Johnson says, "We will take the Jeep to where we found the tracks of the turtle and follow them as far as we can."
We travel for a couple of hours. With most of the major highways and bridges bombed and booby trapped we decide to travel cross-country which is hard, rugged driving. The searing heat in the summer over the last decade or so has burned a lot of the woodlands, and then the driving winter rains cause the damaged trees to fall over at all angles along the path. Taking the path is a risk, with all the cannibals and roving bands of brigands and minor warlords taking over any area that still has inhabitants, but no army presence. The path however at least is kept clear from too much rubble and debris. Whenever we think we have completely lost the trail of Herb, we find some massive tracks in the hard baked earth where there had been a pond or small stream in recent weeks.
Sargent Johnson says, "Welcome to Interstate 94, at least what passes for it these days. It should only take about six hours to get to Detroit, if that is where the turtle is going. Corporal Scott says, "Why head to Detroit, the whole place is rubble?" No one answers him. The trail of tracks has been fairly consistently heading southeast from Lansing in the direction of Lake Erie. We all agree with Johnson's assessment and take turns every hour or two driving as it is very jarring and challenging to keep the Jeep under control and still maintain any decent travel speed.
I take my shift driving the Jeep. It annoys me that Corporal Scott refuses to wear a seat belt. I harass him endlessly about it until he refuses to talk to me. The terrain is more heavily wooded with quite a few young poplar and maple trees. We are driving in the river bed of the Huron River which has been cleared of most debris. It has been two hours since we located any tracks from Herb, but I have an idea where Fast Eddie and his crew are headed. Also it does not seem that the turtle is trying to break any speed records. It almost seems like it is meandering. I wonder what Eddie is up to?
My thoughts zoom in to the immediate surroundings as a small white animal darts quickly in front of the Jeep as I round a corner in the riverbed. I jerk the wheel rapidly and hit the brakes but manage to hit a large rock and a downed tree in the process. Corporal Scott is thrown from the vehicle and Sargent Johnson and Corporal Berry are thrown around in the back of the Jeep like an over-tossed salad. At impact I hear a loud pop indicating that we have blown a tire. A tirade of curses and groans are thrown at me as if they will somehow take back the pain suffered from my superior driving skills.
Ignoring the endless stream of profanity, I run over to check on Corporal Scott. He is lying face down near a rock, a puddle of blood masks his face. His arm is twisted at an odd angle and so is his neck. I can tell that he has but moments left to live. When Sargent Johnson was mortally wounded I was able to get privacy to perform my miracle, but with Corporal Scott I do not have that option.
I turn to Sargent Johnson and say, "Corporal Scott has a broken neck. I can save his life if you agree but doing so is going to shock you beyond anything you can easily comprehend. If you consent I will fix his neck, but you must promise to at least allow me to explain after the deed is done."
Sargent Johnson notes the seriousness in my tone and says, "Do it. Don't let that man die if you can help him! We will discuss the outcome afterward!"
I lay my hands on Corporal Scott's neck and using my energy, I heal his broken vertebra, repair his arm and mend his internal injuries. Within seconds Scott opens his eyes and sits up.
Corporal Berry says, "I know I've been hitting the whiskey today, but are you Jesus or the devil son? I never seen a real miracle before!!" How the hell did you do that??"
Sargent Johnson says, "Okay Miracle Man, obviously THAT wasn't a result of being just a good medic!" We need to have a talk! Just who the hell are you?"
Corporal Scott gets up wordlessly, walks to the Jeep, grabs his assault rifle and says, "He's the fuckin devil and I am going to send him back to hell!" Scott fires a burst from his assault rifle at me. The bullets pass harmlessly through my body hitting the rock and riverbed where Scott cracked his head when he was thrown from the car.
Scott says "Aint natural! This is not happening! Aint real man! How come the rest of you aint fraggin his ass? Fuck all of you!" Scott points his gun at all of us and backing away, bolts into a full run up the other side of the river bed until he is out of sight.
Berry and Johnson look over at where Scott ran and then look back at me intensely. I say, "Might I suggest we fix that flat while I explain things?" Berry I'd take a drink from your whiskey bottle right about now, but perhaps you are starting to see that I can't enjoy it."
Both men are torn between natural fear, a small measure of loyalty to me for my aid to Scott and Johnson, and some inner curiosity to learn something truly mysterious. In the end they both surrender to the Fates and decide to hear me out. Berry even helps me with the flat tire.
