, Mister Jackson." The mysterious person dressed like a priest said. "It's a pleasure to meet you finally."

  "Who the hell is that?" He inquired, irritated at the man staring down upon him.

  "His name is Cameron." Michelle offered. "He was sent by our Lord Jesus to wake us."

  "You've been asleep for six months, just about to the day." Jennings explained.

  "What?" Jackson snapped. "That can't be! How? Why?"

  "It was the will of God." Michelle suggested, her eyes twinkling with joy in the daylight.

  Terry's body was stiffer than usual as he sat up on the log that had been his mattress for so long. He looked around at the forest, not nearly as threatening now as it had been the night of the incident at the airport.

  "Where are we?" He asked. "What happened to David?"

  "Who?" Jennings inquired.

  "David." Michelle said as though Jennings should know. "We met him at the airport. The poor young man lost his wife. He went on ahead of us, must've gotten quite a ways by now I imagine."

  "Perhaps he ended up at the colony?" Jennings continued.

  "The colony? Michelle, what's going on here?"

  "Allow me to answer, if you will." The priest chimed in out of turn. "The Lord has returned, Mister Jackson..."

  "I know -- we saw him that day. When everything went crazy... he sent us out here, somehow."

  "Many have died, and many more shall. He chose the two of you, however, to live -- and I assume your friend David as well."

  "Chose us for what?"

  "To bare witness to his second coming. He selected twelve, in total, to be his disciples."

  "How do you know this?"

  "He told me."

  "You spoke to him?" Terry asked, surprised and a bit jealous.

  "Oh yes... at length. He has shown me wondrous things, Mister Jackson."

  "You can call him T.J." Michelle told the man.

  "Terry..." Her husband countered. "You can call me Terry."

  "Of course -- Terry." Jennings continued. "He has charged me with reaching out to those he's chosen... setting you on the path which he has laid out for you all."

  "What is his will?" Michelle asked. "How are we to serve The Lord"

  The priest seemed to hesitate, then answered in a manner that Terry f
ound elusive. "He will lead us into a new day in which his glory shall shine upon all of the Earth. It will take time, however. In the meantime, He asks that we set out upon the world and spread his word to prepare for his ascension to the throne."

  "So what do you want us to do?" Terry wondered.

  "There is a colony of survivors five miles to the west of us called Wormwood. It's among the last remaining strongholds of mankind, and the only one I've found in this region. I will lead the two of you there and search for your friend. The three of you will await my return there, reaching out to the population in God's light until the time comes."

  "Five miles west? We came from the west... there was nothing there -- only trees."

  "Remember, Terry - you have been absent from the world for six months. Wormwood exists, believe me - I've been there. It is not a savory place, however... the people there need to hear the word of The Lord."

  "Now wait just one minute." Terry snapped at him. "You expect me to take Michelle, my wife, to a place you describe as less than savory? That's not a place for us... I'd rather stay out here in the forest, where it's safe!"

  "This forest is no safer than the colony, sir. People are desperate... the will to survive drives them to do things you couldn't imagine."

  "But we've been safe here all this time - six months, you say."

  Jennings leaned in closer to the man as though to emphasize his words. As ridiculous as he knew they sounded, they were as true as any he had ever spoken.

  "You weren't visible, Mister Jackson. You might as well not have been here."

  "What? Michelle, this man is crazy!"

  "No, T.J." She replied. "This man is anointed. Now get off your rear and let's get on down the road to this Wormwood. We have much work to do there!"

  Seeing no possible benefit in continuing to argue, Terry stood and brushed off his clothing. The priest smiled at him, then led the two of them towards the west where a new experience awaited them.

  It was clear that things had, indeed, changed as they walked. The forest was scarred by signs of conflict and battle; in some places there were arrows and axes strewn about the ground and buried into trees, in others the landscape charred and burnt to nothingness.

