“Dad? Why don’t you ever talk about what happened to you inside the mountain?”
We were rock climbing again, side-by-side.
“Talking about it won’t change what happened, Jocie. It won’t make me feel any differently about what happened. It won’t help me to …”
“Maybe it would help me,” I cut him off. “I’ve never seen what the rest of the world has seen.
So if you won’t let me see it, then maybe hearing about it from you is the next best thing.”
He said nothing for a while.
“They were truly rotten days …” he said, “… rotten enough at the time to make me wonder, at first, if my faith was being tested by the Lord.”
“You wondered,” I said. “Did you reach a conclusion?”
“Yes. It was when the guards were whipping me. I knew in my heart that the Lord would never test faith in that way, and that it was definitely the evil and brokenness of man at work. That’s not to say the Lord wasn’t at work in the room though. I definitely felt my faith growing with every lash. I came to realize that even a truly rotten day was still a gift from the Lord; so I lived through those rotten days the way He commanded us, by doing my best to love those around me more than I loved myself.”
“You were loving the people who were beating you?” I asked.
“There is no better way to spend a truly rotten day.”
******
When we get back to The Zone, Jake’s team is pacing back and forth, waiting for us. They found an abandoned house on the edge of The Zone and ripped an aluminum bathtub out of the wall so quickly that the plumbing is still hanging from it. Hannah rearranged J.W.’s apartment to accommodate the new feature, and the team carried the tub right in.
“Put him into the tub,” I say.
His friends all jump on my orders.
“Now, get a tarp or something waterproof so the ice isn’t in direct contact with his skin; then start dumping the buckets.”
“How soon will we know if the cold is helping?” Hannah asks.
“We’ll see a drop in his body temperature fairly quickly, but we won’t know if the cold is working on the toxin for some time. We want him to go to the edge of hypothermia, about thirty- seven degrees Celsius, but we’ll need to warm him back up periodically too.
“Thirty-seven degrees Celsius?” she asks. “What is that in Fahrenheit?”
“I have no idea,” I say. “I never learned Fahrenheit. Luckily, I picked this up as I walked past a cart in the hospital.”
I hold out a digital thermometer that you just stick in the patient’s ear.
“It looks like thirty-seven is about ninety-five Fahrenheit. We’ll check his temperature every quarter hour and rotate him out of the ice if he dips below ninety-five. Once he warms back up to ninety-seven, we’ll ice him back down.”
She reaches out and puts her hand on his forehead.
“He’s still hot, but I think it’s already working,” she says.
Jake starts to swing the apartment doors closed.
“Leave them open,” I say. “We want everyone to see that this isn’t some sort of scam; that he really did survive the toxin.”
People start to gather at the doors.
“Jocie?” Larry asks. “How is freezing him going to help him survive?”
“Fever is our body’s way of fighting a natural infection. Most viruses and bacteria function best at normal body temperatures, and are slowed down by the extra heat. The toxin is similar in a way, because it’s not very heat stable; so it breaks down faster when you have a fever.”
“Isn’t breaking the toxin down a good thing?” Hannah asks.
“Not always,” I say. “With this toxin, by the time you break it down, it’s too late; the genetic damage is done. We need to slow the process down so the body has a chance to recognize the entire molecule, and create antibodies that will bind it up before it can enter cells and cause damage. It’s similar to how antivenin is created for snake bites.”
I look over the people who have gathered. They believe there may be a scientific argument for cooling J.W. off, but I don’t think any of them believe he’ll actually survive.
“In the meantime,” I say, “let’s pray.”
The crowd dwindles over the next two hours, but I keep up my vigil of reading J.W.’s temperature and either adding or removing ice. Even Hannah leaves to take a rest, so I’m alone and deep in prayer when J.W. speaks.
“Jocie? Is that you?”
“Yes, J.W. It’s me.”
“You’re all blurry.”
“You had a very high fever and now we’re cooling you with ice to slow down the toxin. Either one could be messing with your vision, but it should only be temporary.”
“Is the book with the red cover still in the bookcase?” he asks. “Yes. Do you want me to read it to you?”
“No. I just feel better knowing that it’s still there. Jocie? Have you ever wondered what it would be like to meet Jesus?”
“We’ll all meet Him, one day.”
“No. Not in heaven. Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you could meet Him in the flesh, here on earth?”
“You mean inventing a time machine and going back to the crucifixion? What a crazy idea,” I say.
“So you have thought about it.”
