Armageddon

by James Patterson

  “But—”

  My father held up a hand to gently silence me. “Before I depart, I want you to know something, son: I’m extremely proud of you.”

  I felt a huge lump in my throat.

  “After what happened in Kansas, no one would’ve blamed you if you went into hiding for the rest of your life. Instead, you found The List and set out to fulfill your own Alien Hunter destiny. Along the way, you’ve done for complete strangers what no one could ever do for you. I’m so sorry you had to grow up all on your own, Daniel. I truly am. But you know what?”

  I managed to get out a faint “What, Dad?”

  “You did an amazing job.”

  All I could do was choke back my tears as my father’s body seemed to start glowing, like a radiant sheet of gauze.

  And then he said his last words: “It has been my honor and privilege, my greatest accomplishment, to have been part of your life.”

  That was it. My father became a shaft of golden light and disappeared into the dusty sunbeam illuminating our secluded grove.

  In my heart, I knew the truth: he would never be coming back.

  Chapter 71

  ALL THAT WAS left of my father was a faint sprinkling of silvery dust.

  I stood there staring down at it, trying to make him come back, focusing all my creative energy on one task that used to be so simple—bringing him back.

  Because I forgot to tell my father how much I loved him.

  “He knows,” my mother said as she drifted into the lush tropical garden. “Those ashes are the physical remains of his essence, Daniel. His soul has already moved on to its next great adventure.”

  “This isn’t fair. He can’t die on me again. I can’t lose my father twice!”

  “That’s one way to look at it, I suppose,” said my mother. “Or, Daniel, you could marvel at how fortunate you were, for so many years, to have the power to be with him even after he died. Think of how many people, young and old alike, would do anything to have a second chance with their departed fathers and mothers.”

  I nodded. She was right.

  “Let’s gather up his ashes,” said my mother. I heard a slight catch in her voice.

  “Are you okay, Mom?” I asked. It was kind of a dumb question, under the circumstances.

  In fact, she was starting to look older, too. Her golden hair seemed thinner. Less shiny. Grayer.

  “Help me, Daniel.”

  I steadied her by the elbow as she knelt on the ground and lovingly scooped up the feathery ashes, placing them in the crook of a fallen banyan-tree leaf. I knelt beside her and helped.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

  “Thank you, Daniel. By the way, have I ever told you how much I love you?”

  “Only every day. And I love you, too, Mom.”

  “I know, dear. Your father knew it, too.”

  She folded up the leaf holding my father’s scant ashes.

  I stood and once again steadied her as she creaked up from the ground.

  “I sensed death was coming,” she said with a sigh. “I just didn’t know for whom.”

  “I was hoping it would be Abbadon.”

  “One day it will be his turn. None of us are gods, Daniel. We are not immortal.”

  “What about Number 1, The Prayer?”

  “Yes, you’re correct. That creature is different.”

  “He’s probably watching us right now.”

  “Then let’s show him how much we loved your father. Let’s cast his ashes to the winds. We all came from stardust, and to stardust we must return.”

  My mother opened the folded leaf and blew a breath across the grayish powder that had once been my father. The wind carried it away and, when it hit that single shaft of sunshine, I swear the tiny particles sparkled like a galaxy of stars.

  “And now, Daniel, I must ask you to do the same for me.”

  My heart sank to my sneakers. “What do you mean?”

  “Your father and I were soul mates, eternally linked across all time and all dimensions. When one soul leaves a realm, its soul mate will never be too far behind.”

  Now she became translucent, just like my father had; her body was a glowing paper lantern of golden light.

  “Wait,” I said. “Don’t leave me all alone.”

  “You’re never alone, Daniel. We’ll always be with you.”

  She disintegrated into a sparkling cloud and drifted off on the wind. When her dust hit the sunbeam, the sandy particles glittered for an instant, then disappeared.

  My mother wouldn’t need me to collect her ashes. She was already on the wind and, like my father, wouldn’t be coming back.

  Suddenly I felt the same way I’d felt when I was three years old. Racked with shuddering sobs, I felt the same gut-wrenching agony I had felt when The Prayer stole into our Kansas home and took away every good and happy thing I had ever known.

  I had just been orphaned for the second time and, believe me, it hurt just as much as the first time. Maybe more. Because I had been given the chance to know my parents as people.

  I heard a rustle in the underbrush. I looked to my right and saw Lieutenant Russell.

  He came closer and stood beside me. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

  We were two warriors who dealt with death on a daily basis. And yet we both knew that some deaths hurt more than others.

  Because the souls closest to our own take some of us with them when they leave.

  Chapter 72

  UNDER ORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES, I would have given myself a little more time to mourn my father and mother.

  But I was operating in the anything-but-ordinary zone known as the underworld, a parallel landscape lying miles beneath the surface of the Earth. After what felt like days spent climbing ice-capped mountains and crossing a barren desert, I was certain we weren’t under West Virginia any longer. Joe’s best guess, after he consulted his geotracker app, was that we were somewhere under Mexico. Or the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Or maybe Canada.

  Apparently, the churning movement of the Earth’s liquid core was playing havoc with the magnetic field and throwing off the accuracy of all his compass readings.