  Four miles into their trek they began to see signs of the colony's existence. First, there was a large plywood sign with the name Wormwood scrawled upon it in what appeared to be blood. Then, there were the bodies; scorched remains hung from branches and swinging in the gentle breeze.

  The scene resembled something out of a medieval painting detailing the horrors of Vlad The Impaler at the height of his tyranny. The bodies were massive in number, stacked deeply like a morbid field of wind chimes. More disturbing than the grisly appearance and rank smell of the rotting corpses was the fact that they were all different shapes and sizes - clearly including women and children.

  Michelle shielded her eyes from the macabre scene as they walked underneath dangling feet, the site too much for her innocent mind to comprehend. Stories she had been told of Ku Klux Klan lynchings flashed before her tightly sealed eyelids, stirring a firestorm of emotions that nearly drew tears. It seemed the only piece missing was the presence of a burning cross, but amongst the horrors she thought that perhaps one was waiting for them just beyond the next wall of trees.

  "My God!" Terry gasped. "Who would do something like this? Why?"

  "Regular people, Mister Jackson." Jennings answered. "Every day folks just like you and I. Resources are scarce; the fight for survival has made them into monsters."

  "Whose bodies are these? There must be hundreds! Are these their own? Their friends and neighbors?"

  "Some probably are... thieves, rapists or murderers that offended the refugees somehow and were consequently dealt with harshly. Others were likely outsiders that tried to conquer the colony to gain control of the blood fountain."

  "Blood fountain? What is a blood fountain, and why would anyone want it so badly to risk ending up swinging from these trees for it?"

  "It's a life raft in this unforgiving sea of death... I haven't spent a lot of time with the people there, but I know that they treasure it and guard it with their lives."

  "What is it? What does it do for them?"

  "I don't know that I can really explain it -- it's a very unusual phenomenon. I'm told it was a very normal geyser before everything fell apart... small and relatively uncelebrated it its time. It was at the heart of a sprawling camping resort which had already been looted for its reserves."

  "There was no camping resort here -- we passed through this area. There was nothing. I remember it distinctly."

  "Well... The Lord works in mysterious ways. Perhaps there wasn't, but it exists now and its infrastructure has allowed the colony to prosper. As the story goes, there was a clash there between survivors over the fallen carcass of a deer. In the struggle a man was stabbed in the neck with a hunting knife, his corroded artery severed. As he bled out, his blood was absorbed into the soil. The geyser erupted almost immediately with a strange red discharge - the gas somehow nourished the others around it. They were no longer hungry... the fight subsided, the men banding together instead of killing one another. They founded Wormwood, taking in friendly souls that passed. "

  "So this geyser brought them peace and assured survival. Why, then, do they kill for it? Why can't they share it?"

  "The blood fountain, as it's become known, doesn't give its shower of plenty without demanding something in return. The geyser no longer erupts, even with water alone, at regular intervals as it had before. The nourishment it provides doesn't last forever either. The sense of satisfaction it gives dissolves to a raging hunger no more than twenty-four hours after an eruption. The sensation is so intense that the colonists began resorting to cannibalism in its wake."

  "So -- how do they make the fountain erupt again?"

  "Through an offering of blood, and only that of humans seems to work. They have to feed it at least once a day - and I understand that its appetite grows with each blast. At first it was happy to have just one life per eruption -- now, it requires several."

  "Jesus Christ. And you expect us to live in this place until you return?"

  "I don't... The Lord does."

  "Why?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine. It is what he commands, however... what must be done."

  "The Lord is my shepherd." Michelle started, grasping Terry's hand tightly to be guided as she still covered her eyes. "I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures."

  The psalm was familiar, even to an unbeliever as staunch as her T.J. The old adage there are no atheists in foxholes seemed more true than ever as Terry faced a scenario so terrifying that it shook his beliefs to their core. The three of them continued, speaking the words aloud in unison as they walked.

  "He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His names' sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever."

  Chapter 18