Grim Reaper: End of Days

by Steve Alten

  The three MH-53J Pavelow-III Air Force helicopters flew east in a staggered formation over Jersey City, en route to Manhattan. Large and unwieldy, the “Jolly Green Giants” specialized in rescuing downed pilots and providing support to Special Operations troops. Their selection for this morning's mission was based on their ability to operate in bad weather — along with the airship's rear ramp, a deployment feature that allowed for the dispersal of a special payload.

  First developed in 1958, the neutron bomb was opposed by President Kennedy and later postponed by Jimmy Carter, only to be jump-started again in 1981 under Ronald Reagan. Designed as a tactical weapon, the bomb’s purpose was to eradicate troops while maintaining the targeted area’s infrastructure. Unlike standard enhanced radiation weapons, the three ERWs loaded aboard the Pavelows were chemical incineration bombs designed for underground bunkers. Formulated to combust on contact with oxygen molecules, the conflagration would burn out every square inch of airspace before suffocating itself.

  At precisely 8:03 A.M., the three helicopters would drop their payloads at their designated locations above the carbon-dioxide cloud hovering over Manhattan. Passing through the man-made insulating ceiling, the neutron bombs would detonate—

  — incinerating every biological — dead or alive — in New York City.

  Battery Park

  7:52 A.M.

  A frigid wind whipped across New York Harbor, driving the dark surface into froth. Liberty Island was visible in the distance. The statue beckoned.

  They had gathered by a concrete boat ramp close to the water’s edge. The Patels and the Minoses. David Kantor and his daughter. The frail Tibetan monk who seemed bothered by nothing, and the female assassin who was angry at the world. The students and freed sex slaves stayed warm in the school bus. A Scythe incubator rendered moot by the arrival of dawn.

  Francesca Minos clutched her swaddled newborn inside her coat, using her body heat to warm her son. “What are we supposed to do now?”

  Paolo shielded his wife and child from the wind. “We’ll just have to find another boat.”

  “There are no other boats,” yelled David. “There’s no way off the island short of swimming, and you wouldn’t last two minutes without a wet suit.”

  Dawn Patel was seated on a park bench next to her mother, the girl examining Patrick Shepherd’s detached prosthetic arm. “Mother, this is so strange. Look at how these Hebrew letters are grouped together in threes.”

  “May I?” The Tibetan monk offered a disarming smile. Pankaj joined him, looking over the Elder’s shoulder at the engraved letters. “This is most amazing. The letters are not written in Hebrew, this is Aramaic.”

  “Who cares?” Manisha retorted. “Pankaj, come and be with your family.”

  “In a moment. Elder?”

  “Pankaj, Aramaic is a metaphysical tool used by the Creator. It is the only language that cannot be understood by Satan.”

  “These letters… they were not there earlier.”

  “You are certain of this?”

  “I helped carry Patrick from Belvedere Castle after he saved my family. The engraving was not there, I am quite sure. Can you read the message?”

  “It is not a message, Pankaj, nor are these translatable words. What has been inscribed upon the steel are the 72 names of God.”

  “What did you say? Let me see!” Paolo left his wife and newborn son to join them. “How do you know they’re the 72 names?”

  “I scan these words every day. Each of the letters comes from three encrypted verses in Exodus 14, lines 19 through 21. The Torah portion describes Moses’s parting of the Red Sea.”

  Paolo took the steel limb from the Tibetan. Stared at the pattern of letters. “It wasn’t Moses. Virgil said it was actually a man of deep faith who parted the Red Sea.”

  “You are correct. The true story of the Israelites escaping bondage had nothing to do with slavery, it was all about escaping chaos and pain and suffering. The parting of the Red Sea was not a miracle, it was a manifestation, an effect caused by the ability to use the 72 names engraved on Moses’s staff as a supernal tool to control mind over matter.”

  “Elder, do you think Patrick was the righteous one chosen by God to offer mankind salvation?”

  David approached with Gavi. “What are you two talking about?”

  “Your friend’s involvement with the End of Days may serve a higher calling,” Pankaj explained.

