Updike returned from the central building. He’d stepped in to speak with Oliver Purdue before taking a forwarded call. He had spoken on the phone. It took the army an hour or more to gather its ranks and arrange itself in the wide valley. Their numbers weighed on Stoneworthy’s mind. They were dead, but he could see life in their eyes, excitement as Updike approached the center of the stage. The rain had slowed to a drizzle.
“Let us pray,” Updike said over the microphone before taking it from the stand and dropping to his knee. Stoneworthy knelt by him. Thousands of dead did the same. A great rustling of dried and brittle bodies filled the air with sound as the army knelt in supplication-echoed by the rattle and clink of armament multiplied many times. It came in a noisy tide of sound. Those desiccated to inflexibility that could not kneel, bowed their heads, or were helped to their knees by their dead brethren. “Our Father Who art in Heaven…” Updike began, the speakers echoed.
And Stoneworthy felt his thoughts fly outward, whisking before him to join the collective soul of the army. There was a great silence, overshadowed slightly by the fibrous clicking actions of dead lips mouthing words of prayer. Stoneworthy felt the first surge of power. Somewhere deep inside his soul he understood that the multitude before him looked to Updike and to him for guidance. It was intoxicating.
As each of Updike’s words was echoed, Stoneworthy felt his own chest expand with the collected breath of their followers. He understood the forlorn reality of the dead, and yet, even in that finality, he did not need rest. The Reverend did not need it, as the others did not, for there could be no rest until righteousness had won out. This final injustice would be resisted, and recompense delivered. But how he craved it. He could feel the unwelcome deadness of his body, could feel the stiffening of his joints and flesh. Soon, he hoped, the end.
He was as dead as humanity’s aspirations-as wanting of life as its best intentions. Humanity had used death as the great escape for far too long. God took that away from man so he could understand there is no rest in death. Stoneworthy whispered: “Atonement.”
“Amen!” Updike breathed into the microphone and stood. The time of reckoning had come. There followed a rising tide of sound as the gathering climbed to its feet. Updike allowed them a moment to collect themselves. And then he began to speak:
“Brothers and sisters, friends, Apocalypse approaches. Come get with me. A New World is here unfolding, and the light that causes this blossoming comes from the blazing righteousness in your souls. Come get with me. Before this flower can come full bloom, there has been a winter. And this winter has been the World of Change. You have been with me.” In the crowd, Stoneworthy heard spirited “ Amen’s ” rise up. Updike seemed to grow in size upon the stage.
“You have walked through the valley of the shadow of death like no others in human history. Come get with me. You walk past the crumbling truths of the Old World: Profit! Greed! Idolatry! Lust! Come get with me. Yet we have not stopped the sins and so have sinned. You have been with me.” He raised his arms, and the gathering groaned.
“And because we are sinners, we are punished. God knows our hearts. He has watched us. He has seen the righteous struggle. Seen the martyrs die. But He has stayed His mighty hand. He watches us tempted by the Devil, sees us fall-and yet He waits. He waits in grace and patience. He waits because He loves us. Come get with me!”
The Army of the Dead roared its approval. “ Hallelujah’s ” rang across the valley. Updike waited a moment, looked at Stoneworthy and made a sign of encouragement before continuing.
“The Lord chased us from the Garden of Eden, and gave us this world to call our own. For generations we listened to the words of God handed down to us through Moses. When we wandered in the wilderness, God led us. The Lord did not abandon us. And how have we shown our gratitude? Instead of working hard for our souls we worked hard for gold. We abandoned Him!” Updike paused scowling. His eyes burned.
“Still, the Lord was patient.” The preacher raised his hands, fingers splayed. “He offered us ten Commandments out of love to protect us from ourselves and from evil. Simple rules, like any parent would give his child. Come get with me. And yet we did not follow the ten. Not nine, or six or four… And as we strayed from our Father, as we broke each commandment, we wandered ever closer to the Devil. Come get with me.” The gathering shouted its encouragement.
“‘Do not do these ten things!’ is all He asked. Yet, we did not obey. And then, as an ever-loving father might, he did not punish us. Instead he gave us His only son to teach us, hoping that we could learn from His example. We listened to the words of Jesus, and we watched His miracles. And we accepted His gifts. And how did we repay Him? How did we show our love?” Stoneworthy heard weeping in the audience, interspersed with sad ‘Hallelujahs.’
“We nailed His son to a cross. Come get with me!” Updike’s voice was husky; his eyes flowed tears. Silence gripped the shallow valley. “Even then, the dear Lord showed us the depth of His love for instead of shedding our blood He shed His only son’s.”
