Job slept soundly, the smell of candles and dirt easing him, reminding him of certain childhood memories. His dreams, however, were not so peaceful. The disembodied mind of his swam and sluiced through nightmare after nightmare, exploring each one with wicked curiosity, not bothering to let one end, before plummeting to the next. Somewhere, unconsciously he was fighting back, trying to remember things from before, but couldn't. He was a victim to the abyss, falling through the void filled with horrible images and things his mind had imagined. Cascading down the ever-flowing river of terror was pain, but his mind was somehow at home. Abruptly, it all stopped.
In the middle of the barren desert, a field with nothing, Job stood, looking around. Above him the bioluminescent creature bellowed and walked, casting long shadows. Off to his right, he heard the chittering of the smaller insect types he'd seen, and it all seemed so odd. Then it began to rain; the same acid rain as before. His skin sizzled and smoked with each drop, but he felt no pain. He watched as his own flesh cooked and peeled away, plopping to the sodden floor, becoming a soft pile of blood and sinew. Before long that, too, dissolved into the wanting floor. Purple, red and green lightning ran through the sky, leaving white streaks in his vision.
Right after the crooked lines faded away, skeletal hands pushed their way from the mud and grabbed his pants and feet, pulling him down. It happened with terrifying speed; so quickly, he barely had time to scream before the muck he was sinking into filled his mouth and swallowed his voice. The bony fingers grabbed harder, and pulled more. Job found his knife, but the panic was too much, and he awoke. It was a few seconds, but his eyes finally focused on what he had in his hands: the priest of the church, and a blade that was firmly placed against Jedidiah's throat. The man's voice, even with a weapon to his trachea, was still kind. "It's okay, Job. You're safe. Calm down, son. Calm down." A few more seconds passed, and the rest of the world fell into view for the man with the knife.
He was inside a church, with simple grey adobe walls, and bleached-out wood benches. The smell of wax and smoke hung steady in the air. Job relaxed his grip and apologized to the blind old man. "I'm sorry, Father. It's been a rough few days." After a comforting rub where the blade was, the priest smiled down, "I understand, son. This world is something else, considering where you come from." The old man took a seat at the end of the bench, when Job sat upright and sighed deeply, "For a long time, it seems, the people who survived were calling this new world hell. Perdition. And they believed that we'd been thrust into it. But luckily a scientific mind put all that to rest."
Job was curious and couldn't wait any longer to ask, "So you do believe my story? You don't think I made all that up?" The old priest looked over with a big smile, "My son, I live in a world of monsters and rain that will burn the flesh right off your bones. Nothing is too far-fetched for me." Another question popped into the soldier's mind, but his stomach spoke first, growling loudly. Jedidiah laughed and slapped his knee, "Now that's a sound I recognize all too easily, and one I can do something about. Come, we'll eat, and I'll take you to the town later. And we'll see if we can get you some more answers." The meal was meager, nothing more than bread with some kind of gravy poured atop it, bits of sausage in the concoction. As he ate and gulped down several cups of water, Job decided it was best not to ask where the meat for the sausage came from, and so the meal went quietly. After helping the old preacher with the dishes, it was time to meet the locals and search for more information. The entire thing had Job on edge, not knowing what was going to happen, or if he'd even be welcomed.
The afternoon sun was no less harsh, blasting Jedidiah and Job with yellow rays and heat, punctuated with sharp sand kicked up by small gusts of wind. The church stood on a hill overlooking the small town of about a dozen buildings, built from rusted and rusting pieces of metal, adobe, and whatever materials the inhabitants could scrounge up. People walked about, covered almost from head to toe, sunglasses hiding their eyes. Hardly a glance was thrown their way as they traveled, as everyone seemed occupied with their own business.
Job finally saw their destination: what could only be described as a town hall. The closer they got, and the denser the crowd of people grew, the more nervous the stranger became. Familiar sounds began to play for him, even in this distant future: people begging, cackling, mocking laughter, moans of the suffering, or those pretending to suffer, gruff bullies, and their bullied. Smells returned in a flood as well: stale urine, alcohol, and one thing or another being smoked. Job's fingers curled around a knife handle tightly, ready for anything that could go wrong. Time was relative; the more he noticed, the more it slowed down, and it felt like hours until they reached the front door.