  “Look, fellas, I don’t know anything about this End of Days stuff, but I knew Patrick Shepherd, and trust me, he was far from a righteous man.”

  Paolo stared at the steel limb. His body trembled. His mind raced… deliberating.

  Francesca approached with the baby. “Paolo, what is it?”

  “Wait here.” Gripping the prosthetic device, he headed for the water.

  “Paolo, what are you doing? Paolo, are you crazy?”

  The survivors gathered around Paolo, who held the prosthetic steel arm to the heavens. He hesitated. Then walked resolutely down the concrete boat ramp and into the harbor.

  The near-freezing water hit him like a jolt of electricity, driving the air from his lungs, turning his blood and limbs to lead. He floundered in waist-deep water, then abruptly stepped off an unseen ledge and plunged underwater.

  Francesca screamed.

  Her husband’s head reappeared seconds later. Paralyzed by the cold, he gasped for air as he struggled to swim back to the ramp. David and Pankaj reached out for him, dragging the devout man to safety.

  Gavi ran back to the bus to fetch blankets.

  Sheridan Ernstmeyer laughed. “So much for divine intervention.”

  The Tibetan monk approached Paolo, who was kneeling by the water’s edge, struggling to catch his breath. “Mr. Minos, why did you attempt to part the harbor’s waters? What made you believe yourself worthy of such a task?”

  “The 72 names… I believed the story to be true.” The Italian was shaking uncontrollably, his face deathly pale, his lips purple. He looked up at Gelut Panim, completely lost. “I did as Virgil said. It didn’t work.”

  “The crossing was a test of certainty, not faith.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “You have faith, my friend, but your moment of hesitance revealed that you expected to fail. Certainty is more than prayer, it is knowing. There is a story of a man of faith who was climbing down from the face of a mountain at night when his strength gave out. Hanging by his two hands, freezing to death as you are now, he called out to God to save him. God answered by instructing him to let go. The man released one hand, but he was too afraid to obey. Instead, he called out into the night for help from another. The villagers found him the next morning, frozen to death, hanging five feet off the ground.”

  Gavi handed a wool blanket to the shivering man. “Who are you to judge the depths of my faith? I walked straight into the water. I let go with both hands!”

  “I meant no insult. When God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac… that was a test of certainty. You merely went for a foolhardy swim.”

  “Dad, look!” Gavi pointed to the southwest over Liberty Island, where three military helicopters had appeared on the horizon. “Are they coming to rescue us?

  David swallowed hard. “No honey. Not this time.”

  Governor’s Island

  7:55 A.M.

  Leigh Nelson was yanked from her sleep, the physician violently dragging her off the Army cot and onto her feet, where she was confronted by Captains Jay and Jesse Zwawa.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “You lied to us, lady.”

  Leigh felt her blood pressure drop. “Lied about what?”

  “The Scythe vaccine. We analyzed it.” Jay Zwawa thrust a half-empty vial into her hand. “It’s nothing but water.”

  “What? That’s impossible—”

  Jesse Zwawa signaled to the guard. “Take this traitor outside and shoot her.”

  Battery Park

  7:56 A.M.


  Marquis Jackson-Horne had shed his gang colors but not his gun. The eighteen-year-old cornrowed Latino gang member and his seven-year-old sister joined the survivors of Scythe, everyone watching the western horizon as three dark gunships began a long circle, following the New Jersey coastline to the north.

  Marquis nodded to Pankaj. “Ya’ll here to get rescued?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” He glanced at the shivering Italian wrapped in a blanket. Saw the prosthetic arm lying in the snow by his side. “Yo, what happened? Where’s the one-armed man?”

  “You knew Patrick?”

  “He gave me the vaccine. Cured me and my little sis. Where he at?”

  Pankaj looked the gang leader in the eyes. “He’s with his family.”

  Paolo was with his family, but his thoughts were occupied by the sting of the Asian man’s words. All his life he had lived by the laws of the Catholic Church. Attended Mass. Taken communion and tithed when he could barely afford it. He had fed the homeless and confessed even his most minor transgressions. Now, in the last moments of his life, to be told he was not worthy… to be told he harbored doubts!

