Emily got in the driver seat. She had screamed something at me as she threw the rifle into the back. And that’s when the first dog came over the top of the ridge.
Cody stood quickly, turned to his left and fired. At close range the bullets tore it apart. I saw blood and heard the thud of flesh being ripped apart. The first dog went down with a yelp and then Cody was back peddling as he fired. I started screaming.
“CODY!” I yelled, “RUN!”
But it was too late. He was still forty feet from us, and he had time to change his clip right before the first wave of animals came over the crest of the mountain. And it was then that I knew Cody would die, even before the dogs got him. There were twenty of them, far too many for us to shoot, and they moved like lightning. Their faces looked like wolves, but their bodies were thick with muscle like a pit bull. They were some new breed of evil.
Cody pivoted quickly and his weapon blazed again and again killing four of them and then one went airborne and caught him in the back as he turned to face it. The sheer weight of the beast knocked him over and I knew he was dead, a large group of them tearing at him, all of them fighting to get a piece of the brave man who had refused to leave his post.
I cried out as I watched Cody go down in an agonizing moment that seemed to last forever. I fired the M-4 at the pack of snarling demons, taking out several dogs in three quick satisfying bursts. Then I closed the pickup gate and sprang into the bed of the Chevy and we were moving again. I turned to face rearwards and began firing at the creatures chasing us. We had killed quite a few, but we still had a dozen of them chasing us.
I had time to think, Why did Cody stay? There were too many of them! And then we were going too fast for the terrain again, accelerating even as one of them got close enough to jump at me. I shot it point blank in the head, a lucky shot. It fell to the ground and the rest of the pack trampled its corpse as they sprinted after us. They didn’t seem to have any fear of death. They were, as far as I could see, mindless killers.
Luckily, Emily had gotten some speed up, and she had put a little distance—maybe fifty feet—between us and the pack, which gave me time to reload another clip into the rifle. I resumed firing, propping my rifle on the gate, but I was getting bounced up and down and it made it very hard to aim. Some of my shots went way up in the air, and some went straight into the ground—but the ones in-between usually found some wolf-dog flesh to sink into.
Emily had been driving like a madwoman—like any good Coloradoan, she had plenty of off-roading experience—plus we had had the advantage of a gentle downhill slope with reasonable terrain, so we had moved quickly away from the summit. This had increased our distance from the pack—they were nearly fifty yards away now, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Which was the exact moment when we suddenly slowed down and screeched to a stop.
I felt the rise of panic in my stomach, and I resisted the urge to turn around. All I knew was that the dogs were racing towards us and I had to kill every one of them or else we would all end up like Cody. As I fired, I yelled, “WHY ARE WE STOPPED?”
I got no answer, but we began moving again and I watched as several more dogs went down in a dust cloud of fur and blood. Suddenly we were crawling to the right of the trail, and I couldn’t fire because I had to literally hang on to the side of the truck to keep from falling out. We were tilted sideways and for a second I thought we would flip. Emily had gone off the trail—not that there had been much of a trail to begin with—and we were on a 45-degree angle clinging to the side of the mountain. We went around a gigantic boulder—it was the size of a house—that blocked the route. We were crawling at a snail’s pace.
I counted every second because I knew that the dogs were still coming—and then we were turned upwards again, scrambling to regain the trail, rocks flying out from behind the wheels. I was able to stabilize myself enough to resume firing. The dogs began to stream from around the boulder and I braced my legs against the rear gate as I swiveled the rifle back and forth, taking out each dog as it came around the rock. Five more dogs met their fate that way. Then one of them was on top of the massive boulder, silhouetted against the sky—and just as quickly as it appeared, I took aim and it fell twenty feet to the ground. That made me smile.
We had regained the trail by now and I was no longer worried about falling out of the vehicle. I suddenly had an idea. Without pausing to think, I yelled, “STOP,” as loud as I could, and Emily slammed on the brakes. I grabbed three ammo clips and jumped out of the truck.
