Armageddon

by James Patterson

  So far, Abbadon’s forces hadn’t attacked us with overwhelming firepower. In fact, they hadn’t attacked us at all. If things changed, I’d quickly create all the alien-frying heavy artillery we needed.

  Snug in our webbed harnesses, tethered to a safety line, we were making slow but steady progress up the frozen face of the mountain. The strike force members were fit but fatiguing, fast. At high altitudes, starved for oxygen, muscles chill. Brains tend to turn to mush.

  “Blue ice!” Willy shouted as he probed the ground with his ice ax, looking to secure another anchor. “We need to change course. Rappel under that overhanging glacier.” He pointed to a three-hundred-foot-high hanging ice cliff, chunks of which could break off at any moment. “When we get to the other side, we scale the final four hundred feet up that steep ridge to reach the summit.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Dana and I were the first ones to swing from a dead snag over the jagged ravine that plummeted beneath the projecting prow of ice. With lines belayed, we brought the rest of the team across in their slings, one by one.

  Until the giant block of ice broke and rained down frozen boulders.

  The avalanche swept six of our brave warriors off the face of the mountain.

  I stood staring down in horror at their crumpled bodies, scattered across the glacial plane more than fifty meters below.

  “We press on,” said Lieutenant Russell, who had been the last man to safely cross before the rockslide, grimly. “It’s what they would want us to do. It’s for the salvation of our world.” He gave one last look to the fallen, as if paying his last respects.

  And then we did as he said and pressed on, shaken to the core by the horrible loss.

  Hours later, twenty-four of us reached the summit, but there were no cheers of elation. A blinding blizzard immediately swept in and attacked us—a whiteout with winds that whipped our hard-shell climbing jackets like tent flaps in a tornado.

  “Hang on!” I shouted.

  The mountain rangers struggled to find hand- and footholds in the rocks.

  “It’s a fast-moving storm,” Joe said, consulting the high-tech weather-radar app in his handheld unit. “It should blow through in a minute or two.”

  I just prayed it didn’t blow away any more of our crew.

  Ninety seconds later, just as Joe had predicted, the snow tapered off.

  And moments after that, I felt water dribbling down both sides of my face.

  Because all the ice that had accumulated on my goggles and climbing helmet was thawing, fast. So, too, was the snowcapped peak of the summit.

  Like a freezer set to Defrost, the roof of the underworld was melting.

  “What’s the temperature, Joe?” I shouted across the roar of ice floes rapidly splitting apart.

  “Ninety-eight. And rising!”

  Chunks of ice and rock sloughed down the sides of the mountain, burying the passes we had taken on our climb to the summit.

  We would not be going out the way we had come in.

  Chapter 67

  ON THE OTHER side of the mountain, an extremely flat and crackled plateau stretched out in front of us for miles. On the far horizon, I could make out a faint dotted line of black-shrouded henchbeasts marching toward the brightly burning sun.

  “Um, what’s the sun doing down here?” asked Dana.

  “I think it’s Abbadon’s doing,” I suggested.

  “How?” said Dana.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the same way he magically dissipated my supposedly impenetrable protective dome.”

  “True,” said Joe. “The smooth dude always seems to be one step ahead of you, Daniel.”

  “Two steps,” Dana corrected. “Maybe three.”

  “Gee, thanks for the pep talk, you guys. Come on. We need to find his hidey-hole.”

  Willy, the best drill sergeant you could hope for, turned to the nineteen military men who were still with us. “Gentlemen, you were awesome climbing that mountain. How do you feel about crossing a desert wasteland?”

  “An outstanding idea,” Lieutenant Russell said, working his way out of his harness and climbing gear. “Desert conditions don’t require nearly as much equipment.”

  “Hoo-ah!” shouted the rest of the squad as they started shedding their heavy climbing paraphernalia and winter parkas.

  “We push on?” Willy asked.

  “We push on,” acknowledged Lieutenant Russell.

