“By the breaking of dawn you will either die here, or The Warden will come in time, and begin his task of protecting you.”
Michelle realized that her eyes had filled with moisture. She wasn’t even crying, just welling up with emotion. Her heart soared as the pit of her stomach continued to sink. She was everywhere emotionally. She wondered how she would know The Warden when he arrived, if he arrived.
“You will know the Warden by his garments of white.”
Michelle nodded at his silent, timely instruction. She was relieved her unasked question was answered.
“
I can impart to you some knowledge this night. I can illuminate some truth. I can remove some falsehoods, but time is short.”
“Thank you.” Michelle whispered. Oudry turned to face her, and she was stunned. His white eyes had disappeared, replaced with eyes of striking, rich blue. Set in the face of the dead child they were powerful, and reminded her of the blue of a newborn’s eyes.
“
You are familiar with the parables.”
It was not a question. Michelle nodded at him.
“There is a parable that has some truth that I will point out to you. How much truth it contains is yours to debate. In the Parable of Weeds the world is as a farmer’s field, and the people are as the crops. Evil grows amongst the people just as the weeds grow amongst the crops Michelle.
The time has come that there are as many weeds as there are crops in the fields, and that cannot be abided. I have let the weeds run rampant now, and only the heartiest and most deserving of the field’s bounty shall survive this culling.
But the weeds are cunning. They grow underneath the crops, taking the richness of the soil from below, and blocking the sun from above. Some weeds appear as beauty might, taking the form of a flower, tricking the world into leaving it be.
I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live. Will they turn from their ways Michelle? Can you rebuild the field once more, sow it, and cultivate life, and joy, instead of death, waste and hatred?
The weeds are taking the fields Michelle. You are one of three that are tasked with saving the bounty that is humanity, and culling the weeds that are the dead.”
Michelle had no idea how to respond to that either, so she sat silently, absorbing it, eyes locked on the baby blue eyes of the Divine. Oudry’s voice was silent for some time, and Michelle gained the courage to ask a question aloud. “How do I do my part? My father told me I was part of The Trinity, and I was called the Savior, or the Soul. What does that mean?”
Oudry’s tiny mouth cracked a smile.
“The names you have been ascribed have no more meaning than what you give them. Know that you will succeed together, or fail together regardless of what you choose to call one another.”
“My father said I was supposed to lead humanity to a better world? That I could reinvent how we looked at God, and faith, and each other. How do I do that? How do I lead the whole world?” Michelle asked.
Oudry smiled once more. It was a knowing smile, as if he expected her to ask that very question.
“It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell.”
“That’s Buddhist, isn’t it? I’ve read that before.”
Oudry nodded.
“There is much to be taken from every belief. Not every belief is right, or wrong, what is most important, is to believe.”
Michelle nodded, starting to put everything together in her mind. “I think I get it now. If I lead the life we should all lead, then others will follow suit, and I’ll reach every corner of the Earth through my life’s work.”
Oudry shrugged slowly.
“This is your choice to make. I cannot tell you how to fulfill your task. It would not be genuine and real if you were to take guidance from me beyond what we have already spoken of.”
Michelle took a deep breath and nodded. She swallowed and looked to the sky, tasting that familiar sweetness of honey once more. The presence of the Divine had such wonderful rewards. She looked down once more and saw that Oudry had turned away, eyes locked on the horizon towards the airport. She swallowed once more, and the sweet flavor of honey had changed subtly. She caught the faint hint of copper. She tasted the familiar and unwanted slickness of warm, salty blood on the air. In a flash of memory, she was brought back to that midnight in the glade, and the cold presence of the first entity that had begun the end. Michelle’s eyes widened, realizing she and Oudry might not be alone after all.
“Evil is near. This body and spirit will only protect you for a little while longer. The presence of Evil dictates that I must defer this one’s body back.”
“What will happen then? Where is this Warden person?” Michelle stood up, looking around into the pitch black darkness of the desert on all sides.
Oudry’s one remaining arm raised itself slowly, and pointed to the star filled sky. As he did so, Michelle heard two noises simultaneously.
Far in the sky above, and growing louder each second she heard the familiar buzz of a large plane’s rotors chopping at the air. She was by no means an aviation expert, but it sounded like a massive plane, and one that was coming in her direction. Against the night sky filled with white stars she saw the tiniest of flashing lights, and she knew the plane was indeed nearby.
The second noise she heard chilled her to the core. When she’d stood a moment before, Oudry had taken to his tiny feet with her. He’d placed his miniscule frame between her and the horizon towards the airport. Michelle looked down from the small blinking lights of the plane and looked into the darkness beyond the small boy. It looked to her like the entire Earth was vibrating, undulating, shifting. She was sure it was a trick of the eyes. Perhaps it was the flames nearby? Was it a mirage? Maybe it was her confusion from the presence of such greatness?
Then she realized what the noise was.
Feet. Not one foot, nor ten feet. She felt the trembling of the desert floor below her as a legion of the dead approached. The shimmering ground was not the ground at all, but their bodies, moving closer, directly towards her and the small trio of flames burning bright around her.
The Voice spoke through the corpse child one last time.
“The Warden’s moment is nigh. Pray he lives up to this task Michelle Annabelle Lewis, or both you and the fields shall succumb to the weeds for all time.”
May 4
th
I’m wiped. This needs to be a fairly short entry, or I’ll face plant into the keyboard and wake up tomorrow with a bunch of little square key impressions on my face. The only thing worth talking about is 114 Park Street, and how I am not crazy.
Read that again Mr. Journal. I am not crazy. Stupid maybe, but not crazy.
I didn’t go with everyone today as Gilbert requested (he correctly thought I might be too invested in everything), and when everyone returned, they all looked at me like I was... I don’t know, special or something. Like I was one of those weird guys on the late night talk shows that claimed they could channel spirits and talk to your dead relatives and shit. I felt a little ostracized, but also validated at the same time.
