Lamp Black: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 2) (16 page)

Adam entered the room with the bags and asked, “Do you want me to start taking these bags to the truck?”

Adam’s light shined across John’s eyes and he said, “Adam, please watch your light.”

“Sorry, dad.”

“Yes, you can take the bags down, but please be careful. Treat them gently . . . and don’t put anything on top of the bows.”

“Got it, dad.”

While Adam cleared the room of the salvaged equipment, John grabbed two of the heavy contractor grade garbage bags and entered the master bedroom. He rolled Corbin’s dad off the bed and it hit the floor with a heavy thud, “I’m OK, Adam. Keep working!” yelled John from the master bedroom.

“OK!” replied Adam, from the other room.

After John wrapped the man in the bloody bed sheets, he pulled the first bag up over the man’s feet and the second down over his head. The two bags met near his waist. “Adam, can you grab me that roll of duct tape we saw in the garage? Hurry please!”

“Sure thing, dad.”

John studied the room with his flashlight while he waited for Adam. He found nothing of interest in one dresser, and was kneeling to look under the bed when Adam entered. Adam saw the large plastic bundle on the floor and froze. “You don’t have to see this,” said John. Adam let his flashlight beam linger over the plastic shrouded man and nodded heartily.

“Is that Corbin’s dad?” he asked, in a solemn tone of voice that was almost a whisper.

“Actually, it’s not Corbin’s dad. It’s Corbin’s Dad’s body,” replied John.

“Same diff,” replied Adam, looking down at the floor.

“No. Not at all. The body is just a vessel, Adam, a carrier of the soul. When a man’s spirit departs, the body is nothing more than an empty vessel. It’s an empty glove.”

“It’s . . . sick,” said Adam, hesitantly.

“It can be, if you linger on the belief that death is the end. But it’s not the end.”

“What-do-you-mean?” asked Adam.

“About death, or knowing it’s not the end?” asked John, wanting to clearly understand his son’s curiosity.

“The part about knowing. How do you know death isn’t the end?”

John was tempted to divert Adam’s question to something less spiritual, but he felt he owed him an honest answer, at least an answer that he would have liked to receive from his own dad if he was in the same situation. John didn’t start thinking seriously about death until his first combat experience. He knew combat was a time when most Soldiers started thinking seriously about God and death, but for John it was more about whether or not death was random or determined. The death he saw in battle looked a little like both, but he had a problem with randomness. It just didn’t fit into what he knew about his life. And if his own life wasn’t random, then nobody’s life was random. For John, the issue of randomness was a life-long question, and it weighed heavily on him while he served in combat.

He realized, much later in his military career, that some life decisions simply weren’t his to make. It was more than being just another number in the system, because within the system itself there existed a countless number of people who made supporting or conflicting decisions regarding their own lives and his. He might be allowed to express his desires to do a certain job, or serve at a certain location, but he learned that he didn’t always get what he wanted. And sometimes, getting what he didn’t ask for was better than what he had actually wanted. He knew he was responsible for doing everything he could to shape his own destiny - he wasn’t willing to let life just happen to him without his input - but he knew deep down that there was a greater work in progress. A work that involved him. Just because he didn’t know what the greater work was didn’t mean it didn’t exist.

John reasoned that something much greater than fate, or chance, was directing his life. From simple decisions like when he went to chow, or to shower, to the more complex decisions like duty assignments, locations, and even the officers he served under, everything came together to define his entire life’s path beyond his physical awareness. With time, he learned to accept life for what it was, to just accept things as they came. Life was an opportunity to learn and grow, to test and be tested, and to be happy. It was sometimes hard to accept the fact that there was more to life than what he experienced with his five senses, but his dreams changed that as well. His connection to the other side was always close. He knew, deep down, that death was not the end, but rather a new beginning.

