Fire and Flood

by Dawn Morris

  Fire and Flood

  FIRE&

  FLOOD

  DAWN

  MORRIS

  NEW YORK

  LONDON • NASHVILLE • MELBOURNE • VANCOUVER

  Fire and Flood

  A Novel

  © 2022 Dawn Morris

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Publisher’s Note: Th is novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Scriptures are taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE® (NASB), copyright© 1960, 1962, 1963,1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by Th e Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

  Published in New York, New York, by Morgan James Publishing. Morgan James is a trademark of Morgan James, LLC. www.MorganJamesPublishing.com

  ISBN 9781631954740 paperback

  ISBN 9781631954757 ebook

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020952598

  Cover Design by:

  Rachel Lopez

  www.r2cdesign.com

  Interior Design by:

  Chris Treccani

  www.3dogcreative.net

  Morgan James is a proud partner of Habitat for Humanity Peninsula and Greater Williamsburg. Partners in building since 2006.

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  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you; When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, Nor will the flame burn you.

  Isaiah 43:2

  For my favorite child!

  (Inside joke, I have five favorite children!)

  Acknowledgments

  First, I want to thank my husband, Dennis. He’s a natural editor and has lovingly and humorously encouraged and challenged me through the writing process. His notes written in the margins spurred me to dig deep and made me laugh!

  Next, I honestly have two of the most gifted editors on my team, Arlyn Lawrence and Kerry Wade with Inspira Literary Solutions. Each of them has helped me become a better writer, teaching me the importance of clearly showing the reader the world and characters in my story. Fire and Flood is an epic novel, and they truly helped me do some heavy lifting in bringing the story to life!

  I can’t express how excited I am to be working with Morgan James Publishing on this novel! They have been so encouraging and helpful. Bonnie Rauch, thank you for guiding me through this process! David Hancock, thank you for the opportunity and your positive comments about Fire and Flood. Cortney Donelson, having someone who edits books for a living say that Fire and Flood was “soo good” is a great compliment! And thank you for catching some key storyline snafus. It takes a village to bring a book to market!

  I want to also thank my family and friends who’ve been so supportive and encouraging to me! A special thank you to my prayer partner, Rachel Braaten. Thank you for always pointing my attention back to truth and making me laugh! Julie Kott, who always encourages and celebrates with me! Jeannette Hand, a true and faithful friend who loves me just as I am!

  To everyone at Adorned in Grace Tacoma, and my long-time friend, Christine Gilge! You women and men serve our community in so many life-changing ways. Thank you all for letting me join you!

  Finally, to the lovely women I got to lead through a study of Revelation as I was editing this novel. Their support in the process was greatly appreciated, and their questions and comments helped me in aspects of writing this story.

  FIRE

  Chapter 1

  Many false prophets will arise and will mislead many. Because lawlessness is increased, most people’s love will grow cold.

  Matthew 24:11–12

  I was born after the Vanishing.

  As American cities, along with cities around the world, were disintegrating into violence and war, my parents aligned themselves with a group of religious zealots hidden away in the wilderness of western Montana. Like many, they were stunned to find themselves left behind on the earth after the Vanishing. In this landscape of chaos and confusion, my parents—Jack and Karen—came under the leadership of Dominic Webb, a charismatic religious leader.

  Webb stepped into the devastation and disorientation and provided direction and leadership to the chaos. And so, just days after millions of people vanished in an instant, two hundred lost souls gathered around their new prophet of God and followed him across the country to his father’s extensive ranch in Montana. He named the ranch “the Compound” and called his followers “the Chosen.” Dominic Webb preached with relish about the evils of mankind, detailing the atrocities of the outside world. No one was allowed to leave, but we were so well indoctrinated that no one dared venture outside the Compound.

  It was evening and I’d just finished putting my younger siblings to bed. I was cleaning the bathroom, the last thing on my endless chore list. When I bent over to scrub the bathtub, pain exploded in my left side, and I fell to the ground.

  “You idiot! What are you doing in here?” My father yanked me to my feet and slapped me across the face.

  “Please, Dad, please stop!” I screamed. I could feel the all too familiar warmth of blood pouring out of my nose.

  “Don’t you call me ‘Dad,’ you skinny, ugly freak,” he slurred. His face moved so close to mine that I could smell the whiskey on his breath.

  “What is going on in here?” My mother stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, a sneer on her face. “You’re going to wake the children, Jack. What’d she do now?”

  He dropped me. “Sorry,” he muttered. His tone turned pleading, as if he feared her wrath, like the rest of us. “I was just talking with Dominic, and we had a couple of drinks. I came back here to use the bathroom, and this lazy cow was in the way.”

  “There’s blood all over the floor, Jack! Have her clean it up.” At this directive, Mother turned on her heel and marched back to their bedroom.

  Jack moved back into the bathroom and kicked me in the stomach. Still on my knees in front of the bathtub, I was an easy target.

