The Armageddon Prophecy

by Raymond Finkle

  That was why he had to pay the Messiah back. He wanted to show his gratitude. The Messiah had explained to him that, if he did this one thing, he would go to heaven. The Archangel liked thinking of that. He wanted to get into heaven and he knew that the Messiah would never lie to him. He wanted to make the Messiah proud. He had trained for this mission for a long time and he took it very seriously. He was glad to be of some use.

  The identification the Archangel carried was only to be used for emergencies. He had memorized the name. Johnny Page. He was proud of himself for remembering it. If anyone asked, this was what he told them. His name was Johnny, and he was a roadie. He carried an amplifier. The box held an amp for a guitar. The name of the band was God’s Will. It was even printed on his T-shirt.

  He was a roadie for God’s Will. That was his job. He wore ripped jeans and he had long, greasy hair and a baseball cap; the Messiah had told him he looked perfect for the part. He smiled thinking of that. He loved the Messiah, and he loved music. He listened to music all the time, so being a roadie was a good job for him. All he had to do was ride around on the subway. What could be easier? He enjoyed it. He got to do a job he liked, and to make a difference.

  He knew he was doing the right thing. The Messiah had told him so. He was doing the right thing, he loved his job, and he would make a difference.

  He was going to make a big, big difference.

  No one spoke after Reverend Santos delivered his apocalyptic statement, telling everyone that judgement day had come. There was dead silence for five seconds, and then everyone spoke at once. “What do you mean?” asked the dispatcher Moira Fitzgerald. She was overweight with curly black hair and glasses.

  “Should I be moving my family away from here?” asked Cody McDonough, and he stood up as if to go.

  “Everyone be quiet!” said Sheriff Edwards, and people complied. Then he said, “Reverend, can you explain a little more what any of this means? Please, everyone, just be patient. Father Santos, if what you’re saying is true…”

  “It’s true, I have no doubt whatsoever,” Reverend Santos said, “The only question is how they’re going to bring this about. I can tell you that they think today is the day, that much is clear. I just can’t tell you what they have planned, exactly—I can only speculate. However, I do know that they have been active overseas. This was relayed to me by Franklin Monteiro.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Cody.

  “We don’t know for certain,” Agent Gibbons answered for the Reverend. “Burke went overseas last spring with two other men. We thought it might be a recruiting trip. We tracked them to France, and from there they flew to India. We don’t know where they went after that.”

  “If it wasn’t for recruiting, what else could they have been doing?” asked Moira Fitzgerald.

  “This is all speculation, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” said Agent Gibbons, “But I think Reverend Santos is implying that the MCP was trying to obtain… well, why don’t you tell us, Reverend?”

  “Before he died,” Santos said, “Monteiro told me he was certain that they were building a bomb.” The room erupted in exclamations again, and the Sheriff had to bang on the table repeatedly. After a minute he was finally able to get everyone to be quiet again.

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” the Sheriff said, “All of this is pure speculation, based on… based on the words of a heroin addict who was scared and, on the run, plus the simple coincidence that today is the eighth day of the eighth month. But it’s not even the eighth year—”

  “The MCP has their own calendar,” Reverend Santos said, “They have made no secret of it. Like so much of what they teach, it is based on the hubris of a false prophet—”

  “What calendar? What are you talking about?” asked Moira Fitzgerald.

  “The calendar of the Messianic Cathedral of Penance, it’s a standard calendar—”

  “Based on what?” asked Moira, “They can’t just make up—” There were several other interruptions and finally the Sheriff called for silence again.

  “I will fully admit that I don’t know what the MCP is planning,” Reverend Santos said, “I can only tell you what Franklin Monteiro told me, and what I’ve discovered with my own research.”

  “Please, go on,” Gibbons said.

