The Greens of Jericho

Dale stared at the third spirit. Unlike the other spirits, this one did not seem familiar or warm. He (Dale assumed it was a he, because it was so tall) was dressed in dark clothes. He wore a hooded sweatshirt, with a long black coat, and a ski mask obscuring his face. He said nothing. Dale stared up at him and felt a chill run up his spine. Still, the figure said nothing.

    “Are - are you the spirit of Christmas that is still to come?” asked Dale, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

    The spirit nodded. He stood, still and silent. Though every cell in his body screamed not to, Dale climbed out of bed and forced himself to walk up to the spirit. The spirit grabbed his wrist in its gloved hand, and with another bang, they vanished from the room and appeared outside.

    At first smoke surrounded him, and he couldn't see much else. As he brushed the smoke out of his eyes, he could see that they were standing on Main Street, near Town Hall. It looked near the same as it had before, but he noticed a few differences. He saw large paper signs posted on the outsides of several buildings. They had big block letters, in red, and seemed to be listing rules. He looked around the corner and was surprised to see two men, in military fatigues, standing guard in front of Bailey's. One of the front windows was smashed, and it was dark inside.

    It was midday, but there weren't many people walking in the street. There were Christmas decorations up in some of the windows, but it seemed as though everything was more subdued this year. The spirit started walking up the street - actually he seemed to glide. Dale carefully followed behind him. He had a shock as he approached the intersection past the Cyberjolt Cafe and a pair of soldiers marched by, the nearest walking right through him. They were silent as they trudged along in their boots.

    “What's going on?” asked Dale. The spirit said nothing, and revealed nothing through his hood and ski mask. There was such a foreboding feeling in the air, Dale was uneasy.

    They approached the church, where once again, Christmas service was letting out. Dale noticed that most people were going home quickly, not stopping to chat as long as they had before. It didn't seem like anyone wanted to stay outside for very long. Dale glanced at the spirit again, but he didn't indicate what to do, so Dale, after taking a deep breath, walked into the crowd.

    He passed through several people on their way out, trying to ignore the chilled feeling it still gave him to walk through these shadow-people. Strangely, he could see a few familiar faces in the front, kneeling in the first pew. Bonnie had her hands folded as if in prayer, but she was really in the midst of a hushed conversation with Allison Hawkins and Dylan Morgan, a guy who had been two years ahead of them in school. He quickly went up to catch part of their conversation.

    Allison was whispering “...and the military didn't want them to go get him, but Jake convinced them. They left really early this morning.”

    Dylan shook his head. “What was he even doing out there?”

    Allison whispered back, “Some off-the-books trading. I don't know why he'd go out there like that. It's pretty stupid.”

    “Jeez, sorry Bonnie. I know you were friends,” said Dylan.

    Bonnie had a hardened expression when she said, “Honestly, I'm more worried about my brother right now. The roads are bad this time of year.”

    “And you know, they're going to use this as an excuse to crack down even more on us. They'll say it's for our own protection,” said Allison.
     
    “Oh well. Just makes it harder for us,” said Dylan with a smile on his lips. Bonnie closed her eyes for a moment, as if bracing herself.
       
    “So,” asked Dylan, when she had opened her eyes again. “Tuesday, right?”

    “Right,” said Allison. “The back-up place.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Okay, we better go now. I think we've done all the praying anyone will believe.”

    They stood and quickly followed the stragglers out of the church.

    “There’s your dad,” Dylan said to Allison, pointing towards a man beside the church, his hands stiffly held at his sides as he waited.

    “I’ve got to go,” she said quickly, and she hurried over to her father. They walked away in silence.

    “It's still early. Do you want to do anything?” asked Dylan.

    “No, I better catch up with Mimi,” said Bonnie. “If Stanley's not there when we get back, she'll be worried.”

    “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” said Dylan.

    Bonnie just nodded. “Merry Christmas,” she said, before hurrying across the street where Mimi was waiting.

