by Mark Romang
Each cell held a demon. Heavy-duty leg irons and wrist fetters chained the prisoners to their cell walls and restricted movement.
As agreed upon earlier, Michael and his group entered the first cellblock on one end while Maddix and his group entered the other end. They met in the middle. But then they discovered there were two more levels. The plan altered. Michael and his group searched the second level for Mithellius, while Maddix and his group headed to the third level.
Maddix descended a long and steep staircase hewn from rock. He and his search party operated in pitch darkness. The angels in the group could’ve allowed their heavenly bodies to shine and illuminate their way. But then it would be harder to spot Mithellius’ glow, so they extinguished their glory for the time being. Maddix and the other saints continued to use their lambskin goggles to pierce the darkness.
The staircase grew hotter with each subsequent step Maddix took. He didn’t want to know the temperature, didn’t even want to venture a guess. It was like he approached a giant blast furnace, and he could feel its molten flames rising up through the chiseled steps.
“I just wish they would shut up. Their groans are disturbing me, Mad-Dog,” Coleton Webb said.
Maddix turned to his friend. “I agree with you, C-Dub. But I don’t think the prisoners are going to quiet down anytime soon. They’re in torment.”
“How many prisoners do you think are in here? Talk about prison overcrowding.”
Maddix shrugged. “I’m sure it’s an astronomical amount.”
Webb nodded and smiled grimly. “As long as we’re out here and the demons stay behind bars I’m happy.”
The long staircase finally ended. They entered the third cellblock through an archway. Upon their approach the prisoners screamed obscenities and threw themselves wildly against their restraints.
“Free us! Have mercy and free us,” a demon cried out.
Eleazar faced the demon who cried out. “Your treason against God brought you to this hellish place. You deserve your punishment.”
All around them the groans changed into angry cursing. Maddix found himself clutching his sword hilt. Lord, help us find your servant Mithellius. The sooner the better, Maddix prayed.
On an on they traveled through the murky cellblock, past a veritable sea of convicted demons. Some demons cowered in fear, while others had clearly succumbed to madness and hollered out gibberish in guttural voices hoarse from continuous screaming. And still others acted defiantly. These prisoners were the worst of the worst angels to fall from Heaven.
Maddix actually felt pity for them. One poor choice, one misguided decision to give up their glory at serving God in Heaven to follow Lucifer, brought them here. They lost everything. And as bad as their current plight was, it was only going to get worse.
Maddix wondered what Lucifer had said so long ago to make them want to betray God.
It must’ve been a compelling lie.
A falsehood containing half-truths.
A rallying cry filled with empty promises.
But that’s what Satan does, Maddix thought. He takes something wrong and makes it appear to look right.
One demon, whose fetters were unusually long, surged against his restraints. He sandwiched his ugly face between the bars and leered at them with translucent eyes. Open sores covered his mangy skin. “Fools! While you look for one wayward angel, Satan is attacking Heaven with a massive army. Free me and I will join your ranks and fight with you.”
Vallen slammed his elbow into the prisoner’s face, knocking him backwards. The demon fell into a heap and began snarling curses.
“Serves him right,” Webb muttered under his breath.
“What if he’s actually speaking the truth, and Satan is attacking Heaven?” Maddix asked.
“Then we better hurry up and find Mithellius and leave this dreadful place behind us.”
“I hear you. Our exit can’t happen soon enough for me.”
“Amen to that, Mad-Dog. The demons stink something awful. The sulfur smell they give off is burning my nose.”
“It may not be the demons you smell. I think we’re one level away from hell.” Maddix said, shuddering at the thought. During his last mission in the SEALS he’d stepped on a landmine in Afghanistan. He nearly died back then from the blood loss, and his near-death experience didn’t take him to Heaven, it took him to hell. The horror he witnessed there was unspeakable. And hell made this prison in Teredel seem like a lavishly appointed country club.
The angels ahead of them quickened their pace. Their sandals slapped against the stone floor. Maddix could hear them murmuring excitedly. Maddix broke into a jog to keep up. Webb did the same. “They must’ve spotted Mithellius,” Webb said.