The largest of what could only be construed as bouncers put their hand up, stopping both Jedidiah and Job. "What are you doing here, old man? There ain't no appointment set for you in the books." Job considered the big, meaty hand connected to an even beefier wrist, following it all the way up the muscle-thick arm, attached to an equally large body. This man would've been considered a specimen of fitness in Job's day, even with all the scars, the split lip, and the flesh of his left arm burnt and melted. As Jedidiah was about to answer, the large man leaned in close to Job's face, inspecting him. "Black man. Pretty, too. We ain't got many of you around. I hope I get to go first when they start to rape you silly." Laughter and cat calls poured forth in small waves from other men hanging around the door, some even finding their feet, and swaying as they slurred sexual and physical threats.
All the alarms went off, all the red flags raised, and Job's mind began to commit to the deed of cutting his way out of this place, if he had to. In the midst of all the commotion, it was Jedidiah's calm voice that cut through it all, and restored attention to the matter at hand. "Why would you want to harm the man that is going to save us?" Several asked the meaning of the question, but Jedidiah played it close and quiet, "Why don't you let that information come from The Alderman, hmm? Why don't you go tell him our saviour has arrived?" Sneers of disappointment set into a number of faces, and with a nod from the biggest one, a shorter man ran inside the doors. They all wore the same kind of burlap clothing, each fashioned differently, although one had a decent version of jeans. For some reason, though, this made Job grateful for his clothing, which was simple, but well-built. As they waited, the lewd gestures returned, all aimed at the one man who didn't seem to have been burned by this world, and Job's hand returned to the handle of one of his knives.
The doors cracked open and the smaller man poked his head out, whispering to the giant man, who had to bend at the waist to get his ear close enough to hear it. With a sneer on his split lips, the big man opened the doors and pushed Jedidiah and Job inside. The world exploded into color. The town hall was more of a party palace than a hall. Two stories were packed with people, some scarred, some not, but all wore very little clothing. The lights were low, and the windows shut. Colored bulbs and spinning balls painted the dance floor in the room's center, packed tight with people grinding and singing to the song playing from the two giant speakers that doubled as pillars for the second floor. It was excess, and wanton. For some reason, it upset the soldier greatly.
A man dressed in "normal" clothes - jeans and a button-up shirt, neither made of burlap - appeared in front of them. He shouted over the music for Job to follow him, but leaned in and gently took Jedidiah's hand, whispering into a cupped hand the same. The old man complied with a smile, patting the man on the shoulder. The three men cut through the crowd, finding a staircase, then strode down a hallway with another two men standing guard. Finally, they stepped into a private office, isolated and insulated from the noise outside. The doors closed, and the commotion stopped.
Behind a desk, of bleached and damaged wood, sat a well-built man with grey streaks in his short-cropped hair, and a scar running from dark hairline to jawline. His clothes denoted that he was, indeed, the man in charge of this little town. When he welcomed his two guests, a thick Irish accent came forward, "Well, come in, then. S'not every day you get t'meet the saviour of the world, is it?" He laughed as he gestured to two large chairs stationed before his desk. Jedidiah seemed to know where it was, and sat down with a huff, Job following suit. "So tell me, Jed, 'ow is it this man is our saviour, eh? You wouldn't be pulling me leg, now, would 'ya?" A small smile never left the old man's lips, his demeanor still that of a patient grandfather speaking to a haughty grandson. "Nice to see you, too, Alderman. This is Job." The Alderman's eyes darted back and forth between his two guests when Jedidiah didn't go on, then he got the hint. "Oh, fuck me! Right! Where are my manners, huh?" He stood up and gave a small bow, "I'm Jason Alderman, the would-be king of this li'l circle of dirt we call home." Job stood and returned the bow. "I'm Lieutenant Job Jordan, uh, Army Corp of Engineers, retired, I guess." Alderman and Job sat down at the same time, but this time the room went silent. It was then that Job became aware of the two men behind him and Jedidiah, standing silently, and the heavy door, locked with several measures that would be difficult to undo under duress.