“I used to think about it a lot, but I don’t anymore,” I say. “Since I came to The Zone, I don’t need to see Him in the flesh in order to see Him all around this place. I never would have dreamed that a place like this one is where I’d feel the strongest connection to Him.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” he says. “I just look at people who are caring for, or loving others, and I know He’s there with them. I just wish…”
I give him an expectant look to continue, and then realize he can’t see me well enough. “What do you wish, J.W.?”
“I just wish I would have had enough faith to stop being the person who watches and to start being the person who cares for others. Like you, Jocie.”
We sit in silence for a long while.
“You give me too much credit,” I say. “I don’t have nearly as much faith as you think I do.”
“I doubt that.”
“You asked me a hypothetical question about meeting Jesus,” I say. “Now let me ask you one. What do you think it would be like to know about the future before it happens? Even if it was just a glimpse? If you had an idea, ahead of time, who had a shot at living through the toxin and who was certainly going to die, would praying for them still be a demonstration of faith? Or would it just be saying comforting words while you wait for a known outcome to occur?”
J.W. has slipped back into unconsciousness without hearing the question, but I look up to find Hannah has been listening.
“Jesus knew everything that was going to happen to Him before it happened,” Hannah says. “Are you suggesting He lacked faith?”
“I never thought of it that way,” I reply.
“That’s how you win fights, isn’t it?” she asks. “You use visual cues to predict the next move.”
I give her a respectful nod.
“It’s more than just fighting, though,” she says. “You see other things, too. You see a million little things; and where everyone else sees chaos, for you, things come together …”
“Like a puzzle,” we say together.
“Why would you interpret a gift like that as a lack of faith?” she asks. “You’re doing exactly what you were called to do. Think of first Peter: ‘God has given each of you a gift from his great variety of spiritual gifts. Use them well to serve each other.’”
I don’t answer.
“Let me put it another way,” Hannah says. “With all that’s going on in the world, maybe all of the angels are busy. Maybe none were available to watch over the Baltimore Zone, so God sent you instead. Maybe I’ll start calling you ‘Angel.’”
“Let’s just stick with ‘Jocie’,” I say. “When I was little, my father would sometimes call me ‘Angel’ and I…”
I stare into space without finishing the thought.
Did Dad solve this entire puzzle years ago? Was he sprinkling my life with clues to help me?
“Jocie?” Hannah asks. “What’s wrong?”
“Go ahead. Call me Angel if you like.”
****** I’m asleep when Hannah knocks on my door.
“Jocie? We’ve run out of ice and J.W.’s temperature is spiking. The guys have tried three times to get more, but they’ve doubled the security at all the ramps near The Zone.”
I instruct Jake to drive his truck to the same ramp we used before. The obese security guard is there, as is his car - with a few good dents in the front - along with two other cars and similarly obese guards. We stop one hundred meters before the checkpoint, and I walk down the center of the road with my arms stretched out to show that I’m not a threat. Jake crawls along behind me in his truck.
“You shouldn’t have come back. You’re going to jail!” the obese guard says.
He reaches for his radio, and the other guards stand to block my path.
“No. I’m going to the hospital to get ice that will save a man’s life. You’re going to let us pass.”
I continue to walk slowly towards them.
“You’re going to let us pass, because it’s the right thing to do, and because you want to play a role in saving a life,” I continue. “Look at my arms. They’re outstretched, just like our Lord’s arms were outstretched on the cross.”
He raises the radio, but doesn’t speak into it.
“I’m going to stay here with you while my friends get the ice,” I say.
The guards look hypnotized. I wave Jake and the others through, and then walk straight to the obese guard whose car I stole, and wrap him in a hug.
“I’m sorry about your car,” I say.
“It’s just a car,” he says. “I’m sorry for the way I acted.”
“Why do you do it?” he asks. “You obviously don’t have the gene. Why hang out with the Zoners?”
I spend the next twenty minutes talking with the guards about the unending love of God, when Jake pulls up again.
“I’m the Angel of The Zone,” I say. “Thank you.”
I kiss them each on the cheek, then climb into the truck.
“I thought for sure you were going to beat all three of them up,” Jake says. “How did you get them to just stand there? Are you a hypnotist too?”
“I told you. I have no power of my own. That was God’s work.”
“You really are ‘The Angel of The Zone.’”
******
When we get back, J.W. has lost his sight completely, but he can hear the ice rattling in the buckets as we walk.
“I was just feeling warm again,” he says. “Not another cool down. Please.”
His voice is weak.
“Look at his face,” Jake says, as he walks in with two ice buckets. “What about my face?”