    Dylan left shortly after her. The street was clearing quickly now. The afternoon sun shone weakly through the gray skies.

    “Is anyone celebrating?” Dale asked, somewhat amazed at how everything had changed since the last Christmas he'd seen.

    The spirit turned his masked face towards Dale. He reached out and with another loud crack, they were transported to another building.

    He recognized it instantly from earlier in the night. It was the room where the group of refugees had gathered. Now, there were even more of them, and they were listening eagerly to what one man, whom Dale did not recognize, was saying.

    “...so they went to go retrieve the body early this morning. Looks like those 'businessmen' he was meeting with double crossed him.”

    “Serves him right,” said one of the refugees that worked for Dale, a man named Tom. “They did to him what he's done to lots of others.”

    “He never killed anybody,” said Dave, another of Dale's men.

    “I mean he screwed people over. How many promises did he make us, then break his word, huh?” Several people nodded their heads.

    “What's going to happen to his land now?” asked a woman named Lucy.

    “I don't know, but I'm guessing Gray will try to claim it for the town. If the army doesn't just claim it for themselves,” said the storyteller. The others murmured restlessly.

    “They'll say we were lucky they let us go out to get the body,” said Dave.

    “As if any of us wanted it,” said Tom. There were snickers around the room.

    “What are they doing with it?” asked Art, who was leaning against the wall.

    “Well, they've got it over at the cemetery. Last I heard, Stanley Richmond was asking around if anybody'd help them dig. The ground's pretty hard,” finished the man who had delivered the news.

    “So what did you say, Jim?” asked Lucy.

    “I said I'd go. If there's a lunch provided,” said Jim, with a laugh.

    “Sounds right to me,” said Tom, and the rest of the room echoed with laughter.

    Dale's face had gone white. These people that he knew had been through a lot, but he'd never heard them talking with such coldness.

    “Spirit,” he whispered, “Is that enough?”

    The spirit slowly reached out his gloved hand, and with another small explosion, they were somewhere else again.


    It was a dark room, and Dale had to wait for his eyes to adjust. A grizzled man with dull gray hair sat on a camping stool, surrounded by piles of shadowed objects. Dale couldn't even make out what they were in the dim lighting. He realized, though, that they were inside a tent. The man was eating something out of a thermos, and Dale was suddenly reminded of another man, much like this man, doing the same thing at Black Jack fairgrounds. The man looked up as two other men entered the tent, pulling off ski masks as they walked. Their arms were full of things, and they dumped them on the ground in front of the man.

    “So, what've you got?” asked the seated man.

    “We didn't do too bad. We brought back the truck and dumped the body,” said the shorter man.

    “I hope you were careful. You know they've got patrols on the roads lately,” the seated man said.

    “Don't worry. We made sure it didn't look like it was our job. We shot the driver,” said the taller man.

    “And I drove his truck back here. It's full of stuff,” said the short one.

    “Like what?” asked the seated man, unimpressed.

    “Old electronics, looks like some working parts, stuff made out of metal, extra diesel, and salt,” said the tall one nonchalantly.

    “And personal items,” said the short one, reaching down to the pile and lifting a sleeping bag. “I got a lantern, and a handgun.”

    “And show him your new coat,” said the tall one.

    The other man tugged on the collar of the coat he was wearing. “Pretty nice, huh?”

    The seated man put down his thermos and laughed. “Miller, you took it right off the body?”

    “Yeah. It's not going to make him any warmer now, is it?” Miller deadpanned. The three thieves laughed.

    Dale felt like he would be sick. He had heard of people having run-ins with the road gangs, even knew they stole coats right off people's backs, but he'd never thought about what kind of person would wear his victim's coat.

    “Spirit,” he pleaded. “I can't stand this. Please, show me a death that someone cares about.”

    The spirit gave a non-committal nod, but grabbed his arm and with a loud bang, they were no longer standing in the thieves' tent. They were outside a familiar house, again. It was the Greens' house.

