by Mark Romang
Tanner closed his eyes, not out of reverence but out of survival instinct. He opened his mouth to pray, willed himself to stay calm and think cogently. Words tumbled out his lips in halting bursts and were immediately swallowed up by the howling wind. But he knew God heard his petition loud and clear.
“Almighty God, the God of angel armies, rally to our defense. We desperately need your protection. We are your children ransomed with Christ’s precious blood. Our souls are sealed eternally by your Holy Spirit. Encamp around us. Bind Satan and his demons and drive them out of this mine. Make this place divine with your holy presence.”
Despite Tanner’s faith in God’s provision, the wind blew even harder, its shrill wailing like an arctic storm whistling over desolate icepack. The demonic wind tugged at the humble wooden crucifix in his hand and tried to dislodge it. Tanner squeezed harder, determined to not let his grip weaken. His fingers twitched and trembled but held fast.
It seemed bizarre, but the wind acted as if it possessed emotions. And the most prominent emotion it displayed was anger. The enraged squall wailed and shrieked as it buffeted their hunkered bodies and nearly pulled his upheld arm from its socket. Tanner stubbornly held on to the crucifix with all his might. He didn’t want to lose it.
There was no power in the humble object he’d fashioned from two sticks and twine. But the crucifix symbolized Christ’s sacrificial and momentary death on the cross, which meant everything to Tanner. The cross and what happened on it, and the resurrection on the third day that followed it, was the cornerstone, the capstone of his faith. No way was he going to let the demons hiding in the wind snatch the crucifix from his hand.
Tanner felt Brooke’s body shudder. He squeezed his sister tighter with his arm. Her long dark hair whipped around in the squall like a wind-whipped flag. The wind settled in on top of them and acted as if it wanted to crush them, its weight unbearable and suffocating. He could hardly breathe.
Tanner could sense Brooke’s fear, could almost feel her heart pounding as fast as his. He hated putting her through this. It was all his fault the demons were even here in the mine.
He’d been broadcasting some defiant messages against the Antichrist over the HAM radio, and also some evangelical messages. He had no way of knowing how many people had heard the broadcasts, or where in the world the messages beamed. Regardless, it was now payback time. He couldn’t keep dissing Henrik Skymolt and not be sought out and punished.
Against the merciless wind, Tanner fought to open his mouth. Words spilled out from his lips and flapping cheeks.
He heard his voice speak again, frail and insignificant when compared to the screaming wind, but oddly serene given the hellish circumstances he found himself in. “Lord, you are my stronghold, a refuge and an ever present help in trouble. You once told Jeremiah the prophet, ‘They will fight against you but will not overcome you, for I am with you and will rescue you, declares the Lord.’ I claim that verse for this moment, Lord. Chase these demons away and banish them from this mine forever.”
Tanner suddenly remembered C.J., who had left earlier in the evening to map out a mineshaft they’d yet to explore. “Lord, please extend your protection to C.J. and place a battalion of warrior angels around him. Help C.J. stand strong. He’s all alone.”
Unnerving as it was to stand their ground against the supernatural wind, Tanner marshaled his courage to do just that. He could hear Brooke praying now. They were tag-teaming the wind, and the faceless demons inside the wind didn’t like it one bit. Course growls, caterwauling screams and vile obscenities occasionally broke through the wind gusts.
Even though Tanner still held his eyes tightly shut, he noticed that light suddenly leached through his eyelids. Curiosity overrode his terror and he blinked open his eyes.
His mouth dropped open.
The mineshaft should’ve been black as spades with only their headlamps poking holes in the darkness. But instead an intense golden light lit up the mineshaft. Even better, the golden light waged war against the wind, grappling with the demonic squall and pushing it away from Tanner and Brooke.
Tanner tapped Brooke on the head. “Open your eyes, Sis. You have to see this.”
Brooke opened her eyes, and she and Tanner watched with slack jaws as the wind took on color and shrank down to a sinister black vapor, a curling mist that gradually lifted off them and retreated down the mineshaft, bullied by the golden light.
