“Dad? Have you ever thought about how easy you and Mom have it, compared to the rest of us?” I asked.
We were sitting on top of a rock we had just climbed, praying, and eating snacks.
“Easy? How so?”
“You travelled through time and met Jesus. You were there at Gethsemane, and the crucifixion, and you saw Him resurrected in Galilee. He touched you on the neck, and He spoke directly to you. How could life not be easy after that?”
Dad stared at the horizon for a long time.
“If anything, Jocie, Jesus’ time here on earth should demonstrate how hard we all have it, just as life here was hard for Him.”
“Jesus is the son of God; how was life here hard for Him?” I asked.
“When Jesus was here, He didn’t call himself the son of God,” Dad replied. “His favorite title for himself was ‘the son of man,’ because He was a man. It was the only way.”
“The only way? What do you mean?” I asked.
“If Jesus was God on earth, just pretending to be a man, then His experience here - and His teachings - can’t be a model for us to follow. It would be too far beyond our abilities and understanding,” Dad said. “That’s why Jesus had to choose a genuine humanity. He had to draw His power from the Father, just like the rest of us, to show us that men can model our lives after His.”
I didn’t know how to reply; so Dad turned back to my original question.
“Could it be, that meeting Jesus actually made things more difficult for Mom and myself?” he asked.
“How so?”
“Maybe we miss Him more, compared to the rest of you. Every day, maybe we wish He was here … or we were there.”
“Do you wish you had spent more time with Him?” I asked.
“Of course … but His message to me was too strong to be disobeyed.”
“You mean when He told you to return to your people?”
“That was a specific message to me, but it’s always been the larger message of His life that I’ve found more moving. I think about His choice of timing in when He visited earth. In so many respects, He came at a time when all hope seemed lost for humanity - and He restored hope. Then I think about our own choices, and how, when we follow Christ, our actions can bring hope when all hope seems lost - even if it’s for just one person.
“That’s why you did what you did inside the mountain,” I said. “You were trying to bring hope back during a time of hopelessness.”
“What I did inside the mountain?” Dad replied. “I didn’t do anything inside the mountain.”
He thought for a long while, as he bit into and chewed an apple. I’d seen Dad do this many times. He’d nibble at the core well beyond where anyone else would have thrown it aside, until there was little more than a stem and some seeds remaining.
“I’ve heard people talk about the mountain,” I said, when he had finished the apple. “They say you never gave up; that you stood there and took the beating and that you never quit.”
“Those people completely missed the point,” Dad replied. “They saw a man continue to get up after each beating and they saw strength; but the truth is that what happened inside the mountain was all about weakness.”
I tilted my head to the side in confusion, so he continued.
“There wasn’t much left by the time Henry was done with me, Jocie. I was beaten, whipped, starved, and dehydrated. I could see exactly how weak I really am, and I owned every bit of that weakness. That’s when I truly understood.”
“Understood what?”
“That you can never really own your Christianity, until you learn to own your weaknesses and hand them over to the Lord.”
******
I assign Hannah to permanent prayer patrol with J.W., and then get back to work praying for anyone in The Zone who needs me. I’m praying for a former member of the Stonehouse gang, when a girl named Lisa knocks, accompanied by a young man named Patrick.
“J.W.’s not doing well,” Lisa says. “Hannah really wants you to come. We’ll take over here.”
When I arrive, I can see that Hannah is barely containing her fear of the worst. J.W. is curled up in a ball and his clothes are soaked with sweat.
“He’s in a lot of pain,” Hannah says.
“Armpits and neck?” I ask.
She nods.
“It’s in his lymph nodes,” I say.
“The worst part is the stomach pain,” J.W. says.
“It tells me that you have open sores in the digestive tract,” I say.
“It tells me that I’ll be dead in two days.”
I turn his head to face mine and stare into his eyes.
“No way. It’s not going to happen. Not in two days. Not in two years, or two decades.”
He stares into my eyes.
“You and Hannah have the exact same eyes,” he says. “Any man who would waste a second staring at any part of either of you, other than your eyes, is a fool. Your eyes alone tell me that you both have faith, and confidence, and strength. You could be sisters.”