Alderman chuckled a little bit. "Are ye' fucking kidding me, father? Your church f'nally delivers on somethin'." This made the hair on the back of Job's neck stand up. "What does that mean?" Jedidiah turned to answer, but Alderman cut him off, "I take it he 'asn't told you about his little church, there, Job?" The soldier shook his head as he found another knife handle, ready for anything, as the leader of the town continued. "The Church of Humanity. Science's shining beacon of hope left to us at the end of the Holy Wars. You see, there, boy-o, we nuked the planet; God's gift to us, some say, and in doin' so, nuked that fluffy bastard right out of the heavens. But the lonely folk still needed something to believe in, didn't they? So some scientist, all those years ago, said with all the religions gone from the world, we 'ave no choice but to believe in ourselves. Believe in the accomplishments we can now do without the shroud of judgment hangin' over us. The world was still burning, ya' see, and the skies were growing blacker by the day, and they said they found a solution: terraforming the Earth back t'normal. However, they were all scientists, not builders, so their inventions ended up being a relic. And the world continued t'burn. And folks, still needing something to believe in, didn't have the strength t'shrug off the failures of yet another church."
The more Job listened, the more lost he grew, wondering what all this had to do with him, why he should care, and why his branch name sat them back on their haunches. He opened his mouth, but again was interrupted by Alderman. "Now, the trick to a religion is t'always give some kind of prophecy, some idol, or somethin' like that t'hope for. And those founders did just that, saying one day there'd be a man who could fix the machines they built. And, boy-o, you fit the bill. I dunno what an 'army corp' is, but I do know what 'engineer' means." The big man sat back, studying his two guests, dry washing his hands, as he thought. The smile on his face seemed sinister and curious, and it further put Job on edge. Finally Jedidiah spoke, "I have faith in you, Job. Do you think you can try? I'm sure The Alderman would help in any way necessary." The soldier's mind raced with questions, but only one needed to be asked. "I'll try, on one condition. I need to find out what happened to the facility that was holding me. It's a day and half travel west from the church." The Alderman laughed, hard and loud, "It's your funeral, Job Jordan. I believe in fairness, so I'll let you get a look at what you're going t'be up against. And yeah, your condition will be met, you have me word on it." With that same wicked grin, the leader turned to a man behind Job and indicated with his head, "Take him to The Spire." Jedidiah began to protest, but Alderman quieted him, "He's going t'have to know, Father! You cannot send a man out there armed with only faith! Now pipe down and let the man see his fate."
The man and Job walked for an hour, well beyond the fences of the town. Both passed an enclosure of creatures that could only be descendants of cows, fur replaced with leatherlike skin and thick protrusions over their eyes as shields from the sun; chickens; and a giant metal tank with something sloshing in water that he didn't want to know about. As if out of the rolling dirt and sand, there suddenly stood a structure that looked like a radio antenna fortified with parts of other things, but much, much taller. There were plane parts, ship parts, car parts, other antenna, and a door that he and the silent man walked through, and onto a small platform with two ropes on either side. The man passed one rope to Job and counted off. Each man began pulling, the platform lifted a few feet, and some hidden mechanism locked into place to keep them from plummeting back down. They repeated the process. It seemed like hours and felt like they climbed miles, when the platform finally clicked to a stop. The Spire creaked and swayed from powerful winds pounding mercilessly at it. The silent man waited between gusts to open the small door, and they both stepped through.
What Job saw took his breath, and nearly brought him to his knees: miles and miles in each direction was nothing but sand, hills, and more clouds spewing acid rain upon the world. Job felt the crippling truth of how dead this world truly was, and wondered if there was, in fact, a way to fix it all. The more he stared at the nightmarescape, the more he saw: creatures that weren't there before frolicked on the sand, and the earth undulated like water as things moved beneath it. A tear escaping his eye burned all the way down his cheek until it evaporated.
The man pointed to a black pyramid that barely peaked the horizon, the distance indiscernible. "There. Machine." Job began to remember a book he'd read when he was a kid, about aliens invading Earth and killing all of humankind. That never bothered him, but the last line of the book had stuck with him, even when he'd grown up, even while he fought overseas and witnessed horrors he'd never speak of. It was those words that came screaming forth in his mind, bubbled up from his soul, found his mouth, and tumbled out to be carried away by the winds: "Truly the world is lost, and truly we are the damned."
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