“GO!” I yelled as I ran to a nearby tree. It was a tall evergreen with dozens of thick branches. I stuffed the clips in my back pockets, slung the rifle over my shoulder, and began climbing. I was trying to keep an eye out for dogs coming around the boulder. I didn’t see any, but it was much slower than I had imagined and I was barely off the ground when a dog came sprinting out from behind the boulder, moving quickly down the trail. I was unprepared—off balance, holding on with both hands, unable to aim the rifle and simply hoping that I didn’t fall and break a leg.
I watched helplessly as my mind filled with terror. I was going to be torn apart, just like Cody. My plan had failed and it would cost me my life. I screamed as the dog closed the distance in a matter of seconds.
Then I heard the rat-tat-tat of the AR-15 and I saw Moira Fitzgerald sitting in the bed of the truck, blasting away with the machine gun and, for some reason, screaming back at me while she did it. The dog collapsed in a heap before it even got close to me. I realized that the truck had stopped—I had meant for them to keep on going—and I shouted something, trying to get them to move along, but Moira just yelled, “SHUT UP! YOU’LL GIVE AWAY YOUR POSITION!” which was so unexpected that I did exactly as she said.
Three more wolf-dog hybrids came running and Moira picked them off easily. Then there was silence again and I took the opportunity to securely position myself and aim the M-4 at the base of the boulder. I was finally ready for anything that came around the corner. And in that moment, I thought, There’s no way they’ll come around this blind corner—it’s the perfect ambush—they must know that—they’ll be sitting ducks if they come this way.
And right at that moment the first truck came around the bend. It was hard to believe they could be so stupid. The grey pickup was struggling to make it back up onto the trail when Moira and I unleashed upon it. Bullets riddled the truck and the driver lost control. It banked hard on the steep terrain and rolled over. The crunching noises echoed through the trees. I could see a dark figure behind the wheel getting tossed about. The pickup rolled six or seven times until it finally came to rest on its roof. It was now fifty feet below us. Flames began to lick at the passenger compartment as the fuel ignited. There was no movement—whoever had been in there was either dead or dying. If our bullets hadn’t killed them, the fire would.
I assumed the last MCP truck wouldn’t make the same mistake but right then they came around the bend. Moira and I each emptied a clip into it. But this time, the result was very different. There were no bullet holes in the windshield—there was no apparent effect whatsoever. The truck just kept coming. I noticed then that it was different—this was not the same grey MCP pickup as the others—this one was bigger, and meaner.
I understood then that it was armored; it was bulletproof. I fired at the tires, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. The monster truck just kept coming. I swore loudly and scrambled to get down from the tree. Suddenly I felt very vulnerable up there. I was an easy target.
I heard Emily screaming “GET OUT NOW!” as Moira leapt from the pickup bed. Then Emily’s truck accelerated backwards. It was going way too fast—I was worried she would lose control. I held my breath. The other truck—the armored vehicle—was at a dangerous angle as it tried to get back onto the road. Just as it crested the edge of the trail, Emily slammed her vehicle’s rear end into it. There was a tremendous reverberation from the impact. I clung to the tree, my rifle slung over my shoulder, my jaw hanging open. The bulletp
roof MCP truck had been at a precarious angle, and Emily had managed to push it onto its back. The giant vehicle started rolling over and over. It gained speed on the steep grade and took out two small trees as it rolled about ten times before finally coming to rest on its roof.
Smoke was pouring out of the wreck, and the driver door was open. The roof was partly crushed, and there was a body lying nearby. They had been ejected from the vehicle during the roll-over.
“I’M COMING DOWN!” I yelled to Moira. I was on the lookout for dogs, but I saw none. I got to the bottom of the tree and turned around and raised my rifle quickly, expecting to have to fire it—but no more dogs came, and I went over to Moira. We could see Emily in the driver seat of the pickup that was perched halfway off the trail. She gave us both a thumbs up sign.
“Keep your guard up,” I said, “I’m going to have a look.”
“Be careful,” Moira said.
