The Seventh Seal (5 page)

The light brought scorching heat to her face.  The bulb
pulsed inches from the edge of the bed.  Jana opened her mouth to cry for help,
but mustered only a dry wheeze.  She looked down at the dried blood covering
her waist and legs.  A flesh wound in the tender pink meat of Jana’s thigh pulsed
with each heartbeat.  A sudden flash of memory forced Jana to squint and hold
her hands over her ears as the loud bursts rang out in the distorted replay. 
She managed to kick the lamp to the right and lessen the pain on her eyes and
forehead.

Jana struggled to her feet, doing her best to untangle from
the torn bedsheet.  She fell into the bathroom off the master bedroom.  A
tired, frightening face looked back at her in the mirror.  She reached for a
ponytail holder and pulled her greasy hair back.  Shards of glass stuck out of
her chin.  Jana winced as she pulled them out.  Using a washcloth, she cleaned
the superficial gunshot wound to her thigh.  It ached and pulsed, but soon
stopped bleeding.  Jana laughed through a grimace as she used her clean nurse’s
uniform to wrap the wound.  Her friends on the floor would make fun of her if
they could see her hasty triage.

She pulled a sweater over her head, not bothering with a
bra.  Her jeans bulged at the thigh where the makeshift bandage kept her wound
from breaking open.  She reached deep into the medicine cabinet and downed two
old pills.

A half-can of soda sat on the table next to the bed, one of
the only pieces of furniture not in disarray.  Jana shook her head, trying to
knock the memories loose.

An earthquake, a storm?

She could not recall.  Grabbing the can, Jana let the sugary
liquid run down her throat and felt a slight buzz from the corn syrup.  She
pulled a jacket from the closet, just as the light went out.  At first, she
thought the bulb had died; but when she looked out the window, the entire
street sat in darkness.  A distant boom, like eager thunder, rattled the old
double-sash windows.

She hobbled down the steps in the dark and stopped in the
kitchen.  The table and chairs lay scattered, and long gashes revealed the
inner padding of the living-room furniture.  A black mouth yawned at Jana where
the missing television once stood.  She glanced around the room, anticipating
movement and hoping not to see it.  Jana opened the fridge and finished the leftovers
from the Chinese restaurant she had visited with John the other night.  The
cold lo mien unsettled her stomach, but she managed to hold it down.

Bright headlights flooded her living room and Jana heard men
yelling outside.  She crawled under the kitchen sink and pulled the cabinet
door shut with the towel rack.  The old pipe stuck in her back, and the smell
of dish detergent and brown lettuce made her gag.  Muffled sounds, a pause, and
then a crash broke the momentary silence.  Beams of light scurried across the
ceramic tile floor as if chasing cockroaches.  Jana took a breath through her
mouth, attempting to keep the odors from giving her away.

“Nothing on this level, sir.”

“Check upstairs.”

Jana heard one set of boots leave, while the other did not
move.  The first man returned to the kitchen.

“Lots of blood, but nobody.”

“A body?”

“No sir, but they’ve lost a lot of blood.  They either died
on the street or are bleeding out in a gutter somewhere.”

“And do you want to take the chance that even one Infidel
survives?  Do you?” the man in charge screamed at the subordinate.

“No sir.  I am a Warrior of Christ.”

“Then find her.  We know she was the only one here.  The
head of the First Cleansing reported one Jane Doe in the bedroom.  Dead women
don’t walk.  Find her.”

“Yes sir.”

Jana heard the man run out of the kitchen and back through
the living room, his boots cracking off the hardwood floor.  She thought of the
time she and John spent sanding and staining the floor.  She thought of all the
money and sweat they put into rehabbing the tired, old house.  Jana forced the
tears to stay in place.