    Dale felt a sense of dread rising within him. “No. It wasn't someone from here that died, was it?” In his mind, he imagined suddenly Jake or Eric, lying dead and coat-less on the road. The spirit merely motioned to the house. Dale slowly walked up the porch steps and through the door, forcing himself to find out.

    The house was eerily quiet. The living room was empty, and aside from a few decorations, quite dreary looking, but maybe it was just Dale's fear about what may have happened. He walked into the dining room - and narrowly avoided walking right through Heather. She was pacing nervously across the floor. Mary was sitting at the table, one hand on her stomach, which had grown a great deal since he'd last seen her.

    “Heather, stop freaking out,” Mary was saying. “They'll be back soon.”

    “I should have gone myself. I wanted to go. It's so much better than staying here worrying.”

    Mary laughed. “Now you know how we felt last year.”

    “It's not funny,” said Heather, a note of panic in her voice. “Something could have happened. They're being so tough these days.”

    “And it was important that we don't draw any more attention to ourselves,” said Mary. “You know they're already suspicious of Jake and Eric. I'd say you're the only one of us they don't suspect.”

    “I know,” said Heather, sighing. “It's just infuriating. All of this. What happened to you...”

    “Look,” Mary put a hand on Heather's arm, stopping her from crossing the room again. “I'm okay. No one got hurt. The bar - well, we'll fix it later. I was bound to take some time off soon anyway.” She patted her stomach. “It's not that late,” she added, as Heather looked out the window again.

    “I see someone!” yelled Heather, and Dale jumped aside as she dashed through the doorway, just as the front door was flung open.

    Jake stood in the doorway, a sombre look on his face. Heather flung her arms around him, and he hugged her, but didn't lose the weary expression.

    Mary had struggled to her feet and joined them, and now she looked a little panicked. “Where's Eric?”

    Jake held out a hand to calm her down. “He's fine. He just wanted to take his time there.”

    She breathed a sigh of relief.

    “So are you guys okay?” he asked, walking towards the dining room, one arm still around Heather.

    “Fine. Just a little restless being stuck here,” said Mary, glancing at Heather.

    Jake chuckled a little in spite of himself. “Sorry. You really wouldn't have wanted to go where we went today. They gave us hell at the checkpoint.”

    Heather looked like she wanted to say more, but Mary cut in “We're just glad everyone's safe. Well, everyone that left this morning, anyway.”
         
    “And how's junior today?” asked Jake.
       
    “I'd say, the calmest person here,” said Mary. “Look what we found in the basement today.” She pointed to the table. It was scattered with knit baby clothes. They were mostly blue.

    “Wow. I can't believe she saved those,” said Jake, gently picking up a sweater.

    “I'm all set if we have a boy,” said Mary.

    “Or a girl,” said Heather. “Girls can wear blue.”

    Jake chuckled. “What?” asked Heather.

    “Nothing, not a thing. I just knew you'd say that,” he said, trying to give her his most serious face before she could say any more.

    She smiled, shaking her head. “At least your niece or nephew will have something to wear.”

    “Why isn’t he back yet?” Mary had walked over to the window again. “I guess I should be used to waiting. I've waited for Eric a lot of times before.” She gave a half-hearted laugh. The others didn't say anything. Dale could almost feel the aching in her voice. “He's so slow to come home at the end of the day, so much more lately,” she continued.

    “He's always been that way,” said Jake. “The only time I remember him coming home quickly was for those last few days, when Mom was still...”

    He trailed off, but the look on his face revealed the rest to Dale. The three people stood in silence for a long time, and the waiting was agonizing for Dale too. He had only seen Jake look this bad on the day his father had died. That time, it had been fresh pain, but now he had the look of a man who was used to carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders.

    After a while, Heather broke the silence. “Mary, how about we sit down. I'll make tea.”