I begin my story, "I was a hermit. I was only interested in knowledge. I lived in a small village in an old farmhouse with my wife and my wonderful little dog. I had everything I wanted. As the Nation's political situation got more extreme and politicians moved farther away from the intent of the founding fathers I became increasingly angry but still I didn't do anything. I had a friend who tried to get me involved in politics, tried to get me to help change things for the better but I was always afraid to commit to it. I immersed myself even deeper into reading until I was well versed in histories, philosophies, languages and dramas. However, the local priest began to exert his influence, bullying me and wrecking my garden. I knew when I complained that I would be marked as a trouble maker. It was bad enough that I did not believe in his god. One day, a tank driver came through and killed my little dog. I knew someone ordered it done and suspected the priest. I lost all fear, and rushed out in anger firing an old pistol at the tank driver. He killed me. Yes I really am dead. I am known as the revenant. I have even been called the chosen one. I am driven by revenge. While my dog has been avenged, the priest and tank driver destroyed, my wife was a casualty of my anger. She was also killed by the priest, but her ghostly form joined me along with a few others trying to help the rebels bring back the America I read about in books. Scott was not too far off calling me a devil, for a devil much like me killed my wife before I destroyed him. She paid the price for what I am now. I miss her terribly.
I can't answer all your questions about ghosts. Most ghosts just cycle mindlessly around in a loop of their last moments as a living being. Some are sentient like me. I did my best to resist my desire for revenge and instead try to work for peace but in the end mankind seems bent on its own destruction. It is my hope to aid those who would see a return to freedom and justice. For me, that means siding with the rebels. The occupiers of the turtle, better known as Herb are my friends. If you wish to join me you are welcome. If you feel it is a betrayal of your beliefs to side with the rebels, I understand."
Berry and Johnson are silent for a moment. They look at each other and then Johnson says, "The US military is destroyed in this area. We are safer with you. If it is okay, we will take our chances with you and the rebels for a while. If it seems like you are doing good things we will join up. Neither of us were happy with the concentration camps or the way prisoners were treated. We were following orders, but the orders have gotten harder and harder to justify. It had gotten to the point where many of us in the army didn't know what was right or wrong anymore. Kids shot at us, women hide explosives under their dresses. Even old people could be dangerous. We learned to trust no one. Fire first when threatened. You see it in the way Corporal Scott reacted."
I say, "Thank you for trusting me. I shall endeavor to earn that trust. I should go after Scott and try to bring him to his senses. It is too dangerous to be out on your own, even with a rifle! It is getting dark. You stay here and set up camp. I can not be harmed by warlords or brigands. "
Johnson says, "My better judgment says to come with you, but we will set up camp for the evening. Scott couldn't have gotten far."
I head off, no longer concerned about appearance I move at my fastest speed. Approximately ten miles from our position in the riverbed, I find a small fort. It is well hidden from the main path. Trees, scrub bushes and netting have been used to hide the building from the casual onlooker. From the outside it looks like it can hold about thirty men. The building is shaped like a Viking longhouse and I can tell from the smoke that a large hearth must be blazing inside. This seems most peculiar to me considering how hot it is outside.
I approach a window and look in. Around twenty adult men and women rest leisurely on deer skin rugs near the edges of the hearth. Children are busy playing games and shouting. The hearth is blazing with hot coals. Over the fire are two wooden spits roasting dinner. Scott is one of the roasting victims. The other is a feral pig. Four men turn the spits and add sauce as they prepare supper.
I enter the front door and say, "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Barbarism, even cannibalism is understandable when one is desperate. What I can not tolerate is the torture. You roasted that man alive. He was my friend. When you lose your humanity, I shall come for you. I am revenant. I am revenge!!!"
One of the men fires a pistol at me. Another man fires a bow at me. The projectiles pass harmlessly through me. Anger rises into my being. The next thing I remember, a familiar voice is yelling at me.
"Dude, You have become a monster!" It is my friend Joe.
I say, "I see you are still a ghost!"
Joe says, "What are you going to kill me too?"
"What are you talking about Joe?" I ask.
"Dude, I've been following you since you woke up. Why the heck didn't you just return to the tunnels and rejoin The Society?" Joe asks.
"The tunnels were blocked, that's why. Sure I could walk through the tons of rock, but to what purpose. Obviously The Society was trying to hide its location." I say
Joe says, "Okay, let's skip forward a little then. Let's say you are right and the tunnels really were blocked. I'm not even going to ask why you are mixed up with the enemy troops...tell me instead, why the hell did you extinguish the essence of every ghost in Lansing?"
"What are you talking about Joe?" I ask hesitantly.
"YOU know, all the ghosts running around on the battlefield, in the concentration camps, wandering aimlessly through the local cemeteries...You destroyed them all dude! Every friggin, last one of them!!" Joe says
I say, "That...that is not true. I did destroy some ghosts, but they were all evil."
Joe says, "So all ghosts are evil and now you have moved on and are killing humans?"
"What are you talking about Joe, are you trying to piss me off??" I ask.
"Look around you my friend, what do you see?" Joe asks.
Lying around the floor of the cannibals' fort I notice them...all of them. Every man, woman and child from this fort lay dead, their faces locked in masks of horror. I collapse onto a bench, my head in my hands and sob. When I finally look up again my friend Joe is gone. Before I can get up to head back to Johnson and Berry, my fur covered ray of sunshine jumps into my lap and licks my face. I look at my dog and smile broadly.