When John concluded that death wasn’t accidental, he no longer worried about it. He respected death, and wasn’t careless with his or anyone’s life, but he no longer feared it. As such, he was better able to perform his mission in dangerous situations. As for the taking of life, John knew some Soldiers struggled with it, but he didn’t. He knew that it was his right to continue living, just like the enemy, but for John it boiled down to who had the stronger path; which of the two opponents held the most essential purpose in their life. Was it him, or the bomb
making jihadist? If he was meant to die at the hands of the enemy, then there was nothing he could do to change that course; a course that was not his to define beyond the parameters.

Some Soldiers noticed John’s behavior, his confidence in battle, and asked him about it. He tried to downplay his personal perceptions, but he always ended up sharing his philosophy with them, telling them that life continued beyond death, that God decided when he was to leave this life, not the enemy. That there was really no reason to worry about death. Sometimes they heard him, but for the most part they just stared at him, surprised to hear such beliefs coming from a military officer who wasn’t their chaplain.

As for life after death, John believed in it long before his first visit from Eli; a visit that only confirmed to him what he already believed to be true anyway. He was actually surprised to find that his beliefs weren’t necessarily stronger than before, but he was comforted by the realization that he had been right. Having that confirmation, a knowledge that death wasn’t permanent, didn’t make it easier to share with others. Not everyone believed what he believed, or knew what he knew, or saw what he saw. And not everyone thought as he thought. John always felt he was different from other people, but now that feeling was much more pronounced. He was different on a whole new level, and he was perfectly fine with it.

“Dad?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking. How do I know death isn’t the end?” he asked in reply. John looked at Adam and saw him nod. It was clear he wanted to know what John knew. “Well, that’s a very good question, and one you should investigate yourself. After all, how can anyone really know there’s life after death unless they died and traveled there . . . and then returned to tell about it?”

“I’ve heard about people who did that,” replied Adam.

“Yes. So have I, but that’s just it, I haven’t. Those stories are all we have to go on, unless you believe something more,” replied John.
It took all the self-control he could muster to not mention Eli. It just didn’t feel like the right time to discuss that subject with Adam, not where they were standing anyway. “What do you think will happen when you die?” he asked his son.

“I don’t know,” said Adam, “but I think there’s something.”

It was John’s turn to nod. “I agree with you there’s something,” said John.

There must have been something in John’s voice, a surety, or conviction that appealed to Adam, because he looked into John’s eyes, unblinking, searching, and said, “I know there’s something you aren’t telling me, dad, but I trust you. You’re the best dad I could have ever hoped for.”

John stifled his emotions to Adam’s sincere declaration, and reached for his son. They embraced and John spoke softly in his ear, “I love you too, Adam. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a son, and more. And you’re right. I do know more than I’m saying, but it’s not the time or place for such discussions. Soon, yes, but not now. Not here, not in this house of death.” With his hands on Adam’s shoulders, John studied his son’s face at arm’s length. “A lot has changed with me. I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s important. And I know you’re going to be a part of it. I need you to trust me . . . to trust me more than ever, because I have a feeling things are going to get very interesting in the days and weeks to come.”

“Interesting?” asked Adam.

John nodded, “Yes. Interesting. Give me a few minutes to finish up in here, and I’ll meet you in the truck. Are you going to be OK?”

“I’m OK dad, but what are you going to do with . . . with him?” asked Adam, as he pointed at the plastic wrapped body lying on the floor.

“For now I’m going to leave it lying right there, but I’ll come back later and move it. Are you sure you’re going to be OK?” Adam nodded once and John asked again, “Are you sure?” He really wanted to hear a verbal response.

“I’m sure, dad,” Adam replied with confidence.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” said John, and he escorted his son to the bedroom door. “And don’t forget to grab those books you found.”

Adam walked down the hall and John’s flashlight played off his back as he walked. As soon as Adam was out of sight, John went back to finishing his wrapping of Corbin’s dad. On a whim, John grabbed the small revolver and tossed it into the bag with the man. As far as he was concerned, he could take the murder weapon with him to the grave.