The pair of boots remained after the other left.  He opened
the fridge, and Jana heard a hiss and pop, and realized he’d opened one of
John’s Iron City beers.  Her back throbbed from the pipe and her leg began to
twitch.  Every muscle in her body screamed to be free of the dark, confined
space.  The soldier chugged and discarded the beer with a careless toss.  The
bottle of Iron City met the ceramic tile with a pop, sending shattered glass
flying everywhere.  The boots moved toward the back door.  Jana heard them
clomp down the steps and rattle off the asphalt driveway.  She waited as long
as she could before coming out.

The dark house sighed except where the three kitchen windows
invited a bit of light from the gray sky.  Jana knew she was alone, the
intruders convinced she was no longer there.  Her aching thigh reminded her of
the wound she suffered earlier.

Suddenly a memory burst into her head: she recalled waving
to John from the window, teasing him with her naked sensuality.  She remembered
lying back down on the bed, pushing her face into his pillow, rollicking in his
scent.  A few minutes after he left, it sounded as if her house slid into the
depths of hell.  She recalled bellowing footsteps coming toward her bedroom,
leaving just enough time to draw the sheet up to her chin.  A flash of light, a
loud crack, and that was all she could remember.

“Do you think he’ll survive, Alex?”

“He passed out. He’s not been shot in the head.”

The priest looked at the man that came to serve reluctantly.
Alex brought rudimentary medical skills that would have to serve until a real
doctor could be found.

“Can’t you do better than that?’

“I’m a vet, not a doctor.”

The priest rolled his eyes and did not press the matter
further.  Alex considered them lucky to have his services, even if most of his
experience had been ridding dogs of fleas.  He walked amongst the cots to check
on the Warriors injured during the First Cleansing.

Alex circled around to the man they had called John the
Revelator.  He noticed the white band revealed by a missing wedding ring.  A
small, wry chuckle rose in his throat as he realized the priests would not
notice the slight discoloration in skin.  He felt a twinge of guilt for using
the narcotics on the man he believed to be named John, but he could not afford
to have him confront the priests before he had a chance to hear John’s story. The
drugs that Alex used on John would be wearing off soon.  For John’s sake, Alex
hoped he would be on duty when John awoke.

He found a dry-cleaning tag in one of John’s pockets. 
Another slight smile spread across his face as he hid the ticket in his own
pocket.  The meaningless artifact of genteel daily living took him on a mental
tangent.  Then he thought of his wife and children, and how they were subjected
to the rites of the “Holy Covenant”.

An old transistor radio hissed from the nearby windowsill of
one of the basement’s windows.  Alex imagined a nun using the antenna to beat
the knuckles of a student for misspelling the word “catechism”.  He was about
to shut it off when a human voice cut through the static.

“Sons of Liberty rise and toss the Covenant to the fire. 
They are not doing God’s will.”

Alex froze.  The phrase repeated, then disappeared.  He
looked about at the soldiers on the cots as well as the two priests tending to
them.  Alex held his breath, awaiting a reaction.  He moved closer and turned
the volume down with a disguised motion.  As if on cue, voices rematerialized
from the mono speaker.

“Hail the riff.  You know where, Sons of Liberty.  Get there
soon.  Two horns up.”

Alex pretended to work on John the Revelator for another
thirty minutes, hoping the voice would return.  It did not, so he memorized the
phrase.  Writing it down could become too costly if the commander in charge
became overzealous with the body searches.  Alex stored it in his mind and
began to hum “The Burning Time”, by Threefold Law.

***

John slid one eye open, enough to get a blurred view through
an eyelash.  If he could maintain the ruse of unconsciousness, he might have a
chance to escape.  It would take about one minute of conversation before the
priests would see through his unintentional disguise.  He thought about
confiding in the doctor, but hesitated.  He needed more reassurance before
taking that risk.

The radio on the sill bleated intermittently throughout
John’s time on the cot.  John could make out “liberty” and “to the fire”, but
nothing else. 

***

“Don’t look at me.  Keep working as you are,” John said in a
hushed voice.  He kept his lips tight as he spoke.