  With Willy and me in the lead, my diminished squad began its long journey across the barren, parched plateau, which was crawling with giant scorpions, rattlesnakes, and poisonous spiders. The ground was riddled with cracks and fissures from baking beneath the withering heat of Abbadon’s underground sun—which, by the way, never budged. Joe pegged the temperature at 110 and holding steady.

  After hours of hiking, we noticed that the blazing ball was still holding its high-noon position in the sky. The strike force team members put on their military-issue wraparound shades and fashioned sweatbands out of fabric torn from their uniforms.

  Fortunately, I was able to keep everyone’s canteens filled with water just by imagining them full. But all the cool, refreshing water in the world couldn’t stave off the exhaustion brought on by the unrelenting sun.

  Eight hours into the desert trek, my lips were as dry and crackled as the ground we were crossing.

  You are being tested, Daniel, I heard my father say as he slowly faded into view beside me. This is all part of the game.

  You call this a game? I lost six troops back there, and a half dozen more are ready to drop.

  That may be true, but this is still the game that’s been played since the beginning of time.

  I remembered the games my friends and I used to play. The fun we had jetting around on high-performance motorcycles. Playing with the elephants on Alpar Nok. Our round of extreme horseshoes, right before Abbadon’s henchbeasts slipped through my defensive shield. What I wouldn’t give to go back to Agent Judge’s farm and play round two, only with Mel on my team this time.

  My father, of course, could read all my thoughts, including the ones I’d rather keep to myself. He put his steady hand on my shoulder.

  There is no turning back now, son. You must finally finish what we were sent here to do.

  His words were strong.

  His eyes were not.

  My father was fading. And fast.

  Chapter 68

  THE MORE WE walked, the worse my father looked. I slowed down so he could keep pace with me.

  “Everything okay, Daniel?” asked Dana.

  “Yeah.” I glanced over at her. The scar still marred her cheek. Now my father was barely able to keep up with me. What was going on with my powers to create?

  Both Dana and my dad were products of my imagination. Was my father’s deteriorating condition the result of my own deteriorating ability to generate his presence in the same way that Dana’s scar hinted at some serious flaw in my imagineering operating system?

  “We need to move a little faster, sir,” Lieutenant Russell whispered to me.

  Willy had finally spotted a patch of lush green foliage on the horizon. Some sort of oasis loomed one mile dead ahead.

  “We need to get these men into the shade of those trees ASAP.”

  I nodded. “Roger that.”

  I turned to my father, whom only I could see.

  Dad? We need to pick up the pace. Double-time it to those trees.

  My father looked drawn and haggard. His eyelids kept drooping shut, like he was sleepwalking. I swear he had aged fifty years in the last fifty minutes.

  Well, if you’re in such a dag-blasted hurry, go on without me, he snapped. I’ll catch up later.

  He sounded crankier than the crabby old man on Alpar Nok who used to sit on a park bench and yell at me for squealing too loud in my zero-gravity crib. This wasn’t the real Dad I’d known, and it wasn’t the imaginary Dad I usually created. Something was seriously wrong.

  “Willy?” I said.<
br />
  “Yeah?”

  “Lead everybody into that grove. I’ll catch up with you in a few.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Get moving.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Willy called out, “if we push ourselves for one more mile, I guarantee we can peel off our boots in a beautiful oasis and tickle our toes in a cool, refreshing stream!”

  “Hoo-ah!” the troops shouted as strongly as they could after climbing a mountain and crossing a desert. Chanting a running cadence, they trotted off after Willy, Joe, Dana, and Emma.

  My father and I were all alone at the rear of the march.

  “When we get to the oasis,” I said, “I’ll rest. Recharge my batteries. If I feel better, you’ll feel better.”

  “It’s not an oasis,” my father grumbled. “It’s a jungle.”

  “Well, it looks cooler than this desert plane.”

  “It’s full of insects, Daniel. Bugs. I hate bugs.”

