Project Lazarus (25 page)

“I’m going to be honest with you Natalie.  If you screw this up you’re dead.  You still in?”  Calista confided.

“Yeah I’m in,” she assured her.

The girl smiled.

“Okay I know you’ve got questions.  So, let’s have them.”

“Real simple.  Just tell me about the day they raised the dead man.”

“Easy.  Dead man rose from the other side.  Anyone who saw it or heard it…killed.  Our own government killed its own people.  Damn good loyal people.  They had several snipers.  They shot on command.  No one looked back.  They dragged out the bodies.  Don’t know what they did with them.  Heck, I don’t know if they can come back from the dead.  A few of us thought they could, like maybe we saw some of them you know.  But lots of us are messed up now.  PTS, post-traumatic stress,” she said.

“I know,” Natalie whispered, “And where did they bury them?”

“Like I said nobody knows for sure.”

“What about the Amazon man?” Natalie asked.

“Indigenous Amazon tribe.  Been here for a lot of years.  Refused to raise the dead for a long time.  I don’t know why and then one day he just did it.  Man and did he do it fast.  From what I understand it was no hocus pocus show.  He just touched the guy’s forehead and he was alive.”

Natalie glanced at her watch, “We haven’t got much time.  What’s the deal with Charlie Dempster?”

“Researcher.  Brought the guy back from the Amazon,” she paused, “oh yeah, there’s something or someone you’re going to want to watch real close for.  His name is Commander Henrid.  Rumor has it he was on that trip to the Amazon.  Screwed up bad out there, almost got dismissed from the military.  But he’s back in now in a big way and it all ties back to Charlie Dempster.  I think Henrid would kill anyone who got in his way of Dempster.  You have to watch out for him, he’s holed up out in a trailer.  He’s already spoken to Dempster and the Chuttle boys.  You know about them?”

“Yeah, I do,” she told her.

“Better get going girls,” the Sherriff announced.

They both bounced out of the car and descended into the woods, where they switched uniforms.

“How do I look?” Natalie asked Sherriff Traves upon her return to the car.

“Dead ringer,” he told her.

“Good luck Natalie.  Stay safe,” Calista told her, “and thanks for getting me out of this.”

“It’s your time now,” Sherriff Traves told Natalie, “go get what you want.  Now remember, this car stays for only one hour after the designated time.  I’ll try to hold out.  But then I’m gone.  Don’t make me regret this,” he told her.

Calista watched the scene unfold.  The man, her confidant, was letting another friend head into battle and he was worried.

“It’s on,” Natalie said, closing the car door very carefully behind her.  She didn’t want to make the same mistake Gardenia Hall made.

She could feel the sweat on the uniform.  The girl who last wore it had poured her heart on her sleeve.  She couldn’t take what was on the inside behind that fence.  Could Natalie?

She turned to look at the police car, banged and beat up, carry Calista to safety.  For a moment, she envied the girl.  She had courage, Calista, but she knew when she had too much.  Staying, meant she had too much.  Natalie watched the car slip into the distance and disappear.  She wondered if she would ever see it again.

Natalie slid in past the fence.  She was through the gate now.  Like a well-trained performer, each step she took, was with military precision.  Each thought permeating her mind was forming and shaping her into Calista.  She had a part to play.  She could not fail.  There was no curtain to hide behind.

“Hey,” a girl whispered from the shadows.

She looked to see Gardenia Hall crouching on the ground.

“I can’t get past the guards like this,” Gardenia told her.

“You can’t become my problem right now,” Natalie warned her, walking away.

“I’m your solution,” she counter-offered, “my guess is you switched places with that military girl.  Why not bring in a prisoner?”

“Because that’s not part of the plan.”

“So, change it.  I can help you.”

“Gardenia, they might kill you in there.”

“Don’t worry about me.  I’ll keep them busy and I can lead you to the Amazon man.”

“It’s Charlie Dempster I want.”

“No,” she shook her head feverishly, “That man is evil.  You must be warned.”

It was too much.  Natalie was becoming confused.  What did this girl want and how did she know these things?

“Tell me why you want this so badly?” She asked Gardenia.

“They killed someone I loved.  Those people who were shot to death when Project Lazarus took off the ground,” she paused reflectively, “One of them was a close friend of mine.”

She grabbed her arm, “How?  That’s private intelligence.  How do you know?”

“Because he told me,” Gardenia said calmly.

“You’ve seen him?”

“Yes, he’s one of the living dead.  And his life is in great danger.  They will kill him.  They have to.  I mean he can’t come back from the dead.  But I have to help make things right with the Amazon man.  He’s the key to this whole thing.”

“What about Charlie Dempster?”

“I can feel his presence.  He’s trying to kill.  But he too may suffer that fate.  If  it’s answers you want, I think I can help you.”

“Two are better than one,” Natalie finally gave in, “Look we’ve got a contact on the inside his name is Grady Freshman and he’s waiting for me.  I’ll give you up as a prisoner to him.  I think you’ll be safe with him.”