“I thought you were coming around.  Your muscle movement
betrayed you.  Don’t worry, only a trained eye would see it.”  Alex pulled the
surgical mask up over his mouth as he spoke, concealing the movement of his
jaw.  “Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is John.  I’m not the Revelator or whatever shit
they say I am.  They think I’m a priest, and as soon as they realize I’m not,
I’m dead.  So if you’re not going to help me, sound the alarm and end it now. 
I have no desire to suffer more than I have to.”

“Calm down, you fucking hothead.  If I was part of the
Covenant your ass would be hanging on a cross down in Public Square.  My name
is Alex and you’re damn lucky your threads are legit.  If they knew you stole
these, man, you’d be in a world of hurt.  Ever heard of the Inquisition?”

“What’s that?  A metal band?”

“Don’t be an asshole.  I’m trying to help.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.  Just wanted to lighten the mood a
bit.  Yeah, I know the time.  The Catholics in Spain did nasty shit to the Jews
and Muslims in the name of God.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, the Holy Covenant makes the
Inquisition look like the Geauga County Fair.”

“Rednecks and Amish sucking down flat beer and funnel cake?”

Alex muffled his laugh into a cough as one of the other
priests headed in his direction.  John picked up on Alex’s body language and
shut both eyes.

“How is he doing?”

“Same as when you asked me five minutes ago,” Alex replied,
as he rolled his eyes and struggled to keep his balled fists from delivering
shots to the man’s face.

“You would be wise to hold your tongue, doctor.”  The last
word slithered from his lips.

Alex watched the priest continue on his way toward the old
bingo board hanging in the back of the parish hall.  For decades, parishioners
had gathered to smoke, gamble, and spread rumors, feet beneath the altar.  The
priest walked up the handicapped ramp toward the ground floor of the church. 
The other priest went to the far end of the cots and sat at a desk, his back to
the hall.

“Don’t move, John,” Alex said.

He pulled a syringe and flask of liquid from one of the bags
on the floor.  With lightning speed, Alex injected the three soldiers closest
to John’s cot.  He refilled the syringe and injected the others.  The priest at
the desk continued flipping through paperwork, oblivious to what took place
behind him.  Alex walked back to John and bent down so that he could look into
his face.

“They won’t be waking up again.”

“You killed them!”

“This is war, Gandhi.  In case you haven’t figured it out
yet, those sons of bitches have been emptying clips on innocent civilians.  Do
you want to live or not?”

John twitched, but did not move his head.

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Then do exactly as I say or hang next to Jesus Christ
upstairs.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to slip Father Paperpusher over there a nice dose
of drugs.  Should knock him out for a while and give me a chance to work.  As
soon as I get to his desk, start taking off your clothes.  I have no clue when
another priest might come down here and we don’t have time to spare.”

Alex walked past the soldiers that lay dying on the cot. 
The cyanide poisoning would not be obvious to the priests and he doubted anyone
would be able to perform an autopsy.  Alex heard the priest sigh over an
accounting error as he slid the needle into the back of his neck.  The priest
froze and slid down into his chair.  Alex nudged him forward so that it
appeared he had fallen asleep on the desk, like an anxious college freshman the
night before an exam.

John took off his clothes and at the same time, Alex
stripped the soldier closest to him.  Within a minute, Alex had thrown the camo
to John.  John tossed the black garments and white collar to Alex, who placed
it on the dead soldier.  He pushed the soldier’s cart toward John and slid it
in between the others. 

The vest fell on John’s shoulders as another priest
descended from the church above.  He stood next to Alex, at attention.  He
hoped Alex knew what to do next.

“Doctor, how is John the Revelator?”

Father stepped around and gazed at the costumed soldier’s
dead, false-priest face with pride.  It did not matter what the Cardinals
whispered, Father knew this was the Revelator.  He could feel the certainty.

“He is still out, Father.  I would like to take a closer
look at him in my office.  Can I have this soldier escort me?  He seems to be
doing much better and wishes to serve the Lord again.”

The high priest beamed with admiration at Alex.

“Of course, doctor.  Wheel John to the back door and I will
send the freight elevator down.  You can load him into a troop carrier and I’ll
have a driver take you there.”