Andrea, Madison, and Lindsey were at that house. I guess my people rolled in making plenty of noise to ensure that they couldn’t be mistaken for having snuck up on them, and Abby approached the house on foot, right out in the open. I originally put up a stink about her going, but she insisted on accompanying them, and frankly, she’s as adamant a supporter of me and my lunacy as there is, so having her there as my advocate was probably a decent idea. I am just scared she’ll get hurt seriously one of these days.
They parked the trucks away from the house, and Abby walked through the abandoned street with her arms held high, and called out to the house that we knew they were there inside, and that Doug had asked us to come get them. Abby was greeted with a shotgun barrel out of a window. I guess Lindsey didn’t quite believe her. Kudos to the other three for not lighting that house up when they saw that barrel poke out into the sunlight. At the range she was at, there was little chance Abby would’ve been hurt badly with the spread of a shotgun blast and all, but shit, if I saw someone point a gun at Abby, holy shit it is fucking curtains for them. Game-fucking-over.
Abby spoke to them about why they were there, and from what Gilbert said, she fucking told them exactly what happened. Dream story and all. I’m not sure if that helped, but after a tense half hour, the barrel disappeared, and Lindsey let Abby and Patty inside so they could talk.
When they left this morning, we loaded the truck up with some canned food, some water, a little bit of hygiene shit, and some clothes we thought would work for them. The mother and daughter brought the stuff, and they sat down with the remnants of the Manning family, and talked about what happened.
Patty said she was the one that shot Doug, and Lindsey of course cried. If she hadn’t cried, I guess that would’ve been kind of damning. However, Lindsey was thankful that Doug didn’t suffer long, and most importantly, didn’t come back to hurt anyone else. I guess there’s the silver lining in finishing off one of us if we’re going to die. We need to be mindful that we’re doing right by that person, and not the alternative.
Abby and Patty told them we had a secure facility on the outskirts of town, and that we (read, I) promised that we’d take care of them in the wake of Doug’s death, and if they were interested, we’d take them in here, or at least help them get set up somewhere safe. Lindsey said she’d have to think about it, and that’s understandable. As Gilbert said, we were the enemy yesterday. They agreed on another meeting on Park Street on the 7
th
at 9am. Hopefully that meeting is less awkward, and I get to go. I’m feeling better every day now, and I am optimistic that I will make that trip.
Before I forget, I want to point something out. If you haven’t already noticed, during the entire visit with Doug’s family, they didn’t encounter a single zombie. As soon as they left, Gilbert said they had contact with some stragglers. A few undead slinking out into the open from… somewhere. In the interest of not making noise and scaring the Manning family, they left those undead where they saw them, and moved out.
Mr. Journal do you think it’s odd that they didn’t see a single zombie in an area of town that we haven’t cleared yet, that people have been moving through recently? Were the dead on lunch break? Smoke break? Conspicuous in my book.
Gavin has given me a wide berth all afternoon, and all evening. He didn’t know the full story about the night of March 3
rd
, and the full details of the horde of undead that assaulted us that night. He saw the books after he helped us purge the campus, and he knew something strange was afoot, but the whole story was never shared with him.
I guess he asked on the way back, and Abby told him what happened that night back in March. Well, those nights. God that blew. I’m still surprised we made it through that. Mr. Journal, there were a lot of odds stacked against us then, and it was a miracle we pulled through it.
Anyway, Gavin is obviously a little weirded out over the whole “dreams from the dead” bullshit, and he just agreed to roll with the plan today because Abby was onboard with it. He didn’t believe my story, but he was willing to go on the faith he had in Abby. Now that he’s seen that the dreams are real, I think he looks at me, and wants to ask me if I’m a wizard. Or Nostradamus. Or if the Devil and I have some kind of ‘agreement.’
Either way, he was definitely strange around me. I’ll have to adjust to that I think. I can’t change that my dreams are visited by the dead. I can’t alter that for some reason I’m involved with whatever it is that’s going on. I don’t like being the center of attention. I don’t want to be the weird guy that everyone thinks is crazy.
I just wish I knew what the hell was happening.
If I’m lucky, I’ll have another dream one of these nights.
-Adrian
May 5
th
I don’t know whether to be frustrated, frightened, or furious. Ooooh. I do know another F word that describes how I feel.
Fucked. That feels right.
Happy cinco de fucking Mayo.
I can’t even feel safe and rested in my fucking sleep. When I’m awake, there’s bullshit. When I’m asleep, there is a good chance of bullshit. When I walk outside, it’s cloudy, with zombies, and a good chance of bullshit. It would not faze me in the least if one day we went outside and it was raining giant fucking chunks of cow shit. I think I’d put on a rain jacket and galoshes, and shovel it all over into the fields for fertilizer without a second thought.
Alright, so we nearly shot Blake today. That’s a good indicator of how fucked up our day started. (Started, mind you) As in, first thing in the morning, here on campus, we almost shot Blake. Yes Mr. Journal, you read it correct, Blake was here on campus this morning.
We didn’t know he knew where we were. Sort of a bad sign isn't it? It points to our being idiots for not realizing that he knew where we were set up, and it points to him being a little fucking shady for having known we were here all along, and then playing dumb about it. A lot shady actually. Frankly I’m kinda steaming over it. I think that bastard was using us a lot more than we realized.
Abby was out loading the trucks this morning for the run downtown when she saw movement at the bridge. Like a fucking pro, she got her AR out, dropped to a knee, and put that front sight right on the head of her target, and was flicking the safety to semi to bring him down when she realized it was him. Quite literally, Blake was a half second from having his melon painted on the side of a van blocking the bridge.