  “Clean it up, then get out,” he muttered, “You aren’t welcome under this roof. Move into the shed with Daphne.” He left me in the bathroom—hands to my stomach, curled in a ball on the floor. Silently, holding back the tears that stung my eyes, I sat up, picked up the rag, spat on it, and cleaned up the blood.

  It was dark in the room I shared with my little sisters, but I easily found the few things that were mine, put them in my pillowcase, and made my way out of the house to the shed. There was a light on in the window, and I could see Daphne’s grey head bent over her book. I knocked on the door gently.

  She opened the door right away. “Child, come in.”

  Bursting into tears, I threw myself into her arms.

  Daphne was my only comfort on the Compound. She’d been here when the Chosen arrived, so Dominic let her stay on and work the ranch. She was hard but fair, and she treated me well. I think I liked the fact that she wasn’t really one of us. She hadn’t moved here enamored by Dominic’s leadership. She loved the ranch and wasn’t going to leave it just because Dominic had returned with a group of ragtag fanatics. I think she was the only one on the Compound who didn’t revere him as the Prophet of God.

  After I was kicked out of my parents’ house, I lived with Daphne in the shed and found a place of refuge from my family; for the first t
ime, I felt like I had a home with someone I loved. Daphne kindly picked up the broken pieces of my heart, taking care of me as if I were her own daughter.

  As I entered my early teens, I had noticed Dominic’s eyes on me during the mandatory community meetings. Just before my eighteenth birthday, my mother and father called me into their living room, something they rarely did. Daphne and I had just finished cleaning up their dinner dishes. I walked in, alarmed, wondering what I’d done wrong. Making sure to keep my eyes down, I murmured a faint, respectful greeting and waited.

  “I don’t know what he sees in her,” my mother sneered. “Surely Jacqueline is a better choice?”

  Jacqueline was my fifteen-year-old sister and the beauty of the family, according to my parents.

  “I told you already, he was emphatic. He wants her.”

  My stomach turned. I didn’t dare raise my eyes to face them, but I knew now what they were talking about . . . and who. It wasn’t unusual for Dominic to take an “interest” in the young teenage women in our community. Many children of the Chosen had a distinct resemblance to the Prophet.

  “Look at me,” my father commanded. I looked up at him, careful to keep my face expressionless and my eyes dull.

  “Dominic has decided that you will be the recipient of his blessing. Tomorrow morning, you will report to the main house. You will be married at sunset.

  “This is a huge honor for our family, as you know. I expect you to behave. If you do not, I will kill you myself. Do you understand me?”

  My heart began to race in fear. This wasn’t an idle warning. More than once, his regular punishments of the household help had gone too far. I had been forced to help carry limp bodies to shallow graves dug along the back fence. It was always their weakness that was blamed, or God’s divine wisdom—never alcohol or my father’s overuse of the stick.

  “Yes, sir,” I answered, bobbing my head up and down.

  “Leave us.”

  I ran to Daphne’s shack. Flinging myself on the cot, I shook in dread. I don’t know how long I lay there in fear before drifting off to sleep. I woke up in the early morning, stiff with cold and alone.

  Where was Daphne? I got out of bed, still dressed from the night before, and went to the small window that looked out to the back of the house. All was still. Filled with foreboding, I staggered through the yard to the back door, which led to the kitchen. There, Daphne, my only ally, my only friend, lay on the kitchen table—dead.

  I retched uncontrollably. It took some time for the dry heaving to stop. Standing up, I approached the kitchen table and her body, and gently pushed Daphne’s silver hair away from her face. Her eyes stared unseeingly at me. Gently, I closed them.

  Oh, God, oh God, I called out to Him in my mind, over and over, desperate and horrified. I began shivering uncontrollably. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing desperately it could be Daphne hugging me. Silently, I begged God to make it not real. I knelt on the floor by the table, moaning silently. There was no doubt in my mind that my father had killed her in a fit of rage for her challenging him.

  I pulled myself together. I had to get out of here. No matter how bad the world was outside of the Compound, it couldn’t be worse than this. I put some food into a cloth towel and wrapped it up. I snatched a canteen from the pantry, checking to make sure it had some water in it before heading quietly out the door, tears silently streaming down my cheeks.

  I raced across the dusty yard to the shack. Once inside, I reached under Daphne’s bed and pulled out the small Bible hidden there, Daphne’s secret treasure. I put it carefully in my makeshift bag before stuffing the few clothes I had on top of it.

  Then I planned my escape. It was still early and most people were sleeping, including my family. I thought I might be able sneak to the creek, cross it, and go west, following the sun. Gathering my courage, I slowly opened the shack door.

  My mother stood there smirking and looking murderously angry. Three men, dressed in suits, stood just behind her. She pushed me inside the shed and told the men to wait. Closing the door, she turned on me.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded in a low, frigid tone. Grabbing the bag out of my hand, she threw it to the floor.