“No need, Father.  This soldier can drive it.  We can’t
spare another man in the battle with the Infidels.”

“Yes, you are correct.  The light of God has illuminated
your soul and it warms my heart.”

“I feel his love, Father.”

Alex felt the salty blood on his tongue as his teeth bit
into his lip.

John grabbed the cot with the dead soldier dressed in black
and wheeled it toward the elevator.  The priest turned and ascended the steps. 
Alex and John stood motionless next to the elevator as the motor roared to
life.  The soldiers tied the church’s electrical system into the generators and
sent the freight elevator down.  John pushed the gurney inside and Alex shut
the door. As the elevator began its return trip back up, Alex spoke.

“When we get to the top, get us into the vehicle.  If anyone
stops us or looks at us with a second glance, open fire and run for the truck.”

“The last gun I fired was a cap gun,” said John.

“Then you’d better be ready, because that machine gun has a
hell of a lot more kick.”

The elevator door opened and Alex saw him.  Father’s
vestments flowed and billowed, flickering candles all around.  Alex vowed to
bloody those garments.  Father walked toward Alex, paying little attention to
the man in fatigues to his right.

“Where are you taking John the Revelator?” Father asked.

“I’m taking John the Revelator into my office, for closer
observation – per our discussion, Father.  I have electronic equipment there
that will allow me to monitor his heartbeat and other vitals.”

A single bead of sweat popped out on Alex’s forehead and ran
straight down the bridge of his nose.

“We can bring it here for you, Doctor.”

“Umm, yes Father, I have no doubt that you could.  However,
I am unsure of John’s condition and would not want to lose him in that cold,
damp basement.”

Father paused and glared at Alex.  He turned in the
direction of John, and addressed him, but kept his eyes on Alex the entire
time.

“If this man does anything out of the ordinary, anything,
send him to meet the Maker.”

“Yes Father,” John replied, garbling his words in an attempt
to disguise his own voice.

“I have seen the light, Father.  I serve the Lord.”

“Let’s hope you are truthful as well as subservient.”

Father turned to speak to another priest.  Alex looked at
John and exhaled a sigh of relief.  They left the front door of the church and
had three other soldiers help them carry the cot down the steps.  The dead
soldier in priest’s clothing filled the back of the truck.  John jumped behind
the wheel and Alex sat in the passenger’s seat.  One of the men at the back
slammed the tailgate with his fist twice, alerting John that he should pull
out.  As the vehicle turned on to East Eighth Street, Alex threw his head back
and rubbed his forehead.

“Take it all the way to Shaker, and don’t stop for
anything.  The men that drive these would run down their own grandmother for a
spritz of holy water.”

John chuckled and took the suggestion.

Alex motioned John to the curb on Shaker, a mile from Shaker
Square.  John saw red pentagrams everywhere.  The truck coughed to a halt, and
the men got out and walked around back through the shattered door.  John
followed Alex into the dark veterinarian’s office.

“If they haven’t already discovered us, they will soon. 
Grab as much of the drugs as you can from those two cabinets and throw it in
this bag.  Meet me back at the truck in two minutes.  I need to grab syringes
and surgical tools.”

“Where are we headed next?”

“Damned if I know.  Do you know a good place to ‘hail the
riff’?”

John grinned.

“As a matter of fact, I do.  The Jigsaw Saloon on the West
Side books stoner-rock bands all the time.  There isn’t a better place in
Cleveland to ‘hail the riff’.  What does that have to do with anything?”

“Get your shit and meet me in the truck.  Think of how we’re
going to get across the Innerbelt and I’ll tell you why we’re heading that
way.”

“I ain’t leaving until I find my wife.”

“If she was in the Heights area, she’s dead.”

John stepped into Alex and seized him by the collar.

“John!  Is that going to help us?  I’m not trying to be
cold, just realistic.  She’ll be the first we come back for, okay?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll meet you in two minutes.”

The two men set about their tasks while the dead soldier
waited for them in the back of the truck.