    “Okay,” Mary said, but stopped suddenly looking out the window. “He's coming.”

    Dale couldn't jump out of the way fast enough, as three shadow persons ran through him in a row. He shuddered, but had little time to think about it as Eric had come through the door.

    He had pulled Mary into a hug, and was smiling at her, but he had the same weariness in his walk that Jake had. Jake helped him take off his coat and went to hang up his own. Heather hugged him too.

    “I'm glad you're okay,” she said.

    “You too. Thanks for looking out for my family,” he whispered conspiratorially.
   
    “Come on, Eric. Sit,” called Mary. He sank into the couch beside her. Jake came back into the room, and he and Heather took seats in the chairs.
 
    “So, how did it go?” asked Heather breathlessly.
 
    “Found him on the old Wainwright road,” said Jake. “Didn't see anyone else out there. It was coming back we ran into a bit of trouble with the guards.”

    “They wanted to examine the body,” said Eric. “I don't know, maybe they thought he was connected with the resistance somehow. Funny, because it's so far from true.”

    “We managed to convince them to let us take him to the cemetery. I don't know, maybe we should have thrown a funeral, but the way things have been lately, I don't think I could do it right now. I got Reverend Matthews down there. He said a few words,” said Jake.

    “It's okay, Jake. You know you don't have to take on everything in town,” said Mary. “Did anyone else come out?”

    “Just some of the refugees. I guess they wanted to pay their respects,” said Jake. He sighed deeply, and leaned back into his chair.

    “How's Stanley?” asked Mary.

    “A little freaked out, but he'll be fine,” said Eric. “No, nothing happened. He just didn't like the way things went out there.” He sighed himself. “I saw Mom when I was up there,” he said slowly.

    Mary's eyes grew bigger, but she waited for him to continue. “You know, when everyone was gone, it was so peaceful. I think she'd like to be there, right at the top of the hill. Beside Dad. Near April.”

    There was a hush in the room. “It's so different this year,” Eric continued. “I just - sometimes I still can't believe it.” He made an odd choking noise, and wiped furiously at his face.

    “I know,” whispered Mary, her hand on his.

    “I wish she was here, so badly. She wanted to meet her grandchild, so much. I know she’d give anything to see you get married.” He glanced across the room. Jake was looking at him with a fierce look in his eyes, as if determined to stay strong for his little brother. His jaw was clenched, but he looked close to tears himself. Heather's eyes were brimming too.

    “I know how hard it is, doing this without her,” Jake said in an uneven voice. “But she always thought we should celebrate, even through all the bad times. So we're going to remember, right?”

    Everyone sat thinking, not wanting to move. Finally, Heather stood.

   “Does anyone want some tea? I think we have cider too,” she asked.
 
    Eric still couldn't say anything. Jake stood up too. “Sounds good. Let's go get it,” he said, with a meaningful glance at the couch, where Eric sat with his head in his hands. The two of them went over to the kitchen, and Dale considered following, but felt rooted to the spot.

    Mary was sitting, carefully watching Eric. “Do - do you want me to leave you alone?” she asked hesitantly.
   
    “No,” he said, his voice breaking. “I'm sorry, I just -” he broke off, dissolving into sobs. Mary leaned against him, both arms wrapped around him. “It's okay,” she whispered.
 
    Dale watched the scene with a stinging in his own eyes. All night, he'd felt an urge to run away every time he'd seen someone feeling this devastated. Now, it felt like a relief to see someone feeling something deeply, to see someone who loved someone else enough to cry. The scenes he'd witnessed, among the refugees and the thieves, had been much worse.

    Eric's tears had subsided a little when Jake and Heather returned with mugs in their hands. They handed two to Eric and Mary, and stood together on the other side of the coffee table.

    “I know it's not wine, or Bailey's finest, but I'd like to propose a toast,” said Jake. At first, they looked at him strangely, but Heather raised her mug and the others followed suit.
         
