Searching for the Enemies

by R. J. GREEN

  Books by R.J. Green

  TANNY ANDERSON – Barefoot, Prickles & Thorns

  SEARCHING FOR THE ENEMIES

  Searching for the Enemies

  R.J. Green

  Copyright R.J. Green 2011

  Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

  Published by Zyfex Books at Amazon Kindle

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  “People remembered you by the bad you did, if you gonna do bad, give them your best.”

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank everyone who worked on this book, my insightful editor, Joan M. Roberts, and the wonderful people at Zyfex Books. To my family and friends who encouraged me not to give up on my dreams. Thanks to my current and future fans.

  CHAPTER 1

  Already, it had been a few months into the year twenty-twenty. From the depth of the Congo, in the thickest of woods, giant trees towered above to form a dense canopy. Secrets lingered on the surface below, at an area barely penetrated by the moon glistening through the branches of a barren tree that had been cursed by God himself for over a thousand years. This tree acted as the marker for a grave, a mound of dirt surrounded by stones, untouched by plants, erosion or any other natural elements. The outside world feared the curse, the grave was forgotten, and no lives prosper within the vicinity.

  A creature of the dark scurrying over dried leaves broke the silence of forever quietness, with eyes beaming like an owl it emerged from behind a pile of stones and sniffed toward the grave. A RAT! Not your typical house rat; about twice the size of an American football and whiskers half the length of her body.

  BOOM! A huge fist thundered its way to the earth’s surface and grabbed the rat before it even got a chance to react. The fist clenched tighter and tighter, until the rat was squeezed out of its skin. A sudden chill hovered above.

  The silence was yet again broken, this time by the purring of cats reverberating in the distance, getting louder as if approaching. Hidden by the cover of darkness, death emerged from the grave and scouted the woods. The creature, wobbling along like a human, stood more than six feet in height. With the instinct of a hound it traced a faded trail of blood scattered by the wind. Finally, in the distance glows of flames flickered. The creature advanced toward the light, slowly. After a thousand years of resting it didn’t care about picking up the pace.

  Just ahead a group of people gathered around an unlit pile of wood ready for a bonfire; their faces were colored red and white with matching costumes covering only their pubic areas. Most of the tribesmen clenched onto spears while others held torches; they jumped and moved in a well coordinated and circular pattern shouting words of an ancient language.

  The chief lifted the prize above his head, still alive it squirmed as blood gushed into his palms, trickling down the back of his hands all the way to his underarms. Hanging around his neck, he wore a chain made of ivory that had a knife hanging like a pendant, dripping blood.

  “Mumba tumba alanga!” he bellowed, giving thanks to the food.

  The crowd wailed as their leader sunk his teeth into the heart and chewed away at the flesh, squeezing and sipping as the warm blood squirted out, before passing it on from the highest to the lowest of ranks. Every man and woman took a bite and licked whatever blood remained, until it was all gone. They used a torch and fired up the pile of wood.

  Not long after, the aroma of their feast wandered in an unusual wind ruffling the top of trees. The people, mesmerized by the smell of their treat, didn’t sense the danger lurking in the dark, even when the sounds of crunchy dried leaves and twigs snapped in nearby bushes and painful growls came from an area filled with thorns and razor sharp rocks.

  Stretched and peeped, they kept blocking whatever was on the fire giving of such wild meaty stench mixed with the charring of rubbers and cottons. The link was finally broken to allow a moment to toss a quick glance. From all the heart pounding, sweating, eye popping —

  WHAT THE HELL!

  Jaw dropping. Wait a minute.

  The face concealed with twigs and dry leaves had begun to blaze, the body, wrapped in an Armani black striped wool two-button suit with single pleat trousers, melted away. A business outfit of such caliber had no place here in the middle of the jungle.

  For centuries only the ‘Canni-tribe’ had being roaming these forests. They worshiped the sun, feared the full moon, and feasted on strange looking two-legged animals after their ancestors ate the primates to extinction. They held a treasure scores of men hunted, but never returned— the legendary knife of Satan, which the Canni had no knowledge of. To them it was a gift that fell from the sky many, many full moons ago, piercing the heart of the then reigning chief, they claimed he was chosen by the Fire God. His generation ruled ever since and as a tribute to his bravery, the current chief used the knife and plucked out the heart of the tribe’s sacred food.The chest area was dampened with blood; a man was resting on that pile of wood, got to be. It was difficult to tell if the fellow’s complexion was dark, or a well done roast ready to be eaten in some parts. A white crow braced for landing and perched on a nearby limb. It squawked loudly as the flames intensified. Sparks crackled. The body sizzled. The people drooled.

  Still hidden among the shadows, the man like figure came to a standstill just a few feet away from the rowdy bunch; at the speed of light the creature darted into the heavens, as a black dove perched on a branch opposite the white crow.

  A few minutes later the mysterious figure came crashing from the sky, hurling rocks and dirt upon hitting the ground, the place shook as the thing landed on its two feet, close to the body on the blazing fire. The native people were transfixed by the enormous power the stranger displayed. Not long after a thought came to the chief, he gripped the knife hanging like a pendant, the people knew what they had to do, and came swiftly towards the man-like figure.