John taped the bags together with a generous amount of duct tape, and examined his work. It wasn’t a body bag, but John hoped the heavy garbage bags and duct tape would contain most of the odor as the body began to decompose. He didn’t know when he would be back to bury the man, but he didn’t think it would be soon. He also thought the house might come in handy later, so he didn’t want to let the body rot in the open air, and hinder any chance of using it later.

With Corbin’s dad wrapped up, John resumed his inspection of the master bedroom. He started with the mattress. And though he really wasn’t expecting to find anything, he knew it was a common practice to hide things between mattresses. When John lifted the mattress, and was surprised to see a wood rifle stock under the side of the bed where Corbin’s dad had lain. John lifted the mattress higher to reveal the rest of the rifle. After retrieving it from the mattress he examined it closely, a Winchester, model 100, in .308, a reliable hunting rifle by most people’s standards. John’s dad owned one, and it was an accurate, rugged and reliable sporting rifle, one of John’s favorites to hunt with when he was a kid.

Atop the rifle was a Zeiss Conquest scope. John figured the man probably paid more for the scope than he did for his rifle. That seemed to be a growing trend these days, for John knew that optics, good optics anyway, were very expensive. He removed the small stock-magazine and cleared the rifle. It wasn’t loaded, which made John wonder why
the man had kept it under his bed in the first place. He searched the man’s nightstand, and found a twenty round box of .308 hunting loads. John pocketed the box of ammo and leaned the rifle against the door. It took the same spot where Beth had laid, mortally wounded, only a couple hours before.

John continued to search the bedroom and found Beth’s fine jewelry. But he wasn’t interested in such things, only in things that would directly benefit Corbin’s survival. While searching the man’s dresser, John also found a pistol buried under a stack of folded underwear. It was a 1911, Colt Commander. It was a well-used handgun, but it looked to be operational. He cleared it, and stuffed it into his left cargo pocket.

After a speedy but detailed search of the rest of the bedroom, John moved his search into the master bedroom closet. It was similar to his own closet, in that it was neat and well organized. John searched the hanging clothes, and rattled empty shoe boxes, but he found nothing to salvage. There were several clear plastic storage boxes on the floor under the hanging clothes, so John pulled them out, one at a time, and quickly examined their contents. Finding nothing of interest, John began to slide the boxes back against the wall.

As he went to slide the last box home, something on the floor caught his attention. The carpet in the corner was not securely anchored to the tack-strip. He pulled the storage box back out of the way and knelt down on the carpet to examine it more closely. The carpet had, indeed, been pulled up by more than a foot on each side of the corner. John grabbed the corner of the carpet and pulled. It came up easily. He did the same for the foam padding, and saw that the flooring under the padding had been cut. A small panel, about the size of a shoebox lid, had been cut into the plywood sub-floor, and a finger-sized hole drilled in the middle of it.

John appreciated the man’s efforts at concealment, but thought he could have done a better job of hiding his work. John hesitated before sticking his finger in the hole, thinking the man might have
booby-trapped it, but he reminded himself that he was being overly paranoid. Corbin’s dad wasn’t a terrorist. There was no booby trap to worry about.

John was very curious to see what, if anything, the man had hidden in his secret little compartment, so he stuck his finger in the hole and lifted the panel. The beam of his flashlight played along the bottom of the space, and he spotted a small, dark, plastic box. He was familiar with that type of storage container, it was a Pelican box, and he had several. The water tight containers came in many sizes, and were excellent for storing things in very harsh environments. John reached in and removed the plastic box and was surprised by its weight. The small box weighed more than seemed possible given its compact size.

John set the box on the carpet and opened the two levered latches. He offered an audible “Oooh,” and touched the neatly stacked and wrapped layers of gold and silver coins. That explained the weight. He didn’t know how much precious metal was in the little plastic box, and he really didn’t care, as far as he was concerned the contents of the box, and everything else they salvaged from the house belonged to Corbin. But if he had to guess, John figured there was somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty to twenty-five thousand dollars in precious metal lying before him. A modest nest-egg for normal times, but a wise and valuable treasure for a time when paper money was worth little more than pillow stuffing.