Eventually both the light and the smelly black mist disappeared altogether, leaving them alone in the dark mineshaft.
“I guess your prayers worked, Tanner,” Brooke mumbled in a stunned voice.
“I think it was both our prayers that worked.”
“Regardless whose prayer it was that chased them away, the demons are gone.”
“For now,” Tanner said grimly. His pocket vibrated, and he reached into his jeans and pulled out a small two-way radio. He pushed the talk button. “Are you okay, C.J.? Did you try to call me?”
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to call you for some time, Tanner. Why wouldn’t you answer?”
Tanner looked at Brooke briefly, careful so as not to blind her with his headlamp. “Brooke and I were having an impromptu prayer meeting. It got kind of intense.”
“Well, while you two were sitting around I found another way out of the mine.”
“Did you mark it somehow?”
“Yeah, I did. But I did it in a way only we would know.”
“Cool. Now head back up and meet us in the common room. We need to talk.”
C.J. came back over the radio. “A family meeting? Sounds serious. I’m heading that way.”
Tanner pushed the talk button a final time. “See you in a bit, C.J,” he said and pocketed the radio. He then turned his attention to his sister. “Are you okay, Sis?”
Brooke nodded. “I suppose. My heart is pounding like crazy though.”
“Mine too,” Tanner said and began walking quickly.
“What do you think that light was?” Brooke asked, struggling to keep up with him.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say it was angels.”
Brooke nodded. “I agree with you. There was something very supernatural about the light. And we shouldn’t be all that surprised. The supernatural will soon become commonplace on this planet.”
“If it was angels they sure showed up in the nick of time. I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to us if they would’ve tarried.”
“Do you think the demons will come back into the bunker, or do you think we successfully exorcised them?”
“I’d like to think we got rid of them, but I imagine they didn’t travel too far away. They’re probably hanging out somewhere in the forest, licking their wounds and plotting their next attack. Maybe they’ll give up after I make my last broadcast. And the next broadcast will likely be the last one. The propane cylinder is almost empty,” Tanner said. The HAM radio he used was powered by a small generator, which in turn ran off propane gas from a BBQ grill cylinder. He was sure there couldn’t be much more than fumes left in the tank. He’d made two-dozen broadcasts over the last three years.
Brooke gave him a sideways glance. “That will be weird. You’re the voice of the resistance, Tanner. You can’t go silent.”
Tanner shrugged. “I don’t have a choice in the matter, Sis. No gas equals no broadcasts.”
“Yeah, well we don’t have much longer to go before Jesus returns. So I guess it doesn’t matter.”
Tanner smiled at the thought of the Second Coming. “I can’t wait until that glorious day. It’s going to be spectacular.”
“I wasn’t sure we would make it to the end of the Tribulation. But it looks like we will.”
“We’re definitely going to make it, Brooke. Nathan must’ve successfully grounded the drones, because I haven’t seen any for a long time. And If the UWC hasn’t discovered us by now they’re not going to,” he said, referring to the Unified World Council policemen who hunt down Christ
ians like the Gestapo once sought out Jews. Tanner watched Brooke hang her head. And instantly he regretted mentioning Nathan Banks. Brooke had a crush on Banks that just wouldn’t dissipate. She would never admit to it, but she pined almost every waking moment for Banks.
“I keep telling myself we’ll make it. But then sometimes I get so paranoid that we’ll get caught. I can’t begin to comprehend how awful it will be if we’re arrested. I don’t want to die a martyr’s death,” Brooke said.
Tanner put and arm around his sister as they walked. “I don’t want to die a martyr’s death either. No one in their right mind would want to. But we can’t dwell on stuff like that, Brooke. It does us no good at all. We just need to keep on praying and trusting in God’s provision. That’s all we can to do at this point,” he said, hoping his simple reply would prove truthful.
****
A mile from the bunker as the crow flies, the Legion took cover in a deep hollow surrounded by a coniferous forest, giant boulders and dense undergrowth. The dark warriors were exhausted and beaten down, and their morale hung even lower than their faces.