I started down the embankment, carefully stepping on the loose rocks, trying not to stumble in the scree field. The sun was blazing, and I squinted against the glare. As I got near the wreck, I saw a uniformed guard—one of the Justified—inside the vehicle, his arms twisted at impossible angles. His head was misshapen and the closer I got, the more I knew he could not be alive. He had been crushed.
There was still another body lying beside the overturned pickup. I looked and saw the man’s arm move slightly. I yelled “DON’T MOVE OR I’LL SHOOT,” and I heard him respond with a low chuckle. He was laughing. I could tell that he was badly injured, and I couldn’t imagine what was so funny. Then I saw that he was wearing a cloak of some kind that still clung to his neck. His clothes were some bizarre old-fashioned costume, like he was a soldier from the 1800’s, with high leather boots and elaborate buttons on his shirt. Even before he spoke, I knew who he must be. And then I was close enough to hear him speak.
“I am the Seraphim,” he said to me, “You must listen to my confession.”
Chapter 16
“You’re not Catholic,” I said to the Seraphim, “I thought you don’t believe in confession.” In response, he began laughing again.
“I think you’ll find someday, Dr. O’Neill, when you are on your deathbed, as I am now, that it doesn’t matter what religion you are.” I was shocked that he knew my name, and surprised by what he had said—wasn’t he a religious fanatic?
“I was under the impression you were pretty particular about your religious beliefs,” I said. Again, he laughed.
“Yes, sarcasm is a good thing,” he said, “Life is something that must be laughed at, for otherwise, one might be driven insane by it.” He laughed some more. I was standing over him, holding a loaded rifle, and I could see that he was bleeding badly. I knew he must have a chest wound from how he was breathing—or else he had broken some ribs during the crash.
“This is your chance,” I said, “So… go ahead. Confess.” As I said it, I heard rocks scraping above me and I saw Emily coming down the slope toward us.
“Confess…” he said, dreamily, “I hardly know where to begin. When I was seventeen, I murdered my father and ran away—the details don’t matter, but he deserved to die, I can assure you. That was when Burke found me, and took me in. This was twenty years ago, and I was quite lost. Burke showed me a different way. There was no more abuse, there was nothing but unconditional giving. He gave me something I never had before—a real home. Lucas Burke is like a father to me, but he is far greater than that—for I know how pathetically selfish fathers can be. He is more like God. And so, when I found him, I knew that the thing that was wrong with me—the thing that my biological father had instilled in me—I knew that I could overcome it.”
Emily made it down to us after stumbling one last time on the rocks. We looked at one another and I think the look on my face said everything that needed to be said. The Seraphim kept talking.
“Welcome, Deputy,” he said, “You’ve arrived just in time to hear my dying words. Dr. O’Neill will have to fill you in on the beginning, I’m afraid. I was just saying how Lucas Burke is, as hard as this may be for you to believe, the one true prophet. He is the chosen one. I won’t waste my last few minutes on earth trying to convince you of what I know to be true. Let me just say this. Lucas Burke will not only change this world; he will save it. He is guided from above. The things that I have done… the horrible things I have been forced to do… they have all had a reason, a higher purpose. They were not random acts of violence. I am the one who must perform the acts of vengeance that no one else will do, because Burke chose me for the task and I have tried to fix what is wrong with this wretched world.”
“So, you murdered all those people in the name of God?” I asked. “How did you do it? Did you burn that poor girl’s lungs? Did you make her breathe in smoke from a fire? How did you brand her like that? How can you call yourself a Holy man?” I asked him all these questions rapid fire, not giving him time to answer. Again, he chuckled—but this time there was a gurgling sound as he did it. He coughed and a little blood came up.
“Mary Sorrow was a prostitute,” he coughed, “And for that sin she had to die.”
“Right, but not the men who patronized her, right?” Emily asked. He laughed again.
