Chapter 18 Lazarus
eighteen
Lazarus
“I am the Lamb,” Ezekiel shouts, his voice echoing from behind the closed door of Father’s office.
I jump where I sit on a stool outside, feet dangling in the air because it is too tall for me to reach the floor.
Muffled conversation behind the door continues, but I can’t hear any words.
Instead, I go back to counting knots in the wooden wall across from me.
I got to twenty-seven before Ezekiel’s shout startled me, and the biggest number I can count to is one hundred.
I bet I can make it there before Father’s door opens, and I am made to go in.
One.
Two.
Three.
“I am God’s Blessed,” Ezekiel growls, loud and angry from behind the door.
“You are letting a child undo all we have worked for,” Father shouts back.
Four.
Five.
The door opens and Ezekiel storms out, face red and white robe flying behind him as he stomps past me, fists clenched at his sides.
Six.
Seven.
My heart races in my chest as I watch him go, pushing open the door to the longhouse and slamming it shut behind him.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
“Lazarus,” Father says. “Please come in.”
I slip off the stool, bare feet landing on the wood below.
Quiet as a mouse, I dart into the office and fold my hands in front of me like a good little Seeker should.
Father smiles at me, then rises to close the door behind me.
I wait for his permission to sit, which he gives me as he heads for his own chair across from the one I sit in.
“How old are you now, Lazarus?” he asks.
“I am nine.” My birthday was just two weeks ago on April 3rd, and I am a bit hurt he doesn’t remember the cake I was given. He received the biggest piece of it, even bigger than mine, after all.
“You want to be a good Seeker, right?” he asks.
“Yes, Father.”
He sighs, sinking into his chair. “Good Seekers protect others. They help keep them on the Godly path, and Lazarus, your actions have proven to be the opposite.”
“I didn’t!”
“Lazarus, listen to me very carefully. You must not seek Ezekiel anymore. You must not tempt him. No more sitting on his lap. No more going to his room.”
I did those things only because Ezekiel told me to.
I didn’t want to sit on his lap in front of everyone at Bright Haven, and I didn’t want to lie in his bed.
All the other kids were out playing, and I had to have a nap with him.
It was really unfair, and I was pretty mad about it.
I still get mad just thinking about it because the other kids got popcorn to snack on and I got nothing, but what else was I supposed to do?
Say no to the Blessed Lamb of God? “He asks me to and I cannot say no.”
“You must say no, Lazarus.”
“But he is the Lamb.” We are to follow the Lamb and cleave to him, for it is by his blood we are saved. Father knows this, I don’t understand why I am being talked to like this when I’ve only ever done what was asked of me as a good Seeker should.
“And I am your Father, dear child. Are you a good Seeker?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Then you must stop tempting Ezekiel into sin, for that is sin itself.”
Sin. My stomach drops and my mouth pops open. I have never been accused of a sin before. Around here, sin means you've gotta go stand out in the rain and beg for mercy from God. Sometimes you come back and sometimes you don’t. “I don’t want cleansing.”
“I don’t wish to cleanse you, Lazarus. I wish to save you from sin before a cleansing is needed. You understand, right?”
I don’t, but I nod anyway. I must keep away from Ezekiel, for I am causing him to sin, and that is a sin I do.
I must say no to the Lamb, but we are always to agree because he is holy.
It is all too much for me to figure out, but now that cleansing has been mentioned, I know I gotta stay quiet about it.
Father smiles at my nod, then turns and grabs a small linen satchel from his desk. He opens it, shaking out three golden tokens into his hand. He puts the satchel back down and lifts one of the circles, holding it out to me.
“What is it?” I ask, taking it from him. It’s cool and heavier than I expected. I look at the front of it and find a picture of a bird carved into it, then turn it over to find a lady’s head. Weird.
“A trade token,” Father says. “If you are a good Seeker, you can earn them and use them when the wagons come. Would you like that?”
I nod, clutching tight to the little token.
Kids have nothing to trade when the caravans come to the compound, and we have to rely on the Elders to look upon us kindly and get treats for us.