Many of the six-thousand demons lay sprawled on their backs on the forest floor. Their magnificent wings wrapped around and covered their heaving chests like a blanket.
Almost every demon had sustained a significant battle wound during the altercation in the mine. Puncture wounds and lacerations were the most prevalent injuries. Contusions and stiffness would show up a little later.
A demon named Toragor moved amongst the spent troops, assessing injuries and dressing wounds. Gifted in the healing arts, and having served as a battlefield medic for thousands of years, Toragor had much experience attending to war wounds. He currently treated a demon with an odd puncture wound.
Using his index and middle fingers, Toragor applied a brownish-colored salve to the ugly wound. “Who did you fight?” he asked. “This wound puzzles me.”
The injured demon grimaced, as much from shame as pain. “I’m embarrassed to have to confess this, but it was a saint.”
Toragor stopped what he was doing and looked up. “A saint, you say?”
The demon nodded. “But not just any saint. It was Andrew Maddix.”
Toragor nodded. “Now it all makes sense. Your wound is deep, but it looks like it’s been cauterized by fire.”
“Yes, Maddix used the Eden sword to fight me. During our battle he plunged the sword into my left side. The sword blade caught me aflame. The pain was intense, and still is.”
A demon lounging nearby who somehow escaped injury, piped up, “I don’t know who I fear more, Andrew Maddix and his flaming sword, or Vallen and his giant arrows.”
Toragor’s patient turned his head to face the lounging demon. “I would rather face Vallen. To be bested by a saint is humiliating. And Andrew Maddix is known for his verbal slights. Just before he plunges his sword into an opponent he insults them. He insulted me, and I hate him for his disrespect.”
“Speaking of Vallen, I think I saw him in the mine,” called out a third demon from not far away.
Toragor finished dressing his patient’s wound. “I am not surprised. Where Vallen is you will find Andrew Maddix and his friend Coleton Webb. And sometimes Michael leads them.”
“I didn’t see Michael.”
“Then he wasn’t there. There would’ve been no mistaking his imposing presence. He can barely contain his glow,” Toragor said. He finished treating the warrior demon’s wound and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be back and fighting in no time.”
“How soon?”
Toragor shrugged. “Six days, perhaps less if the salve works.”
“That’s only if Lucifer gives us another chance. He’ll be furious when he finds out we failed to possess the young man.”
Toragor nodded. “You have uttered a gross understatement. Lucifer will be outraged. So, if you do receive another chance you’ll have to try even harder. Lucifer does not like it when his plans go awry. He doesn’t like it at all.
Chapter 2
Babylon
Henrik Skymolt breathed air just like everyone else. An inhale followed by an exhale. And this fact made him a paradox.
Tall and handsome with ruddy skin, he looked like the picture of health. But first impressions can be misleading. Skymolt was actually a dead man, a one-time Viking warlord born in the eighth century. And yet here he was in the modern world, walking and talking and assimilating with the living.
Officially, Skymolt had been dead for over 1200 years. When his soul departed his body during a Viking raid on the Isle of Man, another spirit instantly entered his six-foot-eight-inch frame. The spirit was actually a fallen angel named Lucifer.
And Henrik Skymolt had been doing the devil’s bidding ever since.
The Swede stood on the sprawling balcony of his twelve-story palace and surveyed the cityscape below him.
The incredible view captivated him.
He had rebuilt Babylon with his own money and made it the most dazzling city in the world. Babylon’s skyscrapers were the tallest in the world and by far the most breathtaking.
Though not an architect, Skymolt designed and supervised the buildings’ construction himself. And like an artist admiring their greatest masterpiece, he never tired of gazing at his creation.
Skymolt placed his large hands on the balcony railing and took in a deep breath. A warm, morning breeze blew against his face and ruffled his wooly golden locks.
Melancholy suddenly washed over him. A pity Babylon the Great would soon be destroyed. Any day now a massive earthquake would shake the city’s towering skyscrapers and reduce them to rubble. It was going to happen. And there was no way to stop it.