  “All you’ve done from the day you were born is cause me grief. Do you know that? I’m so sick of having to look at you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be stuck with Jack, that sadistic monster.”

  Something inside me snapped. “How is that my fault?” I snarled back at her.

  Karen cackled, shaking her head. “Are you really so blind?” she asked. “Did you never once wonder how it is that your father and I both have brown hair and brown eyes and your brothers and sisters all have the same brown hair and brown eyes, but you . . . you have blonde hair and green eyes? Are you telling me that you’ve never once questioned it?” She laughed in disgust.

  Stunned into silence, I glanced at the wall to my right where a chipped mirror hung and saw my image reflected back. My blonde hair was still braided; wild hairs escaped, creating a halo.

  “Dominic?” I whispered aloud. His eyes were the same shade of green as the ones staring back at me in the mirror.

  “Yes, he stopped wanting me once my belly swelled up with you. Then he passed me on to Jack as a reward. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be his favorite. There’s no way I’m letting you anywhere near him.” She spit each word out of her mouth like a curse as she scuttled over to me and grappled my chin between her fingers, her sharp nails digging into my flesh.

  She shoved me backward, gouging my chin with her nail as she did so, and ordered me to get the bag she’d thrown on the floor. Grabbing my arm, she marched me out of the door and pushed me again—this time into one of the three men.

  “You can take her now. Head out on that dirt track I showed you earlier.” She stretched out her hand. “I’ll take that fee we negotiated.”

  One of the men picked up a wooden crate filled with bottles that was sitting on the ground and handed it to my mother, while another pulled me along to a black car waiting behind the shed, out of sight of the house.

  I turned back to see my mother staring hard at me, the crate perched on her hip. “You go on now, Dani, and have a real good life. I’m sure you’re going to enjoy what’s ahead for you.” Her sarcastic laughter shot across the yard at me.

  One of the men pushed me into the back seat of the car, and the same man sat in the back with me, warning me to keep quiet and not cause any trouble. The other two got into the car, and we drove down the dirt track and away from the Compound. The makeshift bag sat in my lap, and I was thankful to still have it. As we drove away, my fingers fumbled through it for the small Bible that had belonged to Daphne. I held it like a good luck charm against the onslaught of fear and confusion that swirled in my mind. I had been betrayed by family, and, for the first time in my life, I was leaving the Compound and the Chosen behind.

  FLOOD

  Chapter 2

  Now it came about, when men began to multiply on the face of the land . . . the sons of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful; and they took wives for themselves . . . The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also afterward, when the sons of God came in to the daughters of men, and they bore children to them. Those were the mighty men of old, men of renown.

  Genesis 6:1–2, 4

  While my father, as the director of the Games, spent most of his time traveling back and forth from our estate in the country to the great city of Sumeria, it was my first time in the city and attending the festival.

  On our way to the stadium, we passed glittering white homes surrounded by greenery. Flowers and sparkling fountains lined either side of the street before giving way to stores filled with all sorts of goods and food. Vendors hawked their wares to the citizens winding their way past them. My mouth watered as I smelled roasted meat spiced with cinnamon and ginger. I was enthralled, but my mother sat stone-faced beside me.

  Mother followed the Old
Ways and wanted to keep me from the moral pollution of the city where the Magistrate ruled. But my father, who was in charge of the Games, said the Magistrate had requested our whole family be present at the festival.

  “We’re almost there.” My father patted my mother reassuringly. “Really, dear, you don’t have to worry. The Magistrate isn’t a monster.”

  Mother pursed her lips tightly. My father didn’t follow the Old Ways—doing so was forbidden by the Magistrate—and this caused tension between them.

  I saw the stadium ahead. It was the biggest building I’d ever seen, constructed of glittering white stone with rising tiers of seats that could be seen through its arched openings. Crowds thronged outside. I’d never seen so many people at once.

  “Mother!” I whispered, “Those men are Nephilim!”

  The two guards towered over us as we sat in the cart; both had massive frames and a shock of red hair. Bowing to my father, they greeted him respectfully. “Director, sir, the Magistrate is waiting. Come, we will escort you to your seats.”

  The stadium was crowded, but the people parted quickly for the giant Nephilim who led us. I trembled. Mother noticed and wrapped an arm around me.

  “Remember, the Nephilim are only part human, Ariana,” mother whispered as we followed. All of the Magistrate’s guards were Nephilim, the offspring of the Fallen Ones and human women. My mother had taught me about the Fallen Ones, those angels who had rebelled against the Creator and followed their leader down from the heavens to roam on the earth. The Nephilim had some of the powers of the Fallen Ones . . . and all of their darkness. Some, like these guards, were giants. As we followed them, I was simultaneously terrified and curious. I had never been this close to Nephilim.

  Finally, we came to the great podium where all the dignitaries sat. Still following the Nephilim, we were shown to our seats, to the right of the Magistrate.