  Tall and muscular, covered in mud, and bound by heavy-duty chain wrapped around the body, the creature stared at the tribal people drifting towards him. This man is Engulf, as old as time itself, yet vibrant and youthful. He seeks one thing— the crown of his father. He spotted a particular knife the leader of men had been wielding. Already he could taste the victory as the world crumbled beneath his feet, the heaven was within reach, but first he planned to fulfill his mission. He glanced down at the dead body and knew the time was right, if only he managed to get a grip of himself and forgive Jason for what he’d done a thousand years ago.

  Engulf recalled those images vividly, as if yesterday: the scent of the crisped air, the sun kissing the backdrop of a mountain peak reaching into the heavens, as it descended. Pines, firs, junipers, larches, spruces, and yews cluttered the higher region. At the lower section bordered by a lake, colorful flowers and shrubs scattered. On a patch of land, in the middle of the lake, towered six trees surrounded by flowers and rocks. Birds sung, rabbits and hares hopped along, lions roared to boast their dominance, but on this mountain the children of the Gods played. Good versus evil, God versus Satan. Engulf versus Jason.

  A youthful Engulf stood on the mountain, his white robe blew about in a rush of evening breeze, from his shoulder a pair of wings extended more than a fifteen foot span, perfect teeth, face symmetrically aligned with powerful jaws, and a body that inspired every woman’s fantasies. He was grasping a mighty sword in one hand, his eyes penetrated his prey — a black angel around early thirties, also dressed in white with a huge pair of black wings jutting from his shoulders. This man had a muscular physique that gave him a sensed of invincibility.

  In a si
lver flash Engulf swung the sword towards the head of the other angel.

  Jason stood tall and didn’t even blink.

  “I have always helped your kind,” he said, with a smirk across his face.

  Engulf turned and walked away, a few feet later he came to a standstill. “Yes, that's good,” he said, “but you also betrayed my kind.”

  Jason was startled for a moment. Laughing out of control he finally regained his composure. “When’re you going to give up, Engulf?”

  “The quicker you die the merrier.”

  “What about the prophecy?”

  “If I behead the first Son of God?”

  “You better believe it,” Jason whispered. “It will happen, even in death.”

  “You lost your head,” Engulf teased.

  Jason, shouting at the top of his lungs, sprinted toward Engulf. It was then Jason's head was totally separated from his body. The day became night, the wind turned into fire and ravaged the land, consuming Engulf who’d being resisting with all his might.

  The chain binding Engulf's body shattered. Unexpectedly two wings popped open, one white, the other black. With a bright light radiating from his soul, he entered the roasted body that was on the dwindling pile of wood.

  The tribal people scrambled away in fear, after they looked death in the eyes and acknowledged his creation. The power the stranger wheeled was of an angry God, and his curse was beyond their control. They hid in nearby bushes and waited for their leader to make the next move.

  “The time has come,’ Engulf bellowed. “RISE children of God!”

  The crow and dove became lifeless and fell from their branches, hitting the forest floor with a thud, they smashed into pieces.

  The Dead body crawled out of the fire in agony. Engulf pointed at the badly burnt resurrected body. “And you shall be called Wrath.”

  Wrath faced Engulf.

  “What have you done?” he asked, with a New York accent. He sniffed the air and tried to figure where the strange odor was coming from. “What the ’uck is that,” he said beneath his breath, “smells like roast dog.”

  “Open up your heart to me Wrath,” said Engulf.

  “My heart?”

  “That’s a small price to pay for your life.”

  “My name is not Wrath!”

  “God cast me here on earth. I'm just doing my part.”

  Wrath used both hands and grabbed the back of his own head, “Why me?”

  Tribal people approached slowly; more joined with each step forward. They crept up with spears ready to toss, arrows pulled back, bows pointed at Engulf and Wrath. With all the weapons they had there was no comfort as to what they were confronting. The bravest of men were shrunk to cowardice, but God himself understood this creature was beyond humankind’s control. No cannibal processes the enzyme to digest the cursed flesh of Engulf. The maggots and vultures had timeless opportunity, but all refused.

  Something about the tribal people gave Wrath the creeps, in the shadow of his past he remained, only if he knew what they’d done to him. Engulf would be more than happy to reveal all those dirty secrets, but first he must conquer Wrath, for he needed his help to carry out an ambitious plan he’d been cooking up.

  “I hate rednecks!” Wrath confessed. He stood looking at the red paint dabbed around the neck of the Canni people.

  A tribesman emerged from behind a tree, closer to Engulf who had been facing away. With all his might the man threw a spear toward the beast.

  Engulf turned around just as the spear neared the back of his head. In midair the spear suddenly stopped about an inch away from his eyes. Engulf was furious, his anger building, causing the spear explode into small particles.

  Wrath spotted the man who threw the spear, his body stood with blood gushing from the neck, after his head got ripped off by an object moving faster than his eyes could see. Wrath looked around and had no clue when and where Engulf had disappeared to. As his confused mind roamed, a hand covered in blood tapped his shoulder. He leaped back in fright, and stared at Engulf who held his victim's head.

