Lamp Black: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 2) (35 page)

She smiled at John through her tears and said, “Yes, the old man was with me again. He was with me the entire time, but only as a spirit. He said you were coming, that you would take care of everything.”

“That I was coming?” asked John, surprised despite himself. Even though he received a message and a prompting to go to the Hernandez’s home, hearing it from Marissa was somehow more powerful.

“Yes, he said help was coming. Then he touched my forehead and I slipped into unconsciousness. The next thing I remembered was waking up in Paul’s arms. Paul told me how you rescued us,” said Marissa, as she stared into John’s eyes. “I wanted to say thank you in the garage, but it didn’t seem like the right place or time. I know Heavenly Father sent you to us, John,” she finished, as she reached over and took his hands into hers.

“Yes. Yes he did,” replied John. Now it was Marissa’s turn to look surprised. “I’ve got my own stories, Marissa,” said John, “but I think it needs to wait until we’re both better rested. But I do have a question for you.” Marissa nodded, and he continued. “A couple of days ago, Paul said you had a dream about the disaster. Can you share that with me too?”

“He did?” It was John’s turn to nod. “Well, it was, let’s see, a couple of months ago at least. The kids were quiet and Anthony was taking a nap, so I decided to take a nap too. Anyway, just before I woke up I had a dream. I was standing outside and it was raining gray water, though it was more like paint. I was standing under a big umbrella with my kids, but for some reason Paul wasn’t with us. There was a man standing in the gray rain. I waved for him to join us under the umbrella, but he ignored me.

The man was completely gray from the rain, but it didn’t seem to bother him. I watched him turn and walk over to an apple tree. The tree was also gray, but I still knew it was an apple tree. The man reached up and pulled a gray apple off the tree and walked over to hand it to me. I wanted the apple. I needed the apple, but I couldn’t move my arms to take it.

The man looked at me, shook his head, and then dropped the apple to the ground. When his apple hit the ground, all the apples on the tree fell to the ground at the same time. The sound of it was harsh, and the thought of losing all those apples made me cry. My children also began to cry. Then I heard Anthony calling my name and I realized it was real, so I woke up. That’s all there was to it,” she said with a sigh.

John was speechless. To hear another account of an ash related dream made him wonder how many other people might have had one of their own. He wasn’t a dream interpreter, but he thought her dream was a warning to get food. “What do you think it meant?” he asked.

“I can only guess,” said Marissa. “I’ve never had dreams like that before, but I know how it made me feel.”

“And how was that?” asked John.

“It made me want to go out and buy up a lot of food,” she answered, without emotion.

“Excuse me for saying this, but I thought people in your church were supposed to be prepared; to have a food storage?” asked John.

Marissa shrugged. “Food and water,” she added, “but it’s not enforced or anything. Our church doesn’t operate like that. We’ve been told for a long time to have a food storage, but it was hard for us to justify it. I remember my father’s food storage. We ate his dehydrated potatoes and powdered milk all the time, but only because he wanted to rotate his supply. We never had to live off his food storage.” As an afterthought she added, “He still has food he bought back when I was a kid, like wheat, rice and beans.”

“You referenced a very common argument against preparedness just now,” said John. “You said, justify.”

“What do you mean?” asked Marissa.

“I think justifying preparedness is the biggest obstacle for most folks in our generation. You mentioned never having to live off your dad’s food storage, right? Well, to see your dad’s food storage sitting there all those years without him ever needing it . . . that can influence your decision to prepare. I’m sure you’re not alone in that justification. I suspect a lot of people in the church think that way. I certainly did,” replied John.

“You’re a member of the church?” asked Marissa, surprised.

“You can say that. I was baptized at eight. My dad was a member, but my mom wasn’t. It made for some interesting discussions at home, which left a bad taste in my mouth when it came to the subject of religion. I haven’t been back since I joined the army. Anyway, my dad also had a food storage. My mom was OK with it, and she would even buy extra food at the grocery store every month, but it was my dad who did most of the heavy lifting when it came to preparedness.” John paused for a moment and saw interest in Marissa’s face. “When my dad died I was given all his food storage. My mom didn’t want it, and said if I didn’t take it she was going to give it away, so I took it. It’s what I used to start my own food storage when I retired from the army.”

Marissa was quiet, contemplative even, as she studied John’s face in reply. Her brown eyes were filled with understanding and compassion. “Paul and I were raised in member families, but Paul was never interested in food storage. Money was always an issue for him, and so was storing the food. I did what your mom did, I bought extra food every time I went grocery shopping, but Paul figured it out and asked me to stop.”

“There’s a ton of reasons to justify not having a food storage,” said John, “and they can all be overcome with intent. Things like cost, space, and even time, are lifelong challenges, but we always find a way to overcome them when it’s about something we really want to have.”

Marissa nodded once, and John slipped into a well-rehearsed pro-prepper dialogue. “I know many people who think they don’t need to
prepare because the government, or some private relief organization like the American Red Cross, will come to their rescue after a disaster.” John locked eyes with Marissa and said, “And that’s a poor excuse even for small disasters.” John shook his head and said, “I met a lady who told me she’d rather die than live through a disaster. It’s not easy penetrating that desire with logic.

This disaster is like nothing we’ve ever seen before . . . it is way too big for the government to handle. And even if they could leverage the entire stateside military as a relief effort, it would be impossible for them to influence the destructive outcome of the disaster. They’re struggling as much as we are. We won’t see any rescue or relief effort for this disaster, which means we’ll be on our own for a long time.” John rubbed his eyes and asked, “How many of our neighbors do you think are prepared for this disaster?”