I hear Hannah shift her weight from one foot to the other. The idea of J.W. staring into my eyes is making her uncomfortable.
“Except … your eyes have one thing that Hannah’s don’t have. When I look at your eyes, beneath all of that strength, there’s an unbearable sadness that makes me want to look away. Here you are, surrounded by death, and yet I’d swear there’s something even heavier weighing on your heart. Part of me hopes I never find out what in the world it is.”
When Mom and Dad fought at Aunt Kimberley’s house, Dad said the burden is now mine to bear. He’s right. Understanding even part of what’s going to happen - before it happens - is a lot to bear.
“J.W., don’t be like that.” Hannah says. “Jocie’s the strongest, most faithful person I’ve ever met.”
Yet, even when Dad could see that the solution to a puzzle was horrible, he still had faith that it was part of God’s plan. Even when he thought he might die in the process.
I break off the stare with J.W.
I could never do what Dad did in the mountain. I would have run away and hidden.
“Thanks, Hannah…” I say. “…but J.W. is right.”
I leave the apartment and wander the streets.
“They’re wrong about me,” I say to a tree. “I’m not strong or faithful; and the only reason I can fake being confident is because it’s easy to be confident, when you can anticipate what’s going to happen next. It’s easy to pray, when you already know whether the person you’re praying over is going to live or die. The truly faithful are those who can pray without knowing the results ahead of time - and place their trust fully in the Lord’s hands.”
Dad has it easy. He watched the crucifixion and then saw Jesus risen; so he has no doubts.
I hear footsteps behind me.
“You should be in bed, J.W.,” I say, without turning around.
“Saying I’m sorry seemed more important than waiting around to die.”
“You don’t have to apologize for being right,” I say.
He sits down hard, and leans against a tree with a groan, so I turn around.
“I think I know what’s bothering you,” he says. “Guilt. You feel guilty because you’re going to survive, when so many others are going to die. It’s like being the only survivor of a plane crash; you spend your time wondering ‘why me?’”
“Yes,” I say. “Why me? Why am I the one who’s here? It should be my father, or my mother, or even my brother, Austin. They’re all stronger than I am.”
“I think you may have just named your greatest strength, Jocie. Humility. Everything you do, you announce that you’re too weak to do it on your own and that your only strength comes from the Lord. He has a long-standing habit of demonstrating His strength through that sort of humility.”
He begins to cough and I see droplets of blood on his hand.
“Right now, I hope your arms are strong,” he says, and sticks out his hand. “I’m not going to be able to stand back up without your help.”
Together, we get him to his feet, and I let him lean on me as we walk back to his apartment. We stop several times for coughing fits, which seem to be producing more blood each time.
“Jocie? What do you think about Hannah?”
“I think when you survive this, you should marry her,” I reply.
“She’d need to survive, too. Isn’t one miracle in The Zone enough to ask?”
“Have you ever seen a mark on her?” I ask.
He thinks for a long while.
“She doesn’t have the gene,” he concludes. “Why would she stay here?”
“I suggest you ask her … and it looks like you’re going to get the opportunity right now.”
Hannah is walking towards us, looking mad.
“I told you that I would find Jocie for you!” she says. “You should be in bed.”
“And you should be living somewhere else,” he says. “The Zone is for people with the gene.”
Hannah shoots me an angry look.
“He figured it out on his own,” I say.
I leave them inside the apartment. I could easily find a dozen other people to pray for, but I choose to pray for them.
******
Hannah and I agree to switch off looking after J.W. every six hours, though she’s usually back after just four. His fever intensifies, but the coughing subsides. Unfortunately, the coughing is replaced by vomiting anything he eats, along with more blood.
“Jocie,” he says, during one of my shifts. “I want you to send Hannah away. I don’t want her to see this.”
“She won’t go,” I say.
“Then make her! Beat her with that stick if you have to.”
“It wouldn’t be enough,” I say. “When it comes to loving you, she’s the one with God’s strength behind her.”
His eyes wander to the hollowed-out book on his shelf, then he closes them and falls asleep.
Of course.
I pray for the next two hours and can practically feel his fever increasing. Hannah joins me, and places her hand on his forehead.
“He’s burning up,” she says. “Should we put more blankets on him?”