  Now, two hours after my parents made their final exits, my friends, my remaining troops, and I had trekked through the sweltering jungle and stood at what looked like the vine-covered entrance to a Mayan temple. One slab of the igneous rock basalt—lava that had been heaved up and rapidly cooled—stood supported, Stonehenge style, by two other basalt columns, forming a doorway into the darkness. The gray, oblong blocks had strange hieroglyphics chiseled into them, symbols that even I, with my encyclopedic knowledge of runes and symbology, couldn’t translate.

  “This cave definitely needs a crate of Tic Tacs,” Joe said as a stench that went beyond putrid surged out of the cavern’s mouth.

  “Or we could hose it down with a tanker truck full of Listerine,” suggested Dana.

  The suffocating stink was, we suspected, strong enough to kill. Two soldiers who had volunteered to scout the entryway passed out, succumbing to the noxious fumes.

  “Gas masks!” shouted Willy. Those of us still standing slapped on our protective gear.

  When we raced forward to retrieve our comrades, jets of gaseous dragon fire shot out of the tunnel as if it were a gigantic blowtorch.

  “Erm, Daniel,” said Joe, when the firestorm finally subsided, “maybe now would be a good time to turn back?”

  “What?”

  “Well, my friend, I think we’ve discovered the actual gates of hell.”

  “Not a place that’s ever been on my must-see list of earthly attractions,” added Dana.

  “Abbadon is down there,” I said.

  “Daniel and I are going in,” announced Willy. “Who’s coming with us?”

  “I guess this is why they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Joe quipped as he stepped up to join us.

  Emma and Dana were right behind Joe, with Dana remarking, “It’s
like they say: If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

  Lieutenant Russell and the remaining members of the strike force fell in behind my friends.

  We were all moving forward. Together, to the end.

  As we entered the eerie gloom of the sweltering shaft, each member of my squadron knew the harsh truth hanging over our heads: another fire blast could shoot up the tunnel at any moment and incinerate us alive.

  Because this wasn’t just a parallel world.

  This was a parallel nightmare.

  Chapter 73

  AS WE JOURNEYED deeper into the unknown, we started encountering trapped souls of the damned.

  The first group—whom we encountered in a chamber where Joe pegged the temperature at 120 degrees Fahrenheit—were people who, basically, did nothing in life. They weren’t good, but they weren’t really evil, either. They didn’t even bemoan their eternal fate in this sweatbox. They were blasé blobs.

  I remembered what Dante had written: “The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality.”

  “Let’s keep moving,” I called out to my squad, all of whom were gawking at the silent specters surrounding us. The souls of the “uncommitted” swatted at wasps and hornets swarming around their heads. They tried to swipe away the maggots and leeches ferociously sucking on their flesh.

  We left them to their eternal misery.

  After passing through this vestibule, we boarded a ferry-boat and crossed a black underground river.

  “Next stop, hell,” droned the ferry pilot. “Hell is next.”

  I looked at Lieutenant Russell. He actually grinned. We were both remembering the vow he’d made after our martial arts match: Heck, kid—I’d follow you into hell itself.

  We now entered a series of terraced, circular rooms spiraling down in receding levels. It was kind of like the Guggenheim Museum in New York City—only the walls were black and slick and slimy.

  The first circle was crowded with souls who simply looked lost or confused.

  “I did nothing wrong!” cried a woman. “Why am I stuck in limbo?”

  The second circle down was full of those who had been overcome by lust. I recognized a few dead politicians and celebrities, all famous for cheating on their spouses.

  We continued down the wraparounds, as if we were trying to get out of a parking garage.

  The next circular chamber was filled with souls wallowing in filth, like pigs, while raw sewage dribbled on their heads.

  “Why are you here?” I called out.

  “In life I was a glutton. I ate like a pig. All day, every day!”

  I realized that Dante had been spot-on in his description of the circles of hell. So, having uploaded his masterwork into my memory banks at the age of six, I knew that beneath the gluttons would come the avaricious and the prodigal; that is, people who had spent their lives chasing money. In hell, they had to chase after one another with giant boulders.

  The level below that, the fifth circle, was a swampy place—an open cesspool where those whose lives had been filled with rage had to wrestle one another in a pool of chunky brown muck. If you ever visit the fifth circle of hell, trust me—you want to pack nose plugs.

  We looped down to the sixth circle, which was filled with heretics (those who disagreed with official Church teachings), and wound our way into the several sub-rings of the seventh circle, where all sorts of violent souls were spending eternity splashing around in a river of boiling blood. In every circle, consequences were paid in death for choices made in life.

  “Um, Daniel,” whispered Dana, “can we pick up the pace?”

  “Please,” Emma agreed. “This is like a freaky seven-ring circus.”

  “It’s amazing,” I remarked as we entered a vast, open space I knew had to be Dante’s Abyss. “He got it all right.”

  “Who?” asked Joe.

  “Dante.”

  “Why are you so amazed, Daniel?” purred a smooth voice from the darkness. It wasn’t any of my friends. Unfortunately, I recognized it all too well.