  “I know that the MCP instituted—mandated, rather—the use of a new calendar. It was based on the standard calendar—what we would call the Gregorian calendar—and from what I understand, the major changes were the addition of a holiday to celebrate the MCP itself—something known as the day of penance, that involved a ceremony of some kind. It was in place of Christmas, which they do not celebrate. They got rid of Christmas years ago, I’m not sure what the excuse was, but I think Burke wants his people to live in utter poverty, and gifts don’t fit into his agenda. As for the day of penance, I don’t have much information about it, but I can tell you it sounded like another excuse for Burke to abuse—”

  “Tell us about the calendar,” said Gibbons.

  “Very well. They instituted it at the same time that they put an end to Christmas and replaced it with this blasphemous holiday. There was an event, that they deemed a holy sign, that supposedly caused the calendar change. It was supposed to have changed everything, and when it happened, they ‘reset the clock’ so to speak. According to Monteiro, they were given a ‘Gospel’ that they had to study; it was a made-up ‘scripture’ that was written by Burke himself. It claimed there was a holy event written in the stars that caused Burke to rethink everything. It was the appearance of a comet—in the vicinity of Orion—that had renewed his faith and caused him to issue a proclamation. He declared that day to be a holiday, and that calendar year to be zero.”

  “And this… holy event… this celestial sign… it happened eight years ago?” Gibbons asked.

  “Exactly,” replied Reverend Santos, “And Burke claimed that the comet was a sign from God, and that Orion—which has eight stars—was another symbol of rebirth.”

  “I don’t like where this is headed,” said Cody.

  Gibbons turned to Reverend Santos. “Why did Monteiro think they’re building a bomb?”

  “He said that Burke had made references to it during his Sunday sermon, and numerous other times. He said it was never openly spoken of, but always there were euphemisms—they referred to ‘the great cleansing’ that would come about when the eight stars were aligned. It was supposed to happen on the eighth day of the eighth month of the eighth year. Apparently, they had a whole body of ‘research’ devoted to astrology and the signs that were contained in the stars.”

  “We don’t know if any of this is true—” said Moira.

  “We know that the MCP believes it to be true,” said Reverend Santos. “The true believers among them think that today is the end of the world. I’m certain of it. And, what’s more, the Bible verses—the very ones that were written on poor Franklin Monteiro—referred to the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. This is a literal reference to a city that has been reduced to ashes.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police earlier, if you suspected they were building a bomb?” asked Gibbons.

  “Franklin Monteiro just told me about his bomb suspicions earlier today, and Burke has been saying these things for years. Do you suppose that if I’d gone to the Sheriff and told him that when the eight stars were aligned on the eighth day of the eighth month, he would have taken me seriously?”

  “All right, all right,” the Sheriff said, “We’re not blaming you, Reverend. We can’t go back in time; we have to work with what we have.”

  “What we have, Sheriff,” Agent Gibbons said, “Is the fact that Burke is an obsessed madman, with thousands of devoted followers, plus a small army of armed guards led by this so-called ‘Seraphim,’ and they all appear to believe that the end of the world is here. And while no one seems to know exactly what the MCP is capable of from a technical standpoint, we all agree that they are committed to the cause of literally bringing about the end of the
world. Would you say that sums it up?”

  Sheriff Edwards said nothing. Everyone had gone quiet.

  “I do know that Burke went to several countries in Eastern Europe last spring,” Gibbons said. “Countries like Uzbekistan, that used to be part of the Soviet Union. That makes me nervous. If he was looking for nuclear material, that might be a good place to find it. And he isn’t on any terrorist watchlist, he isn’t wanted by Interpol. If I were him, I would try to bring some back on one of those jet planes—we know the MCP has quite a few. Admittedly, this is all conjecture, and I don’t mean to alarm people. Again, most of this is based on the ramblings of a heroin addict who was so confused that he joined the MCP, only to escape once he realized what he had gotten himself into.”

  “You never spoke with Franklin Monteiro, Agent Gibbons,” said Reverend Santos, “But I can assure you, he was many things, but confused was not one of them.”

  “That’s true,” said Emily, “He was as lucid as you and I are right now. I didn’t find any reason to doubt what he said.”

  “Great,” said Gibbons, “That makes it even more likely that the MCP is building a weapon of mass destruction.”