Before I can answer, J.W. bolts upright, his eyes looking like a wild man’s. He grabs my arm.
“You! You’re the cure. You eat toxin; so you’re the cure. Why are you letting us all die, when you’re the cure?”
“J.W., wake up,” Hannah says. “The fever is making you hallucinate. People don’t eat toxin.”
“It’s not the fever,” he says. “Jocie eats toxin. I’ve seen it. You ask her and she’ll tell you. She can cure us all, but she won’t. That’s what makes her sad all the time.”
He turns my arm.
“Look at her arm, Hannah. Remember the day she showed us that she has the gene? There’s not a mark on her.”
“I’m upsetting him,” I say. “I should go.”
I remove my arm from J.W.’s grip, but before I can leave, Hannah reaches out and runs her finger over the spot where I had a lesion. She stares at me, with a hurt look.
“It’s hard to explain,” I say.
“I don’t want an explanation. I just want to know if he’s right. Are you somehow the cure? Can you stop the deaths of millions of people?”
“No, I can’t,” I say.
Not in this century.
“I’m just an aberration. I’m immune. J.W. has partial immunity, which is why he has a shot at living.”
“Then let’s get him covered back up. Mom always said the best cure for a flu is a warm bed.”
I stare at her for a few moments.
This isn’t the flu, it’s a toxin.
“J.W., where are the sticks that start your truck?”
“Sticks?”
“The little metal things. What are they called?”
They both look bewildered as I search for the word I need.
“Keys!” I yell. “Where are the keys?”
He points to the small bureau where he keeps his clothes, and I lunge for it.
“Get all the blankets off,” I say to Hannah. “I don’t care how much he shivers. Cool him off as much as you can.”
I run outside and start pounding on the metal doors.
“Help! I need help!”
Jason, a young man from J.W.’s gang, comes out to see what’s happening.
“Do you know how to drive?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I toss him the keys.
“Take me to Jake’s apartment.”
When we arrive, Jake is sitting in front with two other guys.
“Jake, we need some guys and your truck,” I say.
“Where are we going?”
“We need two teams. One team is going out to find something that holds water and is big enough for a man to lay down in. An old bathtub would be perfect. The other team is going to get ice.”
“There’s no ice anywhere in The Zone, Jocie,” he replies.
“Then I guess we’re leaving The Zone.”
******
Jake and three others go to find some sort of tub, while I take Jason and a man named Larry in search of ice. We head west until we’ve left the old industrial district behind and are seeing the signs of suburbia.
“Who would have a large amount of ice?” I ask.
“Restaurants,” Jason says.
“Grocery stores,” Larry suggests.
“We have no money, and no way to carry it,” I say.
“And no way to get into the right section of town,” Jason adds. “These exits all have private security that’ll stop us.”
“Take the next exit,” I say. “There’s a hospital. They usually have ice machines on every floor.”
As Jason predicted, there’s a security car at the bottom of the exit, checking each vehicle as it comes down the ramp. There’s only one guard, a young but severely obese man sitting in the running vehicle.
“Go in fast and stop hard. Tell him I don’t have the gene and you found me injured in The Zone. Beg him to be allowed to go to the hospital,” I say, then slump over in the seat.
Jason plays it well, screeching to a stop. I hear the guard get out of the vehicle and walk over.
“The license plate reader says this truck is from The Zone. Turn it around and go back,” the guard says.
“We need to get to the hospital,” Jason says.
“They can’t help you. Go die in The Zone where you belong.”
“It’s not for us. This girl is clean. She wandered into The Zone and a gang jumped her.”
“Animals,” the guard says.
There’s a pause in the conversation.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jason says. “It wasn’t us that jumped her. We’re doing the right thing for a girl who was attacked, and you still see us as pieces of trash. What are you afraid of? You afraid that we’ll die in one of your nice clean gutters where decent folks might have to look at us and be reminded of what the world is really like?”
“It’s not my problem, Zoner. I’ve got orders. Move her to my car and I’ll call someone to get her.”
Jason gets out and walks around the truck. I hear the guard move back, as if being within a foot of Jason will somehow contaminate him. He opens the passenger-side door and bends down to pick me up.