A few moments later the procession halted. They stood in a circle around a cell. Inside the cell Mithellius sagged against a wall. A dim glow radiated off his muscular body. His head hung low. Although he was an eternal creature and couldn’t die, Mithellius looked in poor shape. He’d been roughed up.
“Does anyone have a key to the cells?” Maddix asked his angelic teammates.
“Only Michael has the master key,” Vallen answered. “We’ll have to wait for him to show up.”
“Perhaps I can bend the bars enough to get inside,” Samson said.
“Feel free to give it a try, Sam,” Webb said. “I’d love to see it.”
Samson stepped forward and grasped the thick bars. Everyone watched intently. Even the demons in the nearby cells trained their half-blind eyes onto Samson.
Samson placed his feet shoulder-width apart. He bent his knees slightly, and then applied all his immense strength to bending the bars apart. He grunted loudly. The large muscles in his back, legs and arms bulged and twitched with the effort. But the bars—constructed to last forever—didn’t budge.
Samson hung his head in shame.
Mithellius sagged even more against his restraints.
The demons languishing in the nearby cells laughed maniacally. “You have your long hair back, but your strength is still puny, Samson,” a demon crowed before bursting into screeching laughter.
Webb patted Samson on the back. “Don’t listen to them, Sam. I know what you did wrong. You forgot to pray first.”
Samson turned and faced Webb. “You’re right, Coleton. I went ahead of God.” Samson looked at the rest of them. “My brothers and fellow warriors, please bow your heads and pray with me.”
They all bowed their heads. Samson began to pray immediately. “Oh Mighty Yahweh, powerful and gracious. Forgive me for running ahead of you and doing things in my own power. I humbly ask that you will fortify me with supernatural strength so I can glorify you and free Mithellius, who is suffering.
“A long time ago on Earth I humbled myself before you and asked for strength. You gave me enough power to bring down a temple upon my Philistine enemies. I only ask for enough strength now to pry apart these bars and nothing more. In the triumphant name of Jesus I beseech you, amen.”
Maddix opened his eyes, watched Samson grab hold of the bars once more. Maddix had seen angels walk through walls, even mountainsides and cliffs. It was always amazing to witness these supernatural feats. But he knew the angels with him couldn’t walk through these bars to attend to Mithellius. These dungeons were different, special in a not so special way. They were made to be escape proof. Otherwise the convicted demons would leave their cells and prey on humans again.
So unless God granted Samson his prayer, they would have to wait for Michael to show up with the key to open the cell.
But as Samson applied force to the bars, Maddix realized Michael’s key wouldn’t be necessary. The bars began to shudder underneath Samson’s fists. Samson let loose a long growl as he generated incredible force and leverage.
The bars groaned under the pressure and separated inch by inch until a four foot gap appeared between the two bars. Red-faced and slicked with sweat, his forearm and shoulder muscles still quivering, Samson stepped back.
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nbsp; Vallen and two other angels rushed into the cell to attend to Mithellius. One of the angels held a flask up to Mithellius’s lips and poured living water into his mouth.
Mithellius stirred. He swallowed the living water, and seemed to stand up straighter. His eyes blinked open.
Vallen opened a small pouch and removed manna flakes from the pouch. He placed the manna flakes onto Mithellius’s tongue. The captured angel chewed the manna and swallowed the heavenly food.
A moment later Mithellius’s skin brightened and lit up the pitch-black cellblock. The other prisoners hid their eyes from the glare.
“Should I attempt to break his fetters and leg irons?” Samson panted.
“That won’t be necessary, Samson.”
They all turned to face Michael, who had arrived with his contingent. Michael produced a large key from his robe and entered the breached cell. He inserted the key first into the leg irons securing Mithellius, and then to his wrist fetters. The wrist shackles clanged against the stone wall, the leg irons onto the floor.
“How are you feeling, Mithellius?” Michael asked.