  Suddenly the door burst open and Deputy McCann came in.

  “Sheriff? I’m sorry, I know you said not to interrupt—but you’ve got to see this.”

  “What is it, Todd?” asked the Sheriff.

  “There’s a group of people outside. A big crowd—maybe fifty, I don’t know. I think they’re from the MCP—they’ve got those weird clothes on—and they’re chanting your name.”

  No one spoke. It was such a ridiculous statement, an obvious joke. There couldn’t be a mob of people outside. We had been sitting around a table—this bizarre group of law enforcement personnel and civilians—with a man of the cloth thrown in for good measure—all brought together by the Sheriff, mainly, as it turned out, to hear his confession. But then it had snowballed and suddenly we had started talking about horrifying theories, based on rumors—the MCP was building a bomb. The MCP thought the end of the world was today. The MCP was obsessed with bringing about judgement day and they might have a nuke.

  All of which was fine, really, because it was fantastic and theoretical. So, we could ignore it—undoubtedly today would come and go, just like any other day. Until, suddenly, we couldn’t ignore it, because a deputy had just barged into the meeting and claimed that there was an MCP mob outside.

  “What are you talking about, deputy?” asked the Sheriff.

  “I have to get in touch with D.C.,” said Agent Gibbons, who stood up.

  “Listen!” Moira Fitzgerald yelled. I could hear vague rhythmic noises which seemed to be getting louder. No one spoke, which made it all the more surreal, and the volume increased until there was no doubt as to what we were hearing. I couldn’t believe it. We all stared at one another until the words got so loud that we could no longer deny them.

  “THOMAS EDWARDS,” they chanted again and again, “THE TIME IS EIGHT, THOMAS EDWARDS, MEET YOUR FATE. THOMAS EDWARDS, THE TIME IS EIGHT, THOMAS EDWARDS, MEET YOUR FATE.”

  Deputy Todd McCann screamed “THEY’RE INSIDE!” and turned around at the door as gunfire erupted. He fell backwards onto the floor, blood pouring out of a large wound in his chest. His tan uniform blossomed crimson. He gasped for air and I knew instantly that he would die.

  My body seemed to have frozen in place, and while I may be able to calmly explain events in retrospect, at the time I was useless. For five seconds that seemed like an eternity, I sat in my chair as events unfolded around me. Since I was unable to believe what was happening, purposeful movement was, apparently, out of the question. I like to think I’m not a coward—it’s just that I was too shocked to move. Luckily, the reflexes of the law enforcement officers in the room saved my life.

  Agent Gibbons was the nearest person to the door. He saw what happened to Deputy McCann close up. A split second after McCann’s body fell, Gibbons drew his weapon from his shoulder holster and fired six times in rapid succession. I was on the far side of the table and couldn’t see his targets on the other side of the door.

  Sheriff Edwards drew his gun and backed up to the wall. Only Gibbons had a clear view of what was outside the door. Cody flipped the table onto its side for cover as he and Emily drew their guns. Gibbons yelled, “Close it! You’re clear!” and Sheriff Edwards shut the door. There was no lock, so he kept his gun ready. By this time, I had overcome my paralysis and went over to the injured Deputy McCann.

  He lay on his back. The beige rug on that entire side of the room had turned a deep red. His bleeding had slowed considerably because there was no blood left in him. I saw his ashen face and his shallow breathing, and I knew that there was nothing I could do to save him.

  I bent over him and said, “Is there any message I can deliver for you?” because I wanted him to have the solace of having a last message delivered to his loved ones. But as I looked in his blank eyes and I heard him take two more breaths, I knew that he had been unconscious when I said it. I looked up and saw that Emily was looking over at me. I shook my head. He was dead.

  Things began moving fast. The Sheriff said, “Everyone follow me. Don’t stop for anything.” He ran over to the other door on the opposite side of the room and stood to the side, counted to three, and flung it open as Gibbons and the deputies readied themselves to fire. The door opened to an empty hall going perhaps a hundred feet towards the back of the Sheriff’s Department. There were multiple doors, presumably offices, on either side of the corridor. The Sheriff said nothing but just waved for everyone to follow and then ran down the hall.