    “To Mom,” said Jake. “One of our most...someone we really miss. We'll remember her, always, and we'll try to make her proud. We'll make sure the people who didn't get to know her will know how much she loved us.” He nodded towards Mary, who gave him a faint smile.

    “To Mom,” said Jake again, shakily holding his mug of cider in the air. The others echoed him, and took sips of hot tea and cider. Heather put her arm around Jake's waist, and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Good toast,” she whispered.

    “Maybe you have the makings of a mayor in you yet,” joked Eric.

    Jake grimaced. “Don't start that again.”

    They all laughed. Dale watched them, wishing dearly that Gail was there with them, and wondering how they still managed to laugh.
 
    “Why did this have to happen? Why does everything keep happening like this? Isn't there anything we can do?” he asked the spirit. The spirit said nothing, just fixed him with what he imagined was a blank stare. He reached out a gloved hand, and before Dale could protest, another explosion sent them away.

    As the smoke cleared, Dale could see that they were standing at the edge of the cemetery, the one on the outskirts of town. It was completely deserted. The skies overhead were darkening, and wind howled through the rows of tombstones. Dale felt, even worse than before, the feeling of dread inside him.
       
    “Spirit, I feel like our time is almost up. Am I right?” he asked.
       
    The spirit took a step forward, and stretched out one arm, pointing up the hill. Dale could feel the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. He took a step forward. He stopped.

    “The person they were talking about earlier - the one who got killed by the thieves - I thought it was Jake, or Eric, or Stanley, but they were okay. Who was it?”

    Once again, the spirit was silent and still. His finger remained pointing at the hill. Dale stepped forward again, and again. His legs felt like lead.

    “Spirit...” he said, turning around. “Just tell me one thing. Please. These things I've seen...are they the future, the way it's all going to turn out, or is it just what might happen?”

    The spirit said nothing. He stepped forward, his arm still raised and his finger pointing.

    Dale stepped slowly. He could feel his breath quickening. “If there's any way I can change it, if I can stop things from turning out this way, I will. I swear, I'll do anything I can.”

    The spirit kept walking, pointing.

    “I'll remember everything I've learned. Everything I've seen. I'll keep it all with me, forever. Mom, Gracie, Christmas past, present, future, I'll keep it all in my heart,” he said plaintively.

    The spirit stopped. He pointed towards a gravestone that was covered in snow.
       
    Dale felt that everything hinged upon that stone. “Please. Tell me I can change. I can change. I will. Please,” begged Dale. The spirit grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him forward.

    Dale took a deep breath. With a shaking hand, he wiped the snow off of the grave marker. Under his hand, the letters appeared, just as he had known they would. He sank to his knees. He sobbed.

    He stared at the lonely gravestone, marked “Dale Turner”.

    “This isn't how I want it to end!” he cried. “Please, you can't let it end this way.” He turned to the spirit and grabbed him by the sleeve. “Please, I need a chance. That's all I'm asking for. I don't want to be this person. I don’t want this to be the end.”

    The spirit tried to pull away, and Dale grabbed him by the ski mask. The mask came off in his hand, and he recoiled at the face now in front of him.

    The twisted features of Mitchell Cafferty laughed at him. “Of course you'll end this way, Dale Turner. You're just like me.”

    Dale swallowed and narrowed his eyes. “I'm not just like you,” he spat. “I won't let it end this way.” He grabbed the spirit by the arm.

    The spirit with Mitchell's face leaned down. “You have no choice.”

    Dale pulled him even closer so they were face to face. “There's always a choice,” he said.

    Mitchell chuckled again. “I'm sure that's what they taught you over at Gracie's Market. But this is the end, and there are no more chances!”

    Dale could feel the ground slipping from under him. The grave was caving in and he was sliding into it. “No!” he shouted, holding on to the spirit. “NO!”

     He was falling, falling, falling - and he landed in a hard darkness.