“Your face is covered with small sores,” I say. “I imagine your entire body is covered.”
I signal Jake, and he dumps the first ice bucket on top of J.W.
“I’ve never seen the toxin do this before,” I say. “We should take it as a good sign.”
As Jake and I leave to get more buckets from the truck, he catches my arm.
“Thanks for trying to keep his spirits up, but that looks worse than anything I’ve ever seen,” Jake says. “He’s never going to make it through the night.”
“I wasn’t just trying to boost his spirits. I meant it,” I say. “I think he’s survived to a stage that’s never been seen before. I think his body is building a resistance. The biggest problem we have now is that those sores are all going to burst open at once. He’s going to lose a lot of blood. If the blood loss is enough to lower his blood pressure, we’re going to need a lot of ice to compensate, and maybe an I.V. to replace the fluids. Can you get more ice?”
Jake thinks for a moment, looks at his truck, then smiles.
“Count on it.”
******
The sores start opening and bleeding two hours later. I can tell that the scarring will be horrible, but then, I already knew that. Hannah and I do our best to cover the wounds and stop the bleeding, but coagulation isn’t the problem; the sheer number of open sores is. As quickly as old sores stop bleeding, new ones open. Soon, J.W.’s clothes are soaked in blood.
“Jocie, we’re out of ice. I’m going to look for Jake,” Hannah says.
She’s barely out the door, when J.W. speaks.
“Every square inch of my skin hurts,” he says, through clenched teeth.
“All of the sores have opened up,” I say.
“Is Hannah doing okay?” he asks.
“She’s as solid as a rock. In fact, I think you two should have children, and when you have a boy, you should name him Peter, which means ‘rock.’”
He starts to laugh, but winces from the extra pain caused by the movement.
“Jocie, you’re the only person who could be sitting in The Death Zone and find a way to talk about bringing a new life into the world. You’re like an endless well of hope in a place that’s better off without it.”
“Better off without hope? How could any place be better off without hope?”
“You can’t crush something that you no longer have,” he says. “I’ve been here long enough to see that it’s the roller coaster of building up hope and then having it crushed that kills people. The people who have no hope left actually live longer.”
“And what about you, J.W.? Have you lost all hope?”
“I don’t know. I know that I want to scream; and I want to cry; and I want to hit things. Dying seems like such a simple solution. We shouldn’t have to die like this. It’s inhuman. At least death would make me human again. Do you know why we went to Virginia the night we met you, Jocie?
The boys convinced me to go out and rob people so we’d have something we could trade for alcohol to throw a party. We all knew I was next to die, and they wanted to have one night together where we could feel normal again. You know what’s funny, though? Nothing about it felt normal. I didn’t want to rob anyone. I didn’t even want to go, but something made me do it. So we weren’t there to rob. We were there to meet you. It was God’s plan all along.”
“Part of it was God’s plan…” I say, “… but you choosing to stand on a man’s neck wasn’t from Him. That was all you.”
“You can’t judge me, Jocie! You don’t know what it’s like to feel your insides rotting away a little more with every breath. You can feel a breeze on your face and just enjoy the moment without wondering how many particles of toxin just entered you. What hope do you think you’d have left if you were the one lying in an old bathtub, covered with blood?”
“Look at me, J.W.”
“I’m blind.”
I get close and gently nudge his chin so we’re face to face.
“You don’t need your eyes. They’re an impediment. Now look at me. You’re in a pool of blood while I, as you say, eat toxin for breakfast, but we are exactly the same. Our days on earth are not our own. The Lord didn’t give either of us this day on earth for ourselves. He gave each of us another day because somebody else needed us. My day here is probably because you need me. Your day here is because you’re meant to love someone on this day more than you love yourself, just like the Lord commanded you. I know you’re in pain. I know you’re lying in a stinking pool of your own blood. You’re having a rotten day, but get busy living this rotten day the way you were meant to live it. Give up on your part of today’s plan, and live solely for His plan.”
We hear laughing outside, so I look up.
“Jake’s back with more ice,” I say. “A lot more ice.”
“Hey, Angel …” Jake says, “… is this enough ice for you?”
I watch as part of the gang unloads an ice machine, while the others string garden hoses from the community spigot and lay out a variety of plumbing tools and fittings to jury rig the whole thing together.
“Did you steal all of that?” I ask.
“We didn’t have to. We just requested it in your name, and the hospital let us borrow it.”
“My name?” I ask.
He steps aside so I can see the side of his truck. A feathery wing has been painted on the side, above the words: “The Angel of The Zone.”