She hugged her, “Thank you.  I’ll never forget this.  Don’t worry I’ve got your back.”

Natalie didn’t know why she agreed.  But this girl was like her she had too much courage.  Sure, she was emotionally tied in but Calista had separated it out.  Gardenia was searching for the truth just like her. 

“Come on let’s go,” Natalie ordered, “this is our one shot.”

“Yep.”

“Think you can pull this off?  We’ve both got a part to play.”

“You can trust me Natalie.”

Natalie nodded, “I know.”

Father Flannery was the Priest at the Cotter Catholic Church for nine years.  While he was happy in his chosen vocation, surprisingly, he spent many days questioning his faith.  This wasn’t as rare as people might think.  Commonly known amongst those seeking a spiritual life, questioning is far more common, especially in trying days.

Watching human suffering can work the nerves of the average believer.  But when you have devoted your whole life to God, suffering seems unacceptable.  It doesn’t make sense.  Why some suffer so much and gain little on this earth, while others don’t follow the path yet are seemingly blessed- these are the questions that plague the faithful.

Father Flannery determined those meek and poor and what others might deem underprivileged, perhaps born under the wrong stars, were far more blessed than those with so much.  Spirituality was an acquired taste.  Most, couldn’t take the misery of the world or the misery in their own lives, as people can be cruel.  Despite Father Flannery’s counseling, he lost a few of those.  Death was their choice not God’s choice for them.  Yet, the cruelty that befell them was too much to bear.  Sometimes too much for him to hear, Father Flannery distanced himself from thinking about such tragedies.

He was happy to see all of his parishioners, especially those thriving well.  There was no shame in being blessed.  But at the end of the day, he found himself comparing notes and lives.

What people needed was far different from what they desired.  Some of the things and blatant disregard for God he heard in confessions were far less worse, than the confessions he never heard at all.

It became a habit of sorts for him to refuse money from especially wealth men and women, seeking redemption.  In fact, he didn’t like the idea of money associated with the church much at all.  He didn’t believe the trade of money was justified in the House of God.  His only reason for not burning the donation baskets was to keep the church running and the absolute shunning he would receive from the Catholic community.  Other Priests already frowned upon his controversial ideas.  Cotter, Arkansas was his last stop.  Maybe Alaska would be left for him, if he was lucky.

During the upheaval in the town, he refused to leave his church, believing in God.  He struggled to understand the Lazarus effect the town was experiencing.  He feared the living dead desiring hell would find him.  But he refused to leave his church closed or abandoned for anyone that might need spiritual guidance.  It was all he could do.

Nearly sixty years old now, the Lazarus phenomenon made him question everything.

If the Lord was the same today as yesterday and yet the same in the future, as the Bible stated, why was anyone but the Lord himself able to raise the dead?  What evil lurked in the man that did this?  Was there simply more to the world than a simple Priest could possibly know?

Harold Jenkins, a well known astronomer from Cotter, wrote to him about once a month.  Harold’s life work was the study of the universe, its beginnings, its development and the role it played in human life.  Needless to say, after much schooling, Harold Jenkins no longer believed in God.

“Why Father Flannery do you have to enter religion into the equation of the universe?  I, myself, have tried to eliminate it through Science and I believe I have.  So I ask you to tell me… if I can explain the origin of space and time, can you do the same of God?”

His questions were never intended to be rude or judgmental.  Harold was simply trying to eliminate the unknown factor.

“I can’t eliminate the belief of a Supreme Being, one that created the universe and human life.  Look around you Harold.  Can your Science explain the colors of a butterfly, the beauty of a starlit night, all of the vastness?  Can you rule out a God when there is too much creation for a hand not to create it?”

And the debate wagered on for several years.  One man explaining everything by Science.  Another, refusing to give up belief, a testament to his faith.  Father Flannery could never deny there was a God above.

It was after some time, when Father Flannery realized the astronomer had made up his mind, he politely told him so.

“You have decided upon your research there is no God.  I truly see no reason for us to correspond anymore.  I invite you to write to me about anything you wish but I think it’s time we put the existence of God to rest in our letters.”

He never heard from Harold Jenkins again.

Three years passed and so did Harold Jenkins.  His wife, Marilyn, who knew about the letters, wrote Father Flannery a personal note.

“I’m so sorry you were unable to attend the funeral, as Harold resided in New York and you in Cotter, Arkansas.   I know you couldn’t abandon your parishioners.  I wanted to let you know that Harold passed away from cancer.  It was a peaceful death.  More importantly, I was by his side Father Flannery and his last words were, “My God.  Wow.”  Please know my husband respected you.  He and I also differed on this topic, as I am a proud believer in the Almighty.  I have no idea what he saw before his eyes closed but it must have been something unimaginable.  With Love, Marilyn.”