  Abbadon!

  “Of course he got it right. Signor Dante came to visit, and he took excellent notes.”

  Finally, Abbadon (or Number 2, Satan, Lucifer, or Beelzebub—the guy had more names than a champion show dog) stepped into the dim light of the cavernous room. All I could see of his face were two red eyes glowing in the black circle beneath the hood of his robe. Apparently, Abbadon was going with his grim reaper look again.

  “And now, finally,” he said with a sigh, “you are here. Welcome, Daniel. Welcome!”

  I could hear his raspy, rumbling breath quicken in anticipation.

  “By the way, I heard about your mommy and daddy. What a pity they both had to die—again. On the same day. Again.”

  In the blackness beneath his hood, I could now see his slick teeth glisten as his lizard lips slid up into a smile.

  And then he laughed.

  It was the most hideous laughter I have ever heard.

  Chapter 74

  WE WERE ONCE again engulfed by a swarm of Abbadon’s loyal followers.

  My friend Lieutenant Russell pulled out his wicked-looking survival knife. One edge of the blade was razor sharp; the other was serrated for sawing into meat. He meant to take down as many henchbeasts as he could before they opened fire and splattered his guts against the cave walls.

  “Stand down,” I ordered.

  “We can take these guys, Daniel,” Willy encouraged me. “There’s only, what? A couple thousand of ’em?”

  Okay, you have to admire Willy’s fighting spirit, if not his odds-making abilities. But we were totally outnumbered, and I couldn’t bear to see any more brave souls die on this journey.

  We had found Abbadon. As far as I was concerned, the quest was over. It was time for Number 2 and me to give Number 1 the fight he had been craving for centuries: Daniel vs. Abbadon. Two evenly matched Alpar Nokians in a one-on-one, no-holds-barred, knock-down-drag-out fight.

  “This is between him and me,” I said.

  “I agree,” Abbadon declared, raising his cloaked arm and flicking his wrist.

  My four friends and the remnants of Agent Judge’s strike force vanished.

  “Where are they?” I demanded.

  “Let’s see… the four imaginary figments of your childhood friends have once again drifted off to their own special limbo. The others? Well, Daniel, I sent them back to the surface of this dying planet so they can experience, firsthand, the final moments of its miserable existence.”

  Chapter 75

  I WAS SURROUNDED by Abbadon’s drooling thugs, but with another flick of his wrist, all of his minions disappeared, too.

  It was just him and me, staring at each other across the cavernous void.

  I had no friends, no family, no strike force. I had never been so completely, utterly alone.

  Number 2’s red-hot eyeballs throbbed with excitement. I heard a wet smack as his tongue slid across his lips.

  The devil was so ready to give me my due.

  To make matters even worse, I couldn’t imagine any possible escape. I had no idea how to defeat this beast who could match me move for move, weapon for weapon, transformation for transformation, while seeming to have absolutely no weaknesses of his own.

  Suddenly, a last-ditch idea came to me.

  Like all those about to enter the arena to face their fiercest rivals, I needed to study my opponent’s game films. I flashed back to what my father had said when he’d filled the walls of the barn with flickering images of Number 2’s evil exploits:

  Study him, Daniel. Study everything he does—and I mean everything. Every movement, every gesture, every telling smile. Look for his weaknesses.

  It was time, once again, to follow my father’s advice.

  So, first I said a quick prayer that Number 1 hadn’t (as he had in the past) put up a disruption field around the planet to prevent time travel.

  And
then I dove under the rippling surface of the temporal plane and zoomed back to 1942, when Abbadon rode with the Nazis in Amsterdam.

  Chapter 76

  I WAS HOPING to meet Miep Gies.

  Hey, I knew that studying Abbadon’s past actions (killing, looting, plundering, and causing global devastation) was going to be pretty tough. At least I could try to restore my faith in humanity by seeking out one of history’s heroines while I was at it.

  Miep Gies was one of the Dutch citizens who hid Anne Frank, her family, and several other Jews from the Nazis during World War II. She was also the woman who found and preserved Anne Frank’s diary after the Franks were arrested in their hiding place—a secret attic above Mr. Frank’s spice factory in Amsterdam.

  Gies and her helpers could have been executed if they had been caught hiding Jews. But they did what they knew was right. You don’t find those kinds of souls wandering around in Abbadon’s circles of doom.

  I was walking up Amsterdam’s Prinsengracht, the longest of the city’s main canals, toward number 263—the building where Mr. Frank had his spice mills and warehouse. I glanced at a newspaper drifting across the cobblestones. It was August 4, 1944.

  Not the date I would have picked.

  “Why not?” crooned a voice behind me.

  I whipped around.

  It was Abbadon. He was right on my tail!

  “Did you really think you would find my weaknesses in the past, Daniel? Such a foolish boy. The past contains some of my greatest victories! This day in particular has always been one of my favorites,” he sneered. “This is the day in the Frank family saga that clearly proves my point: evil always triumphs. If it didn’t, hell wouldn’t need so much real estate.”

  I heard a commotion up the street. Nazi soldiers and gestapo men in black trench coats were storming into canal house 263.