Moans echoed as Updike took a pitcher from a small wooden table, and poured himself a drink of water. He took another, as he sadly watched the waiting crowd. Head lowered, he continued:
“He gave us His Son, and we gave nothing in return. How He kept His patience I do not know. Humanity perverted every gift that the Lord our God gave us. ‘ Freedom!’ some said. ‘It was our Democratic right.’” Updike looked sternly through the crowd. “Democratic right to disobey our Father in Heaven? Democratic right to embrace the Devil?” Updike leaned into the microphone. “Well the Lord has lost His patience. Come get with me! Judgment Day is here!”
The gathering roared ‘ Amen.’
Updike wrapped his arms over his chest. “Judgment Day is upon us, and the Lord’s Wrath leaps up like a great Lion! His Wrath and Judgment comes upon us now as Apocalypse!” Some yelled in the crowd, others cried for mercy.
“Who shall stand by our God? Come get with Him! We shall not turn from Him again. We shall pick up the righteous sword of our Faith, and stand with the Lion as He roars? We must throw down the idols. The moneylenders have been Kings of the Earth too long. They are Kings set there by the Prince of Darkness. It will stop!”
The gathering was growing anxious. Stoneworthy could hear harsh and bitter words floating toward the stage. Weapons clashed in anticipation. Updike let it build and build, until the minister could feel the anguished fear wash over him.
“Righteousness!” they cried, “Redemption!”
Updike gazed out over this growing power for another minute then raised his hands for silence. It came slowly. He continued:
“Even now, you ask yourself. Why me?” He scanned the army, his head turning slowly from east to west. “Why am I called to aid the Lord while others rest? Well I shall tell you. The Lord chose you to die, and He chose you to rise up, so come get with Him!” Updike’s smile stretched wide.
“Why are you allowed to walk the World of Change when so many departed to join the Lord in Heaven? He needs an army. He needs an army that understands its mission. Your deaths are not in vain! Come get with Him. You were not called from your sleep to fight a war of human folly-you fight for God’s Apocalypse! The Lord wants the world to end, and by God it shall end! The final Change begins so come get with it!” There was a clashing roar, and it took a few minutes for the gathering to quiet. Updike held his arms overhead and nodded for calm.
“I spoke to you of a blossoming. Such an unfolding flower awaits in the seed of our purpose. You are the farmers of the New World who will bury that seed that it should grow. But such a bountiful crop that awaits us can only grow when we turn over the soil of the old. We have this chance to make the world an Eden again. But we must fight for it! We must struggle. We must sacrifice. We must raze the cities, the mansions of the moneylenders and the Idolaters. We must break the churches that worship the Gods of Science and Gold. We must turn over this soil. We must prepare the ground for the Garden! Come get with Me!”
The soldiers roared as Updike bellowed. Stoneworthy had never felt such concentrated feeling-it ran electric over his nerves. He did not know if it was his new dead status, or whether even in death, human emotion had the ability to move and join people. Was not human emotion a conduit for God’s love? He found himself on his feet wildly clapping his numb hands. Oliver Purdue threw an arm around his shoulder and whispered:
“Brother Stoneworthy! We shall till a new garden.” They embraced, Stoneworthy entranced by the tactile nature of the action. He felt alive-vibrant!
“But where do we take this great army!” Stoneworthy asked.
“To meet the others, and on to Apocalypse.” Purdue smiled.
“Others?” The minister’s eyes fixed on Purdue’s.
“Even now, two armies of the dead move toward The City: one from the south with the farthest to travel and another from the southwest.” Joy sparkled in Purdue’s eyes. “We will turn the City’s soil!”
Fear leapt across Stoneworthy’s mind. He knew many good people within the City, but he corrected himself. That had been in life, and he was dead. His life had a meaning, but he had to follow the course that his death had taken-a road to Heaven on Earth! His actions could save them all from walking death. Purdue looked toward Updike.
“I must speak now!” he said, and moved to the stage. The preacher gave him a warm embrace. With Updike’s big hands on his shoulders he began:
“Go now!” Purdue’s voice rang over the speakers. “Go my brothers and sisters and prepare. We have spent years training for this moment, and now the Lord has asked us to move. Go now, and pray. Remove all doubt from your hearts for we take up the banner of the Lord at dawn! All Hail His Apocalypse!”
A roar rang up from the crowd that made Stoneworthy think of lions. The dead produced the sound of life with their passion. So great was the storm of feeling that crashed against him, Stoneworthy was moved to tears. His mind was keen and fresh-newborn in a world that was about to die. Something dark passed by the depths of his consciousness that drew his lips down momentarily. Dismissing his hesitation, Stoneworthy drew Updike’s full cheek close to his and kissed it. He left the stage with the preacher and Purdue arm in arm, wondering at the new garden that awaited them on the morrow.