Some kids have parents that do that, but I don’t have any parents, and I rarely get any sweets.
If I earn tokens for being good, I can get my own candy just for me.
“You can keep that one if you tell me what you must do.”
“Say no to the Lamb,” I murmur, pressing the token into my palm.
“Because?”
“Because tempting him is a sin, and I must not sin.”
The Lamb, Daylan, rests on the mattress, and I stay awake late into the night watching over him.
I’ve stripped him of his blood-splattered shirt and cleaned his wound as best as I can.
I was even nice and tied only one of his arms to the beam beside the bed, leaving the other free as it had to be sore from the bite.
His injured arm has been wrapped in a thick cloth to protect his wound from infection, but I also keep tabs on his breath and heartbeat.
I know he’s immune, but despite my earlier words about immune people remaining uninfected after a bite from a zombie, I’ve never actually seen someone with immunity get bitten before.
So far he hasn’t turned into a zombie; that’s all I have, really.
He grumbles as I press my head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat again, eyes focused on his face.
His chest rises and falls beneath my ear, his breaths sounding clear in his lungs.
“I’m fine,” he murmurs, opening his eyes to look down at me.
“I have to be sure you won’t turn and try to eat my face off.”
Daylan smiles, then closes his eyes. “I won’t. I trust in the Lord to keep me safe.”
“Of course you do,” I mumble, laying my head down on my clothing pillow.
“I choose question.”
“We aren’t playing.”
“I give up supper,” Daylan says, opening his eyes and looking over at me. “I have a question.”
“Fine,” I sigh, staring at the beams of the rotted ceiling.
He hesitates for a moment, almost as if he didn’t believe I would give in to him. Finally, I hear an inhale of breath and a question that I don’t expect follows. “Where did you go when you left Bright Haven?”
“Ekksha. I hope that question was worth your food.”
He sighs, and I can feel him moving beside me on the mattress. “How did you make your way? You said something about paying with your body?”
“Anything you own can be sold, if you know where to look. I was a fifteen year old kid on the run in a forest full of zombies. I did what I had to do to get by.”
“How did you decide to do… that?”
“I didn’t know what I was going to do at first. Everything was stripped from me when they tied me to the fence and left me to die. I had nothing to trade except my body, not even any of the tokens I’d earned, but I found a way to eat and a place to sleep.”
“You had trade tokens?”
“Little golden discs I could trade for goods at the caravans. I mostly traded for candy and sweets. I used to earn them at Bright Haven before… well, before. On one side was a lady’s face and on the other-”
“A bird,” Daylan says, cutting me off. “I am given the same tokens to spend at the trade caravans too.”
“How did you earn them?” I ask, turning my head to look into his eyes. I got mine through lies, telling Father what he wanted to hear. Perhaps Daylan lies to get his coins, but I doubt it.
“I don’t have to earn them,” he says. “Father gives me three to spend at every trading day.”
“Ah.”
Silence settles between us, and I welcome it.
My mood is shifting again as I think of all the ways I should have used those tokens instead of trading for sweets.
I could have stockpiled them all and paid one of the traders to take me away with them, perhaps.
I frown as I consider that. If I’d left before the night I was shattered into fragments and let the devil take my hands to use as his own tools, that would mean that Ezekiel would still draw breath.
That is not something I want to think about.
“How did you earn them?” Daylan asks softly and slowly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Devilry,” I respond, for that is the truth of it.
“What kind of devilry?”
I sigh, turning my head back to the ceiling, my patience wearing thin. “You ask a lot of wicked questions for someone claiming to be full of God’s blessings, Lambchop.”
“You do a lot of wicked things that draw questions, Devil.”
That brings a small smile to my face, and I turn over, rolling on my side to press my ear against his chest again.
I count his breaths and listen to his heartbeat, steady and strong.
I rest my head there, counting and listening, all the while telling myself it’s because I want to check for a turn towards zombie and not because his warmth fills me with comfort and peace.