Marissa stared silently at John, sighed, and then said, “I think there’s another church family in our neighborhood, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Church membership obviously isn’t an indicator of preparedness,” replied John, as he looked at his hands. Marissa and Paul were supporting evidence for that conclusion, but he didn’t want to make it a point. “People are motivated to prepare for reasons other than the counsel of their church leaders. Do you happen to know of anyone else in our neighborhood that might have food and water?”

Marissa shook her head and said, “No. I don’t.”

John snorted and said, “I’m sure there’s a few people who thought they were prepared, but won’t it be interesting to see if the other church family comes knocking on your door asking for help.”

“Do you think they’ll do that?” asked Marissa.

“We’ll see,” said John. “Once the ash is less imposing I’m sure people will begin to venture out in search of food and water. I won’t be surprised to see a lot of door-to-door activity going on. That’s when everything will start getting interesting. When the food starts running
out . . . things will get very interesting around here. I sure hope you guys are up to the challenge.”

“Do we have a choice?” she asked.

John snorted again and said, “Good point. We really don’t have a lot of choices to make anymore. John looked at her, and with genuine sincerity he declared, “I want you to know that we’re really glad you’re here with us. We can use your help. I also want you to know that you guys are a part of our family now . . . and what’s ours is yours.”

Marissa closed her journal and stood. John also stood, and waited while she walked around the table to hug him. “Thanks for saving our lives, John. And thanks for taking us in.” She released John, and as she reached for her journal on the table, she added, “And I know you’re covering for Paul . . . that he had something to do with Darrel’s death, but I’ll take care of that myself. Goodnight, John. You’re a good man, and a God send.”

Before John could respond, Marissa left the kitchen and was gone. John grabbed the candle and made his way through the kitchen. He could find his way through the house blindfolded, but he wanted to check the duty roster before he returned to bed. He saw that Marcus, Paul’s oldest boy, was on watch until zero-one-hundred hours. With a puff of air, John blew out the candle and set it on the kitchen counter. He found Marcus sitting at the foot of the stairs, reading a book under his flashlight.

“Hey, Marcus,” whispered John. Marcus didn’t flinch at John’s voice, which told John that he was either engrossed in his book, or he already heard John coming. John suspected the later. “What’re you reading?”

“Hey Mr. Anderson. I heard you talking with my mom.”

“Yeah, your mom’s quite a lady. That book looks familiar.”

“It’s a trapping book by some guy named, Buckshot. It’s really cool. It shows you how to set snares and traps for animals. Is it OK if I read it? I found it in that pile of books over there,” asked Marcus, as he
pointed to the short pile of books on the floor by John’s den. It was one of the books he and Adam recovered from Corbin’s house.

“Of course you can read it,” said John. “I have a box of wire and other stuff that you might find interesting. I’ll show it to you tomorrow.” John put a hand on his shoulder and asked, “When does your shift end?”

“One o’clock,” answered Marcus.

“And what are your duties?”

“Walk around . . . quietly, so I don’t wake anybody up. Check the doors, and look out the upstairs window and watch for anything suspicious . . . and report it.”

“And who do you report to first?”

Marcus smiled. “I report to you first.”

“And how do you alert me?” asked John, impressed with the young man’s demeanor.

“I scream bloody murder if it’s an emergency, but if it’s something strange, like a sound or something moving, I go straight to your room and quietly wake you up,” he answered, proudly.

“Very good, Sergeant Marcus. I’m impressed.”

“Really?” asked Marcus, apparently thinking John was pulling his leg.

“Very impressed. You know your orders and your special instructions. You would make a really good Soldier.”

“Cool,” said Marcus.

John stood and said, “Keep up the good work, Soldier. I’ll see you in the morning,” and he offered the boy a casual salute.

Marcus shot up, and with a smile on his face, said. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

John returned to his room and wasted no time getting comfortable in his bed. Jenna was sound asleep, and wanting to feel her body heat he moved close to her. As he lay there, willing his mind to clear, he kept thinking of Eli. John wondered if he would see him again. Every night since John learned about the disaster he experienced a vision or
some other spiritual event. He didn’t know if that was some kind of trend, but he wanted it to be. There was something strangely alluring about being in contact with the spirit world. The spirit world - that sounded a little off to John. It was like some kind of weird TV show or something. It wasn’t weird at all though, just different, and very real. Just as sleep overcame him, John thought that the other side of the veil seemed more real than this side.

It felt as if he was being pulled down through the bed and into the floor. John tried to move, but many firm hands gripped his arms and legs. He tried to raise his head and couldn’t, nor could he cry out. A single large and heavy hand covered his entire face. He was defenseless, helpless to respond to the unknown but powerful threat that assaulted him.

The downward movement suddenly stopped and John was free to stand. Now completely out of his body, John watched in amazement as Sarrif masterfully wielded a sword against John’s numerous attackers. The largest attacker, the one that held John’s head, was the first to taste Sarrif’s wrath. In movements too fast to be physical, Sarrif lopped off the demon’s head. The grotesquely featured head spun lazily on its ear until it came to a rest in the corner of the room.

With the leader eliminated, Sarrif made short work of the remaining evil spirits. He moved through them quickly, in a blur, effortlessly dispatching them one after another. John never saw anyone move so fast before. Sarrif moved as if the demons were merely standing still. Suddenly, in a flash of awareness, John was able to match time with Sarrif’s, and watch him move. His guardian dispatched the remaining demons with a casual flick of his wrist, the long blade of light moving as if through air. Nothing impeded the bright blade, not demon flesh, bone or armor. And, when hacked or impaled by the sword, the demons appeared to simply de-atomize and vanish.