  Of course he did.

  When Number 1 killed my father and mother, he came at them in the guise of a giant praying mantis.

  Was it any wonder my father had a thing about insects?

  Chapter 69

  WHEN WE FINALLY reached the jungle (yes, my father had been correct), the strike force had already pitched tents under the dense canopy of trees and set up camp for the night.

  I was about to drop my backpack to the ground and machete my way through a tangle of vines to do the same when my father shook his head.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “Everything.” He looked around, most likely surveying the average number of bugs per square inch in our current surroundings. “But not here. Follow me. And bring your backpack.”

  I followed my father through the dense underbrush. He led me to a sun-dappled clearing situated between four mammoth banyan trees with thick, woody trunks strangled by snaking air roots. My father sat cross-legged in front of me and gestured for me to sit down.

  “You see the four trees to the north, south, east, and west?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “They say Buddha achieved enlightenment while meditating under a banyan tree. So, too, shall you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As much as I’d like to stay with you, son, I can’t journey at your side forever. In the hours we have left, I need to tell you everything you must know.”

  “Okay…” This was weird; it meant that Dad knew a lot he’d never told me before. Why would he keep secrets from his only son?

  “Let’s start with the deity we know as Number 1,” he began. “For eons, this twisted god has been amused by the eternal struggle between good and evil, the never-ending battle of demons and angels, darkness and light.”

  “Destroyers versus creators,” I added.

  “Exactly. Number 1 has always favored the dark side, but more than anything, he enjoys watching a good fight between equally matched opponents. So, to keep things interesting, he pits the universe’s finest creators against its deadliest destroyers. It’s also why Number 1 gave us The List.”

  My jaw dropped. “Whoa. Wait a second. You expect me to believe that my ultimate nemesis, The Prayer, the creep who holds the number one ranking on The List of Extraterrestrial Outlaws on Terra Firma, is also the guy who gave us that list?”

  “Yes, Daniel. Believe it.” The silence of my overwhelming disbelief was pretty deafening. “In fact,” my father continued as I tried to absorb all of this, “Number 1 not only gave us The List but is also the one who constantly updates it.”

  I was glad I was sitting on the ground. Otherwise, I might’ve keeled over. This was absolutely incredible. For his twisted entertainment, Number 1 made sure that we Alien Hunters/Protectors from Alpar Nok always knew where to find the most hideous creatures from all over the galaxy, who had come to Terra Firma to spread death and destruction.

  “Did he enjoy watching me take down Attila outside the bat cave?” I asked.

  “I’m sure he did.”

  “And what about Number 19, back in Portland? The one that was part man, part jellyfish, and part chain saw?”

  “I’m sure Number 1 was greatly amused.”

  “So, what? He’s like Zeus up on Mount Olympus, looking down from his lofty throne and drooling with delight as mere mortals fight to the death for his enjoyment?”

  My father nodded. I thought about all the alien baddies I had hunted down and bumped off The List. Especially Number 6, the planet annihilator who, years earlier, had killed the real Dana, Willy, Joe, and Emma back on Alpar Nok.

  Now I was learning that my mission had been Number 1’s entertainment. My battles, struggles, and sorrows were all just exciting new episodes of this deranged deity’s favorite action-packed TV show.

  “When I refused to fight Number 2 in Kansas,” my dad continued, “Number 1 demanded that I give him back The List.”

  “Why didn’t you just call off the game and give it to him?”

  “Because I knew you would need The List to protect this planet, Daniel. The other side, the alien outlaws, had no intention of calling it quits. As we grow older, Daniel, we realize that, when things don’t go our way, we can’t just pack up our toys, call it quits, and head for home. If I had surrendered The List, Earth would have been destroyed several times over.”

  “I know. But if Number 1 really wants a fair fight between me and Number 2, why does The List draw a total and complete blank on Abbadon?”

  “Does it?”