“Better now. The living water and manna has refreshed me. Thank you for rescuing me. I apologize for allowing myself to be captured.”
“No need for an apology. And save your gratitude for Jehovah. He sent us.”
“We have to leave for Heaven at once, Michael,” Mithellius urged. “Satan has amassed a large army and is preparing to lay siege to Heaven.” Mithellius scanned their faces. “But the siege is only a subterfuge. Satan has devised a plan to steal the seventh bowl. And he plans to use the attack as a distraction.”
“Are you sure about this?”
Mithellius nodded. “I overheard Satan talking. I heard it come directly from his mouth.”
Michael looked at them all. His beautiful eyes narrowed. “We leave now. Prepare your mind and body for war.”
“They took my sword. But I will still fight,” Mithellius added.
Vallen withdrew his sword from his scabbard and handed it to Mithellius. “Take mine. I will stick with my bow.”
Mithellius took the large sword. “I’m obliged, Vallen.”
Michael nodded his approval. “No more talk. Our home is under attack. Let’s return to Heaven and repel the invaders.”
Chapter 31
Olympic Peninsula—that same moment
As he stalked through the coniferous forest, gradually ascending upward in elevation through the montane zone, Special Agent Nick Loomis kept looking at his watch. It has to be malfunctioning, he thought. It can’t be only three-thirty in the afternoon. The sun is already setting.
Loomis pulled his phone from his front pocket. He looked at the screen and shook his head. His phone also showed the time at 3:30 pm. What is going on?
Bewildered by the phenomenon in the sky, Loomis vaguely remembered reading something in Revelation about the sun and stars and moon not shining for as long each day. Back when he had read the passage he thought it seemed too fantastical to be taken literally. But now Loomis wondered if that particular prophecy had been scheduled to start today.
Regardless, he would have to stop soon and set up camp. He wouldn’t be able to see Tucker Stiggs’s footprints much longer, and setting up camp in the darkness didn’t appeal much to him.
Darkness in the wild, far away from civilization, can be unsettling.
Especially to the mind.
This was bear country. Mountain lions also roamed these forested hills and mountains.
Every snapped stick, and every glimpse of glowing eyes in the darkness sent chills up the spine.
But something disturbed him even more than the darkness and predatory animals.
Two legged killers worried him the most.
The thought of him setting up his tent and situating his gear, his back turned while a killer like Tucker Stiggs sneaked up on him, made his mind race uncontrollably.
I’m only one man. And I’m all alone.
As soon as the despairing thought left his mind another voice entered his head. The voice belonged to Caleb Brennan. I told you once before, Nick. One man can accomplish great things with honor and valor pushing at his back.
Loomis shook his head. Brennan just wouldn’t leave him alone. He didn’t actually think the ex-SEAL instructor was speaking to him from the hereafter. But one thing he did know, his brief relationship with Caleb Brennan affected him on a deep level.
Loomis skirted a thicket and then climbed a short rise, determined to find a suitable place to camp. He had accomplished quite a bit today, was hot on Tucker Stiggs’s heels. There was no shame in calling it a day.
But when he topped the hillock he found out he wasn’t alone after all.
A tall, burly man stood in front of him. The man held a hunting rifle in his hands. A black cowboy hat rode low on his forehead and nearly hid his eyes. Thin lips formed a grim slash across his rawboned chin.
Loomis instantly recognized him. There could be no mistaking a face like that.
Tucker Stiggs.
Chapter 32
Staying in control and not panicking is often a lawman’s best asset. Loomis did his best to not show fear or surprise. On the fly he mustered up a friendly façade. “Tucker Stiggs, you’re just the man I’ve been looking for,” Loomis said cheerily.
Stiggs pointed the rifle at Loomis’s gut, and he did it ever so subtly. “How do you know my name? And what do you want? You’ve been following me. You’re noisy.”
Loomis smiled. He silently prayed his voice wouldn’t crack. “You and I are after the same man—Nathan Banks. Your handlers are a little worried you won’t bring Banks back in alive. So they sent me out here to chaperone you.”