  Leaving Francesca and his infant son, he stalked after the Tibetan monk. “I don’t know who you are, but I know you possess knowledge of the 72 names. Use them to save us!”

  “Sadly, I cannot. Long ago, I made the decision to abuse the knowledge for my own selfish needs. As such, I am far from righteous.”

  “Then teach me! Tell me what to do!”

  “I already have.” The Elder’s opaque eyes glistened. He placed a reassuring hand on Paolo’s shoulder. “Think of it as a baptism.”

  Paolo was shaking uncontrollably. His eyes darted from the three military choppers to the Asian man to the frail infant swaddled in his wife’s arm.

  Defying his greatest fear, he shed the blanket, returning to his loved ones. “Francesca, give me our son.”

  She saw the look in his eyes. The steel arm in his hand. “No!”

  “Francesca… please.”

  The others gathered around in silence.

  The Elder watched, fascinated and humbled by the unfolding events.

  “Francesca, it is a miracle that brought us here, now we must trust the cause of that miracle.”

  Her eyes swelled with tears.

  “My love, God has given us the tools, now it is up to us to act.”

  She hesitated, then handed the blanketed newborn to her husband. “Go on. Sacrifice your son. Sacrifice yourself, too. I can’t handle this anymore.”

  Gripping the steel limb in his right hand, his infant son cradled in his left, Paolo strode down the concrete boat ramp and into the harbor…

  World Trade Center Site

  7:57 A.M.

  The brown maelstrom swirled overhead, blotting out the dawn. A cold December wind whipped up construction garbage and dirt into miniature tornadoes, then died.

  Patrick Shepherd sat by the edge of the construction pit, alone, frightened, and lost.

  The wind picked up again, howling through rivet holes in the bare steel girders.

  Patrick…

  The whispered voice was male and strangely familiar. Shep looked up, unsure.

  You’ve endured a helluva journey, son. Now we need to start working on your mental game.

  “Coach? Coach Segal? Is it really… what am I saying?” He gripped a handful of his long brown hair and pulled, doubling over in agony. “Get out of my head, get out of my head! I can’t take it anymore!”

  I’m no hallucination, Patrick. You knew that the first time I communicated with you. On the roof of the VA hospital.

  Shep’s skin tingled. He stood, facing into the wind. “You’re the one who stopped me from jumping?”

  You trusted me then, son, trust me now. Everything you’ve experienced was real, except for the demon’s deception using my daughter. But you knew better. By trusting your instincts, you saw through the ruse.

  “It’s true. I knew it wasn’t Trish, I knew it couldn’t have been her. When I’m with her, I feel… I feel—”

  ”Fulfilled.”

  Shep spun around, his eyes searching for the owner of the new voice. He heard the sound of boots approaching on gravel and turned.

  Virgil Shechinah stepped out from behind an earthmover and into a beacon of sunlight coming from a small break in the clouds. “And they said, come, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach to heaven, and let us make ourselves a name. So Master Dante, did you enjoy your excursion through Hell, looking for your beloved Beatrice?”

  The mention of Dante’s deceased lover angered Shep even more. “You know, you’re a liar, old man. You told me you spoke with my soul mate. She’s dead. She died with my daughter in this very spot, eleven years ago.”

  “Yes she did. And she’s very worried about you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you some kind of medium, channeling her spirit? Or maybe you’re an angel? Is that what you are, Virgil? An angel, hired by Bertrand DeBorn to drive me crazy?”

  “Not an angel. And I never claimed to be a psychiatrist, nor was I referred to you by the late Mr. DeBorn. That was your assumption.”

  “Okay, so you’re not a shrink. Then who are you? Why did you come see me in the VA hospital? Wait, I forgot… my dead soul mate was worried about me, so she sent you.”

  Virgil smiled. “The eyes are the windows of the soul. Look into mine. Tell me what you see.” He removed his rose-colored glasses. “Go on, I won’t bite.”