  “Yeah. There’s nothing about his planet of origin, his—”

  “Look again, Daniel.”

  “What?”

  “No more secrets. The time has come. You need to know everything.”

  Chapter 70

  I REACHED INTO my backpack and pulled out the sleek, paper-thin laptop I hadn’t consulted since my last visit to the bat cave, when it kept coming up blank on Number 2.

  I swiped a fingertip across the glass screen and the ultra-secret Wiki about superpowered psychopathic aliens whirred to life.

  “Number 2,” said my father.

  The computer obeyed his command and started rapidly shuffling through its mug shots of alien outlaws like the flying-album-cover view on iTunes. Two seconds later, the montage stuttered to a stop on a hideous image of Number 2 in his full demon mode.

  Beneath the picture, I now saw tons of information.

  Number 2. AKA ABBADON, SATAN, THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS, THE DESTROYER, IBLIS, BEELZEBUB, ANGRA MAINYU…

  The Known Aliases list scrolled on for several pages. Apparently, The List had gone from knowing nothing all the way to TMI.

  KNOWN PHYSICAL APPEARANCES.

  I just skimmed this section, since I had already seen Number 2 shape-shift his way from winged-back demon to a smooth newscaster to the grim reaper. The guy was the great pretender, the great deceiver, and a quick-change artist.

  Finally, the screen filled with the information I had been desperate to discover.

  When I read it, I sort of wished it was still a blank.

  PLANET OF ORIGIN: Alpar Nok.

  I looked to my father. “He’s one of us?”

  “Yes, Daniel. He commands the same incredible powers that you do.”

  “He can use his imagination…”

  “… to destroy whatever you can create with yours. He can make you see things that aren’t really there. Think things that aren’t really true.”

  I nodded slowly as I mentally cataloged my own incredible superpowers. Not the standard comic book action-hero stuff, like my super speed, X-ray vision, and level-three strength. I didn’t even focus on my ability to rearrange matter and create whatever I could imagine.

  No, I was thinking about what my dad had just mentioned: how I can mess with minds. I can make people see things that aren’t really there, and think things that aren’t really true.

  So, apparently, could Number 2.

  Was my Alpar Nokian c
ousin playing mind games with me?

  Did the Washington Monument really come tumbling down, or was that image just in my head because Abbadon planted it there?

  I closed the laptop. There was no need to check out the list of Evil Deeds Done, as my father had already shown me the horrible things the one called the devil had done throughout human history.

  My father stood up. “Daniel, you now know all that you will need to know to complete our family’s mission on this planet.”

  My head was still spinning. “Number 2 is really one of us?”

  “He comes from the same planet, Daniel. But that does not mean he is the same as you and me.”

  “But Dad, how do we take down an Alpar Nokian who can match us move for move?”

  “That question has not yet been answered. You, Daniel, are the one to answer it. It is your destiny.”

  “But you’ll help me, right?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t need my help any longer, Daniel. It’s why my physical presence seemed to fade today. Why you saw me aging into a tired old man.”

  A single golden shaft of sunshine somehow beamed its way down through the thick canopy of jungle foliage over our heads and lit up our banyan-tree clearing.

  “Yeah, I didn’t want to say anything. I thought maybe you forgot to take your vitamins or something.”

  My father smiled. “My mission as your father is complete. My spirit must move on.”

  “But you’ll come back, right? Because even if I don’t need you anymore on this mission, we still need to hunt down Number 1 and—”

  “No, Daniel. This is our final conversation. I will not be returning to this realm, in body or spirit, ever again.”

  Impossible, I thought.

  No way could my father be totally abandoning me.

  Yes, physically, he died all those years ago back in Kansas. But spiritually, his presence has manifested itself whenever I’ve needed it to.

  “That’s just it, Daniel,” he said, having read every one of my jumbled, panicked thoughts. “You don’t need me anymore. You’re ready to live life on your own. You don’t have to imagine me back into existence. Use that energy for something more important.”