  Engulf's wings disappeared into his back, making him appear more human. He tossed the head toward the Canni people who were becoming more aggressive.

  “Mal alanga!” the chief screamed “bad food,” pointing towards Wrath and Engulf.

  The people, shouting at the top of their lungs, ran toward Wrath and Engulf. They came to a standstill when they heard the sounds of a cat purring echoing from the midst of the forest. The purring got louder and louder.

  The Canni people bundled on each other in fear. Like hyenas scavenging carcasses, domestic cats emerged from the dark, and devoured the flesh of the tribal people, leaving only bloody skeletal remains in their path. Wrath hid behind Engulf the whole time. Engulf had the power to help, but in such a desperate time he seized every ounce of opportunity.

  “You made the right choice,” he told Wrath.

  “What choice?” Wrath asked.

  “By my side you’ll no longer fall victim to the condemnation and degradation of what it is to be your kind,” said Engulf, extending his hand towards Wrath.

  “I’ll never be a part of you,” said Wrath, refusing to shake his hand. “Even if it means eating my own soul!”

  The swarm of cats came toward Wrath and Engulf. “Man is a dignified animal,” said Engulf, eying Wrath up and down. “Yet arrogant in the grave. Go ahead. How can you eat what’s not yours?”

  Wrath walked away without saying a word.

  Engulf squeezed his fists and bit down on his teeth, a wretched expression flashed across his face. “We will be waiting!” he added, before vanishing into thin air. He gave off an evil chuckle in the backdrop. “You have more power than expected.”

  Wrath wandered the forest seeking a way out, his body morphed with every step, as the grip of the dark world rushed through his veins, unleashing powers beyond his control. Destiny had a calling, but why now? In his before life he came to this place, this country, this jungle — to acquire Satan’s dagger. Now he got more than what he’d bargained for.

  “What's happening to me?”

  The forest shuffled to seek shelter from the inevitable — an unusual thunderstorm threatened the break of day. A bolt of lightning shattered a towering oak, ricocheting, before striking where the remains of the crow and dove scattered. Like opposite poles of a magnet their body parts began to pull together, flesh reattached, feathers sloppily rearranged and out of place by standards of nature. Out of death comes life, and life in all forms are precious. If only one wasn’t blinded by judgement, the beauty of creation would reach the hearts of the wicked.

  Nevertheless, a black crow and a white dove expanded their wings and thrust their bodies at the mercy of the wind. Each came as a messenger of their Gods, and away they returned with a piece of the other, in the opposite directions. Wrath looked towards the sky and extended his hands.

  “Nooooooo!” he bellowed, in a high-pitched voice, piercing the universe.

  CHAPTER 2

  An old-fashioned three story house, outlined by a full moon hovering above, stands on an acre of land on the outskirts of a small New York town. Coniferous trees stand cluttered at the back further away from the house. About fifty yards from the main road, foot prints in the snow lead to the front door, getting deeper as they neared the house. The howling wind tossed snow against a window where a light flickered from the depth of the house. A deer scurried away as a gutter squeaked loose, hitting the ground, rocketing snow in all directions.

  Inside the living room, by the fireplace, Father Johnson sat on an antique rocker. About seventy and wearing a priest outfit he used a fork to ruffle the wood, giving the place a warm glow. The whole room was jammed with antique furniture, figurines of the Virgin Mary, crosses of the messiah, and other religious sacraments. A small television, resting on a stand at one corner of the room, was on, but fuzzy.

  “Revelations twelve verse seven,” Father Johnson recited. “And there was war in
heaven. Satan was cast to the bottomless pit for a thousand years.”

  He listened to a shrilling sound that made goose bumps rise at the back of his neck — the one Wrath thundered from the other side of the globe.

  The television showed people panicking after hearing the weird sound, natural disasters ravaging different parts of the continents, priests from various religions praying, and the faithful getting ready to depart this miserable life as promised.

  “But after these things he must be released for a little while,” he continued. “But worse is to come. His son Engulf…” Father Johnson had been preparing for this moment for more than forty years. Whatever was happening in the forest of the Congo he felt somewhat responsible. But in the meantime he must wait. “Corinthians 5 verses 10. For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that each one may receive the things done in the body.”

  Three months had passed and the world didn’t come to an end, as predicted. Most people had forgotten about the whole thing and were back to their normal lives after swearing they would kick the bad habits if they made it through what appeared to be Judgment Day. From all corners of the globe governments became more suspicious of each other, yet there was no scientific explanation to what may have caused the shriek.

  On earth, people were making wishes to shooting stars that had been falling more than typical, especially the past few nights. Little did they know angels had being arriving by the thousands, hidden among men they prepared for the final battle, if the chosen one failed.

  A Jumbo jet rocketed across the sky, leaving an undaunted trail as it left Central Africa and headed for Europe. Inside the jet something peculiar was happening. Not that anyone other than Trevor “Detective” Mullson noticed. He had been seeing the dead, but he just didn’t know, as of yet.