  We all went after him. It had only been a few minutes, but the meeting where we had been discussing the theoretical intentions of the MCP seemed like a lifetime ago. We ran—even Reverend Santos was able to go fairly quickly—until we got to the far door. We passed several offices and storage rooms, but I didn’t see anything that looked like an escape route. Then Sheriff Edwards paused and listened at the far door. He motioned to get everyone down, then counted to three again as the others got read to fire. He threw the door open.

  Again, there was nothing, and Sheriff Edwards ran through the door as we all followed. We emerged into a large, open room that comprised the entire back half of the Department building. The Sheriff, of course, knew exactly where to go, and he didn’t hesitate. He passed right by a glowing red sign that said ‘EXIT’ and instead, he went a little further down and opened up a different door. He drew a key from his pocket and punched some numbers into a keypad. Then the reinforced steel door opened, and the Sheriff motioned for us all to wait while he stepped inside. We formed a line as the Sheriff handed out the rifles which were passed from person to person. Then he led us to a table, and we all stood around it.

  There were seven of us, and now we all had either shotguns or rifles, plus the handguns that Gibbons, the Sheriff, Emily and Cody all carried. We stood at the table and Sheriff Edwards paused to show me and Moira how to load the weapons and where the safeties were. Most of it was review for Moira, but for me it was all new. So, I got a sixty-second-long firearms safety course during which I learned the basics of the Colt M-4 semi-automatic carbine. I have to admit, it was love at first sight.

  Reverend Santos refused to carry a weapon. Gibbons pointed out that we were battling a cult that was ‘trying to destroy the world as we know it,” but the priest merely shrugged and said that he was a man of God and not a killer. Gibbons could see it was no use and didn’t press the issue.

  Now, the other six of us were armed to the teeth, including pockets stuffed full of ammunition. Sheriff Edwards picked up a handheld radio and announced, “This is Sheriff Thomas Edwards of the Hawk Claw Sheriff’s Department. I’m issuing a distress call for any law enforcement or emergency personnel who hear this. We are under attack. The Hawk Claw Sheriff’s Department is under attack. We believe it may be the MCP, the Messianic Cathedral of Penance. They have already killed one deputy and they are armed. Send H
ELP NOW.” He repeated the same message once more and then put the radio back on his belt. There was no response. “I’m pretty sure they took out our dispatcher,” he said. “He was in the front of the building and he’s not responding.” This didn’t reassure anyone.

  “Don’t you have other officers?” asked Gibbons. “Where is everyone?”

  “This is Hawk Claw County, Agent Gibbons. We’ve only got five deputies,” Sheriff Edwards said. “And Richardson and Meyers are off duty tonight.” He motioned for us to follow.

  We were at the back of the building. There were two doors—one on each side of the fifty-foot-wide room, marked by red ‘EXIT’ signs. Presumably the MCP had surrounded the building, but we didn’t hear any more chanting and there were no windows here. We gathered around the exit door nearest to us and Sheriff Edwards said, “My truck is only twenty feet from this door, and we can fit everyone in the pickup bed.”

  Gibbons said, “Let’s just wait a minute, we don’t know what’s on the other side of that door. Your deputy said that fifty people were outside—we should stay put and wait for back up.”

  “Back up from where?” asked the Sheriff. “The nearest department is fifty miles away. It would take them an hour to get here, probably longer.”

  Gibbons took out his phone. “Let me see what I can do,” he said and began pushing buttons. However, he hadn’t even completed the dialing process when we all smelled it—faint at first but rapidly getting stronger until it was unmistakable.

  “Smoke,” the Sheriff said, “They’ve set the place on fire.”

  That seemed to be a breaking point for Moira Fitzgerald, who began to cry. Reverend Santos attempted to comfort her. The rest of us seemed to pause as we looked at one another. I remember thinking what a strange group we were, in such a bizarre situation. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, I thought, I wonder what Janet is doing right now.