“You are correct, Deputy, in pointing out the hypocrisy of man. But I don’t make the rules, I merely enforce them. And when Burke finally let me serve him in the way I was meant to, there was no greater joy for me. I had been waiting for that moment. I built equipment specifically for that purpose. And I first used my device on Mary Sorrow, that ungrateful harlot. One does not join the Messianic Cathedral of Penance and then simply decide to quit when it is no longer convenient. By being allowed into our family, you are being blessed with eternal righteousness. So, if an angel falls from heaven and joins Satan, it is I who must retrieve them. I was chosen by the Messiah himself. He told me to build an inhaler—a so-called ‘vaporizer’, of the kind that weak souls like Franklin Monteiro use for smoking drugs. It was easy enough to modify a propane burner and increase the temperature output. I placed Mary’s lips on the mouthpiece and held her nose so that she had no choice but to inhale the wrath of God. And then I branded her with the Lord’s words and no, I didn’t give her any mercy. It was, admittedly, quite crude—I used the device to heat up cast iron letters. And later, I used them on Ezekiel Abraham, that treacherous ingrate. I tied them all down and burned the scripture into their skin. When I found Monteiro, he was nearly unconscious with heroin running through his veins, so, unfortunately, he was not awake.”
“You tied them down while you branded them?” asked Emily, “Don’t you see how sick you are? God doesn’t condone what you’ve done. You will NOT be forgiven. You’re about two minutes away from going straight to hell.” At this, the Seraphim laughed again, and more blood came up, so he spat it out with his response.
“One thing is for certain, Deputy,” he said, “We will know soon enough whether I am going to heaven or hell. But there can be no doubt that I am right about one thing. Lucas Burke is a righteous man, and he is the one true prophet. And the device that I built pales in comparison to the device that Burke has built. Soon, you will see. Soon, you will understand. For Burke has built something that will change the world, irrevocably.”
“What has Burke built?” I asked.
“I think you already know, doctor. For we discovered the conspirators, and I know that pictures were sent. I must admit, I was impressed when I found that the FBI had infiltrated our family, and they even paid enough money to that traitor Taylor to make him betray us. Well, no matter. I dealt with both of them accordingly. That’s why I was delayed. I couldn’t participate in the retribution at the Sheriff’s office because I was dealing with Taylor and Hannaford. It took surprisingly long for me to force them to talk, but now neither of them will talk again. Nothing can stop the Messiah now. You will soon see. Jesus Christ was not the true prophet. His teachings were well intended but misguided. Lucas Burke is the one true Messiah. And soon enough, y
ou will all know it.”
“Where’s the bomb?” asked Emily. “When is it set to go off?” The Seraphim laughed when she asked, and blood came out of his mouth in little rivulets. It ran down his cheeks.
“You may as well tell us,” I said, “So that God might forgive you. This is your last chance.” But this made him only laugh harder, and then he had a coughing fit. We waited for him to recover. It seemed like ages. I knew that he was dying.
When he finally stopped laughing, he spoke slowly and softly. He didn’t have long left on this earth, that was clear.
“The bomb… Yes, the bomb. The bomb isn’t even half of it,” he said.
Chapter 17
Burke was not totally surprised to get the call from the man known as the Archangel. The Messiah was nothing if not patient. He knew the man became confused easily and he had called many times in the past. But those had all been training runs, when he had actually been toting around a guitar amplifier. Today was judgement day, and nothing would stop them. Even so, Burke was alarmed, and for a moment he thought of just typing in the code and then it would be all over. But he hesitated. He wanted everything to be perfect. He had planned this moment for years. He had dedicated his life to bringing about a new age. This would be the dawn of a new civilization. Surely, it would go exactly as planned. So, he resisted the urge to type in the code.
The box was lead-lined to stop any detection of radiation; it was, after all, Washington, DC, and the MCP engineers had fitted it with a thick lining. It had meant making the bomb itself much smaller than Burke had wanted, but he had eventually been forced to accept the limitations of science. The blast radius would be far less than he desired—which only made it that much more important that the bomb be located as near as possible to The Capitol if it were going to have the desired effect.
The Armageddon Prophecy Page 17