  Shep moved closer, gazing into the old man’s blue eyes—

  — his consciousness suddenly overwhelmed by a squall of ethereal white light, its warmth seeping through his brain, bathing every cell in his body with a healing energy that was so soothing, so loving, that it caused him to giggle.

  He awakened, disoriented and lying on the ground, smiling as he opened his eyes. “God, what a rush.”

  “Let’s just keep it to Virgil for now, shall we?”

  Shep sat up. Incredibly, the fatigue from his long night was gone, the cold no longer affecting him. “I don’t know what you just did, but if we could bottle it, we’d make a fortunate.”

  “What you experienced was Keter, the Light from the uppermost Sefirot… the highest of the ten dimensions of existence. The energy is only accessible to man once a year, on the dawn following forty-nine days of internal cleansing after Passover. The date commemorates a connection to the immortality that existed on Mt. Sinai thirty-four hundred years ago.”

  “Great, more riddles.” Shep stood, shaking his head. “Look, whoever you are, you’ve been a friend these last twenty-four hours, but maybe just once you could give me a straight answer, seeing as how we’re probably only a few minutes away from being incinerated by the Defense Department.”

  “Time has no place in the supernal realm, Patrick. Look around you. Time has ceased to exist.”

  Patrick looked up. For some strange reason, the brown clouds were no longer moving, as if frozen in place. “What the hell? Okay, wait, I get it. This is another hallucination brought on by that damn vaccine.”

  “Everything was real. As for the vaccine, it was water.”

  “Water? Come on.”

  “Water is the essential component to existence in the physical world. Long ago, water was imbued with the essence of the Light, giving it the power to heal and restore, protecting man at the cellular level. Life spans were far greater. It was humanity's overwhelming negative consciousness that tainted water’s nature after the flood. The process is reversible through certain blessings and meditations, which return the water to its primordial state. The vaccine was a highly concentrated form of this cleansing water, called Pinchas Water. The Defense Department confiscated a supply that had been used by those possessing the knowledge to help clean up parts of Chernobyl. A noble effort, silenced once again by man’s ego. The Klipot woman gained access to the water while at Fort Detrick.”

  “And that�
�s what kept us safe from the plague?”

  “What kept you safe was your belief. The water was simply the medium used to mobilize your thoughts. To coin a phrase, it was mind over matter.”

  “This is insane… or maybe I’m insane.” Shep paced back and forth, unable to process everything at once. “Maybe I’m not insane, maybe I’m just delusional. Wait… that’s it! It all makes perfect sense now. This whole little Wizard of Oz adventure… it all began when the chopper crashed in the forest. Everything I experienced from that moment on… you, miraculously showing up in Inwood Park, me, living out Dante’s Nine Circles of Hell while I attempted to get back home to my family, the ‘helper characters’ we conveniently managed to pick up along the way… even that wicked Grim Reaper witch waiting for me down in Hades… it was all just a dream, none of it actually happened. In reality, I’m still unconscious in the chopper, or better yet, I’m lying in a drug-induced coma in some hospital bed in the Bronx. And that rush I felt when I looked into your eyes… that was probably a B-12 shot the nurse just injected into my IV.” Shep beamed a smile. “That’s it, isn’t it? God, I’m good. I didn’t mean you, Virgil, that was just an expression, you know, like I was talking to the man upstairs. The real dude.”

  “The guy asleep at the wheel?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Tell you what, let’s do a test.” Virgil reached for Patrick’s face and pinched his cheek.

  “Ow! That’s your test?”

  “You seem wide-awake to me. Still, it pays to be sure.”

  Shep jumped as a phantom sensation suddenly oozed a healing warmth from his butchered left deltoid muscle. As he watched in stunned amazement, the protrusion formed a humerus, the bone miraculously extending down from his shoulder, followed by a progressive web of nerves and blood vessels, tendons and muscles, the growing appendage extending into a forearm, wrist, hand, and fingers, the newborn limb atomizing flesh before his spellbound eyes into a fully formed and functional left arm.

  Shep fell to his knees, flexing his fingers… giddy. Unlike the experience in the Ninth Circle of Hell, he could instinctively tell that this limb was real. “How?”