But before the dry, desert ground ever started quaking, darkness would cover Babylon. The sun would refuse to shine its rays on the metropolis. And the city would go black. Very black.
The thick darkness would come courtesy of the fifth bowl judgement.
A disturbance in the breezy air roused Skymolt from his gloomy thoughts. It was a subtle disturbance, but he definitely felt it. His senses were more acute than an ordinary man.
Skymolt shifted his gaze upward and toward the west. He spotted a demon flying high in the sky four miles away. His wings a blur, the demon flew as fast as a fighter jet. A black contrail streaked the blue sky behind him.
Skymolt recognized the demon. It was Zarkien, his top general.
Reaching Babylon’s outskirts, Zarkien dropped down into the city and banked effortlessly around the soaring architecture, weaving in and out amongst the buildings at speeds nearing the sound barrier, his g-force reaching double digits.
As required, Zarkien was reporting in to deliver Skymolt his daily briefing. And judging by Zarkien’s speed, he had something important to say.
Zarkien flew right through a sparkling glass skyscraper rising up near Skymolt’s palace and then put on the brakes. He landed nimbly on the balcony and faced Skymolt. Bowing low, he said, “Master, I didn’t expect to see you in your host body.”
“I have a staff meeting in a few minutes. We have a full slate to cover. If I show my true identity the staff will grow faint and nothing will get done.”
Zarkien nodded solemnly and straightened up. His long sable hair flopped down and covered one eye like a pirate patch. He tucked his charcoal-colored wings behind his back like a cape and stood at attention with his powerful shoulders and chest held back in a regal posture. “I understand,” he said, his voice cold and firm and all business.
Skymolt looked at his general. “Do you have good news to report to me?”
“Some good and some not so good.”
“Tell me the good news first.”
“The armies of the world are beginning to form up. More troops are crossing over the Euphrates River every day and forming battle lines along the plain of Megiddo. The fighting force assembling is uncountable. But it’s taking a long time to cross the river. There are only so many bridges.”
Henrik Skym
olt nodded. “Soon the river will recede, and the troops will no longer need bridges to cross over on. They’ll simply drive or walk over on the dry riverbed. This will help immensely with logistics.” Skymolt studied Zarkien’s face closely. “And what is your bad news, Zarkien? Does it involve Tanner Mason?”
Zarkien nodded. “The Legion was unable to enter the young man’s body.”
“How can this be?”
“Tanner Mason possesses a strong faith that is difficult to overcome. But in this case he received help.”
“Help? From who?”
“Evidence points toward a contingent of saints and angels led by Vallen and Andrew Maddix. It is unclear whether Michael was there to defend Tanner Mason. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he was.”
Henrik Skymolt began to pace on his expansive balcony. “Andrew Maddix has been a thorn in my side for some time,” he said bitterly.
“I must admit he is formidable. But he can’t be everywhere at once.”
Skymolt turned sharply to face Zarkien. “You sound as if you have something in mind, Zarkien.”
“Nothing specific, Master. But I propose we split up the Legion. Send half the demon troops away to create mayhem somewhere else. Hopefully Maddix and his comrades will chase after them. And then the remaining half of the Legion will meet less resistance in their quest to possess Tanner Mason.”
Skymolt started pacing again. His long legs created huge strides. “Perhaps I will give the Legion one more chance. But only one more. I’m going to need them in Megiddo, and possibly Jerusalem.” Skymolt looked at Zarkien slyly. “If only Tanner Mason could be found and arrested by the local UWC officers out there in Washington. Why don’t you find a way to make that happen? The sooner the better.”
Zarkien allowed his hand to dangle and rest on his sword hilt. His fingers, more like the sharp talons of a raptor curled around the hilt out of habit. “I will do my best, Master. Every time Mason broadcasts a message the noose tightens around him a little more. The UWC is bound to find him soon,” Zarkien said. “But if I may be so bold as to ask you, why the obsession with locating Tanner Mason? He’s just one person. Barely more than a kid, really.”