“Jump him?” he whispers to me.
“No. Put me into his car, then distract him.”
He lifts me easily.
“How does someone who’s so light hit so hard?” he asks softly, but I don’t answer.
He gently places me in the back seat of the security car, which is covered with food wrappers and drink containers.
“We’re going to sit here until we know she’s safe,” Jason says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the guard asks.
The guard is following Jason back to the truck, so I jump into the front seat.
“It means I’m not leaving a helpless girl alone with you.”
I’ve been watching. All I should need to do is move the handle from “P” to “D” and then push on the pedal on the right. It can’t be as hard as driving a tube car manually.
“How dare you question my integrity? I could get the police over here and have both of you arrested and your truck towed away. Get out of my sight, you zoner filth.
It turns out that you don’t push the pedal on the right all the way to the floor. The car shoots forward with a squealing sound and over a curb, then over some bushes, before I find the other pedal and make it stop. On the next try, I only push the pedal half way, which isn’t quite so violent, but does destroy some more bushes. The hospital sign has an arrow pointing to the right; so I turn the wheel hard, which produces a different sort of squealing sound.
I look in the mirror and see the obese guard running down the street after me. Then I see J.W.’s truck race past him, but I almost hit a street sign when I take my eyes off the road.
Who would’ve thought driving a tube car would be easy in comparison?
Once we’re out of sight of the security guard, I pull the car to the side of the road and move the handle back to “P.” Jason pulls up and I jump back into the truck.
“Smooth,” Larry says, from the back seat.
“It was either beat up his car, or beat up him,” I say. “Besides, I thought I did pretty well for my first try. Now let’s get to the hospital before he calls someone to chase us.”
“You see how it is for anyone from The Zone,” Jason says. “They don’t care. They just want us to go away. I bet the hospital will be even worse. The medical community can’t help, and they don’t want to be reminded of their failure.”
“Do they not have enough beds? Why did they give up trying to keep people comfortable, at least when the end is near?”
“They did at first, before they understood what was happening and how many people were going to be hit; but when the first big insurance company declared bankruptcy, that was it. The government called it an act of war and exempted them from paying for care. For most people, the money ran out quickly.”
“Why aren’t the churches sending people into The Zone?” I ask.
“They’re not allowed,” Jason says. “The government ordered a bogus quarantine and never lifted it. People donate stuff, but the government brings it in for them.”
So the people never see for themselves what it’s like in there.
“There’s the hospital,” Jason says. “What now?”
“Drive around to the back and find the loading docks. All hospitals have kitchens. Maybe they’ll have something we can use to transport ice.”
On the edge of the dock, I see a pile of empty plastic buckets bearing labels for various foods that they used to contain. We each grab two buckets and walk in through an open door. There’s no sign of an ice machine; so we wander until we find ourselves in an open room with people in chairs, where we’re quickly spotted by the staff. A nurse at the desk runs for a doctor and we’re soon confronted by a young woman in a perfectly white coat with “Beverly H., M.D.” embroidered on it in pink.
“Get out of my E.R.,” she says.
“We don’t want trouble. We just want ice,” I say. “Our friend back in The Zone has a high fever from the toxin, and we need to cool him off.”
“It won’t help, and it might kill him,” she replies. “There are faster ways to put him out of his misery.”
“The ice, please.”
“Security!” she yells.
A large man in a dark uniform walks towards us.
“The idea that you’re wrong would never occur to you, would it?” I ask the doctor.
“The toxin quickly binds to DNA when it enters the body,” she says. “Cooling someone off won’t stop it.”
“We don’t want to stop it, just slow it down,” I reply.
“Show them out,” she instructs the guard.
“In a month or so, a young man named J.W. is going to walk into this room. He’s going to tell you that ice saved him from the toxin. Then he’s going to tell you that you’re an idiot.”
“Out!” she yells.
“We know the way,” I say to the guard.
I lead the way and the others follow closely. We’re almost to the loading dock, when the guard instructs me to take a left. It isn’t the way we came, but I do it anyway. Twenty meters down the hall, I find myself in front of an ice machine.
“The toxin got my best friend from the army just a month after the bombs were dropped,” the guard says. “If you want ice, you come to this machine.”