SALVATION: PROLOGUE

 

Days ago…

 

Looking out onto Downtown Atlanta, he remembered a time when this town was so full of life; so full of ….NOISE.

 

But that was before...

 

And, for a while, it was blissfully quiet. One could hear himself think; rest in truly divine peace. But it didn’t last long. Most good things don't. No, it wasn't long until the pain of the dead could not be ignored. Returning from whatever punishment they had been sentenced to, they now found themselves in a new kind of Hell. They would no longer be silent. Their pain would never again go unheard. Maybe, after tolerating life all that time, muffling their screams and trapping that pain inside,hiding it from the world, they found their (dare I say) mortal bodies unable to keep it down. And, in the end, all of the torment they sought to hide just came rushing forth for all to hear.

 

No, the silence was broken. The dead continually complain; hunger.

 

He smiled as he continued to remember. He had found that the dead could be silenced after all. Yes, fortunately, the pain the dead felt could be healed. But only temporarily. Their hunger was just too much. No, as much as he tried, he could only fill them for a short time. And they always came back for more like the loyal dogs they were.

 

He was feeling weak. It was almost time. And he could hear the dead getting restless.

 

As a door opened behind him, he could feel the rush of wind. It pulled the stench of the city through the doorway that led to the patio that overlooked the city square. But, instead of being repulsed, he savored it; took a deep breath in. He relished it like a fine wine with his eyes closed tight.

 

“The children are getting restless.” A haggard voice reported.

 

As the man's eyes opened, he looked over the army of the dead milling around the streets below.

 

He replied, “Yes, they are. The time of their hunger has returned.”

 

“How long?” the man behind him asked, “Your children are gathering.”

 

“Yes, they have arrived.”

 

The gravelly voiced man tried to clear his throat, but ended in a coughing fit, “Jezekiah. I speak of the humans. You know this. They wish to worship.”

 

He frowned at the thought of the weak remnant of the living hiding from the growing number of the dead. But one needed the other. And HE needed them both.

 

“There are lights coming from the top floor of the Weston.” Jezekiah replied.

 

The shadowy figure stepped up next to him, a cloak covering his face, “I told you about those. Don't you remember? Looks to be about six to ten of them. Won't last long.”

 

“There's power up there.” Jezekiah reported as he looked to top of the tower.

 

The frail figure beside him strained to look to those heights and, finally, pulled his right hand slowly and wearily to his hood. The hand that appeared from the long sleeve was withered and nearly skeletal. Flesh seemed to be barely holding sway on the appendage as he pulled the hood back to reveal his face; a face that was much like those of the dead that lined the streets. But there was more light in his eyes and more flesh on the bone.

 

“Well, what in the HELL? Where they getting power?”

 

Jezekiah smiled, “I don't know. But I intend to find out.”

 

They both starred up at the tower for some time. Suddenly, there were flashes of green light as if a thunderstorm had broken out inside.

 

“What the HELL?”

 

“Floyd. Gather as many of the believers as you can. I feel as though soon we will need all of the faith and belief the children can muster.”

 

Floyd fixed his hood back and adjusted his head since it wouldn't right itself, “Yes, sir, Jerr...I mean, Jezekiah. Right away.”

 

Floyd shambled off as Jezekiah continued to stare, “Soon, faith will lead to sight! And our patience will lead to power untold!”

 

The green lightning flashed again as Jezekiah smiled.