Faith was a funny thing for the rest of the common folk.  You either had it or you didn’t.  You used it when you wanted to.  You thanked God when things were easy.  You blamed God when things were bad.  But in the end, it was a personal battle between each person and God.  There were no two ways about it.  Everyone wondered but they would have to wait.  That was the game of it all.  Why not have the faith.  There was nothing to lose.  But to the people already lost, faith was a myth.  This saddened Father Flannery.

Upon hearing the news coming out of Cotter, he prayed and fasted 48 hours straight, to the point of exhaustion.  He would go a day without eating and then living simply and eating what little he had left.  Then another 48 hours.  And on it went.  The Church remained untouched, unpredictably, by the madness that struck Cotter.  So much so, he was both frightened and stunned when the doors to his church opened that sunny day.

The light beamed in and he heard someone enter.

It was a woman, her voice echoed through the church, “Father?  Father are you here?  I need you.”

He sat up, did the sign of the cross from the aisle in the front and waited.  An eerie calmness struck him.  He could feel the faith pouring into himself.  Do not be afraid.  He heard the words strongly.  Do not fear.  Abide by me and I will carry you.

“Do you mean me harm?”  He asked timidly.

“No, Father,” the voice answered weakly.

“Are you of this world anymore?”

“No, Father, but I have returned.”

She promised him no harm.  He put his faith in God.  He put his life in God’s hands and waited.

He turned ever so slightly, “Come to me my child, let us pray together.”

It was then, when the woman blessed herself with holy water and left the carpeted entrance to open the doors to the inside of the church, the noise began.

It was a loud, clanging, dragging noise that followed.  It was coming from her, now that she walked down the aisle. 

He watched many happy brides proceed down that aisle.  Many faithful fall into the rows.  But never an individual raised from the dead.

Never a woman that looked like this.  Before he could process the strange noise again, the clanging and dragging, he saw how it was being made.  Not only was she wrapped in chains, she was sopping wet and dragging the chains with her.  The chains appeared so heavy to him.  A normal human being could not sit upright let alone stand from the weight of the chains.  But this was no ordinary being.

He gasped.  He recognized the woman.  He didn’t know her in real life but from pictures.  She was the woman in chains found at the bottom of the lake.  Her body was discovered by two divers.  Her husband was convicted of killing her.

“Please look away,” she begged.

She was pale, water dripping from her, wrapped in thick heavy chain that would require special tools to cut, her face pruned and forgotten.  A despondent but determined look crossed her lifeless eyes.

“The confessional?”  He inquired.

“I have no sinful confession to make but yes we should go to the confessional then you don’t have to see me.”

“You are a child of God, of course, I want to see you.”

“But I can’t be here,” she told him and continued, “there are things.  Things I have to tell you.”

“You are here.  You are safe.”

“No Father, they’ll be coming for me soon.  I don’t want to put you in danger.”

“No danger,” he roared, “This is the house of God.  Follow me,” he motioned to the confessional.

“May I help you?”  He asked studying the chains wrapped tightly around her.

“No, I must carry this weight on my own.”

She dragged on, her stringy short bobbed blonde hair, wet and matted to the sides of her face well hid the tears coming down.  These were human tears.  How was it possible she shed real tears?  It would have been impossible to Father Flannery a week ago, he now witnessed with his own eyes.

She was dead.  Yet, she spoke like a human.  Cried like a human.  What happened in Cotter?  How was this possible?

He shoved the questions out of his head.  There would be time for that later.  For now, he had a meeting with the dead.

The lady in chains, Miranda Winters, had something to say.

She could barely sit inside the tiny room, let alone handle the weight of sitting down with all the chains but she managed.

Father Flannery waited patiently.  Time was of the essence, his gut not God, was warning him of that.  She told him, others were coming for her.  He couldn’t fear for his own life.  Not now.  This was a woman in need of emptying her soul and he was the chosen listener.

And so he listened.

“It happened when I was working for the town council,” she told him, “I was a part time accountant of sorts.  I started looking at all the books one day, things just weren’t adding up.  Councilman Datchel, Jim Datchel, he was fixing the books, stealing the money Father.  Somehow, he found out.  He found out what I knew.  I don’t know how.  I think he had a video recorder running in the office.  I’m not sure.  Somehow he found out.  It was raining one day.  My car broke down.  I know he did that too.  But he did much worse.  He insisted on driving me home.  I had no idea he knew I discovered the truth.  My husband was still working, so I took the ride.  He drove me to a deserted part of the woods near the lake. He strangled me and killed me.  Then he wrapped me up in chains and dragged me to the boat.  Once the boat got out far enough, he dumped me in the deepest part of the lake.  I became the lady in chains at the bottom of the lake.  The disappearing lady in real life.  My husband John Winters got sentenced for life for my death.  They always think it’s the husband.  But John is innocent.”

“I’m so sorry my child.”

“We have to wrong the right.”

“I can try to help you,” said Father Flannery.

“I would kill the man but Jim Datchel is already dead.”