Stiggs held his rifle steady. “I always work alone. I like it that way.”
“I understand perfectly, Tucker. I’m the same way. But an order is an order.” Loomis mentally kicked himself for earlier putting his .45 back into his holster. At the moment he was at the mercy of this troubled man.
“Who are you? And who do you work for?”
Loomis nodded. “Fair questions. I’m Special Agent Nick Loomis. I work for GIS—Global Investigation Service. GIS took over the FBI and merged it with Interpol. Everything in this world has changed the last three years, including the Bureau’s name.”
“And what if I say no to you tagging along with me, Nick?”
“Listen, Tucker, you needn’t worry about losing the reward money. You still get to keep it all—every cent. Just think of me as your checks and balances. I’m your wise inner voice that keeps you from doing anything stupid and killing Banks. If you bring him in dead you won't get the reward.”
“Nathan Banks is a pain in the butt. I keep losing his trail. I’m about ready to head back to Everett and get some bloodhounds.”
“Are you acquiring the dogs tomorrow?”
“I’m giving it one more day first.”
Loomis made a show of looking up at the darkening sky. Twilight came today at 3:45. “We should probably set up camp, Tucker. It’s getting dark unusually early today.”
Stiggs didn’t move, just shot a brief sideways glance to an area behind him. I’ve already set up camp. I have a spot about forty yards up the slope.”
Loomis trained his eyes briefly ahead in the direction Stiggs indicated. “Yeah, I think I see a campfire.”
Stiggs motioned with his rifle muzzle. “After you, Nick.”
Despite his every instinct warning him not to do it, Loomis walked past Tucker Stiggs and continued on toward the campfire. His heart hammered inside his chest. He imagined every tentative step to be his last one. With his back turned, Stiggs could do whatever he wanted to him.
Loomis didn’t fear death like most people did. After the rapture happened, he’d become a Christ follower. He’d made peace with his mortality, and knew if he died he would go straight to Heaven. He just wished he could leave the world on his own terms. And leave it with one less serial killer walking around.
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bsp; Loomis reached up and turned on his headlamp, which he had affixed to his ball cap. When he came upon the campsite a few moments later, he stopped and looked around. They were on a knoll. For some reason the Douglas fir trees left an open spot not much bigger than a dining room floor. The ground looked somewhat rocky but level; shrubs, minus their leaves grew here and there. Loomis didn’t see a tent, apparently Stiggs hadn’t put it up yet.
Loomis slipped out of his backpack. “Yeah, this will do just fine,” he said, wanting to be as agreeable as he could.
Loomis unclasped two small bungee cords attaching his trail tent to his backpack. “I’m going to set up my tent while I can still see.”
Stiggs said nothing. He nodded his head slightly and sat down on a fallen tree. He watched Loomis’s every move, his rifle in his lap. He didn’t point the gun directly at Loomis, but just a slight adjustment would line the muzzle up for a kill shot.
All while he worked, his fingers cold and clumsy, Loomis performed a mental checklist. He analyzed his precarious situation from every angle and tried his best to come up with a plan. Mostly he tried to figure out a way to extract his side arm from its holster without Stiggs noticing.
But those creepy eyes never blinked, and they studied his every move, alert for trouble, or alert for an opportunity to pounce.
Ten awkward minutes later, Loomis finished with his tent. He looked at the fire. It needed stoked. Sections of dead branches lay nearby. Stiggs must’ve gathered them earlier. Loomis put a few logs onto the fire, and pushed at the glowing coals underneath with a stick. Flames lapped up, and the fresh wood caught.
Loomis sat down on the ground opposite Stiggs. He hunkered his body, made it smaller. Stiggs had to look through the flames to see him. Loomis also left his headlamp on. Somehow he needed to impair the killer’s eyesight. “So what part of the country are you from, Tucker?”
Stiggs hesitated. Loomis thought for a moment that Stiggs wouldn’t answer. “The Dakotas,” he said gruffly.
