Kingdom Come

by Michelle Smith

  My mouth dropped open, but I was speechless. I’d felt something between us, that was for sure, but actually hearing it from someone else . . . it was weird.

  “Huh,” I finally said. “Shame I’m nuts then.”

  Danny shrugged and yawned loudly. “He’s got his shit, too. Maybe the two of you can be nuts together. If we’re still alive tomorrow, that is.”

  “You’re not a glass half-full kind of guy, are you?”

  He smirked. “I’m a ‘reality sucks, but we’re alive so I’ll deal with it as it comes’ kind of guy.”

  “That’s a mouthful.” I smiled. “But you have a point.”

  “Of course I do. Now go to sleep, crazy girl.”

  Any other time, someone calling me crazy would have felt like an insult. But from Danny, it almost sounded like a term of endearment. Who would have thought?

  “What should I do?” I murmured, closing my eyes while sleep started to overtake me. “About the Ethan thing?”

  Danny shifted closer to me, for which I was grateful; his body provided more heat than that flimsy blanket. “Give him some time.” His voice was groggy with sleep, too. “You’ve got to learn how to deal with guys like him.”

  “Like what?”

  “Guys who are used to getting pushed to the side. Used to being ignored. You have to draw him out of his shell. That’s why he’s staying out by the fire. He saw me bring you in here, maybe even peeked in to see how we are now, and now he feels like a kicked puppy since I’m the one keeping you warm. And even though he’s upset, he won’t say a word. Because this is how his life has always worked. He’s always taken the backseat.”

  “So why didn’t he bring me in here himself?”

  “You looked kind of freaky in the middle of your vision-thing,” he admitted. “He was probably scared shitless for you, and couldn’t move.” At least he was honest.

  My heart sank for Ethan. I remembered his explanation as to why he was sent to Sunrise—his parents pretty much sucked. Being used was basically his life story. Did he think that’s what I was doing, too? Just using him?

  “Why’re you telling me all this?” I asked.

  “I told you, K. The kid’s crazy about you.”

  ~*o*~

  I woke with a start to the unmistakable sound of crying. I cringed as my eyes opened because my body hurt like hell. There was no other way to describe it. All my muscles were sore and stiff, and the cold had settled into my bones. I felt like a freakin’ mannequin. I thought back to a time of fluffy pillows, central heating, and thick, warm blankets. How could that have only been a few days ago?

  After a lot of effort, I managed to sit upright. Danny was snoring on the floor beside me, and after searching the tiny room, I realized the crying was coming from Haven. Her eyes were closed, so I had no idea if she was dreaming or what.

  Groaning, I pushed myself to my feet and barely resisted the urge to start crying myself. It hurt. Dear God, it hurt. With her eyes still closed, Haven let out a wail. Poor girl. I tiptoed over to her, wincing each time the wood creaked beneath my weight. Crouching down beside her, I gave her shoulder the gentlest of shakes in an attempt to wake her. I knew the terror of nightmares—if I could help her at all, then I’d do what I could. Seconds later, her cries lessened to soft whimpers, then finally, silence. Maybe her mind could rest for now, at least.

  The flames were still going strong outside, so I immediately started in that direction. As soon as I stepped outside, Ethan’s face became visible through the glow of orange and red. He looked wiped, which made sense considering he’d slept even less than I had. He sat with his legs bent and his arms resting on his knees. He was focused intently on the fire, seemingly lost in another world.

  I stepped forward, and the snap of a twig alerted him to my arrival. I smiled sheepishly and made my way over, then sat in the patch of dirt beside him.

  “Hi,” I said, my voice still heavy with sleep.

  His face was sad, his smile forced when he nodded in acknowledgement, but didn’t speak. I guessed Danny was right—Ethan saw us earlier. Guilt filled me as I looked up to the sky.

  “Looks like it’s settling down a little,” I said. I pointed up to clarify when he gave me a confused look. “The clouds. They’re not swirling as quickly as they were earlier. Good sign?”

  He shrugged and looked back to the fire, and I kind of wanted to push him at that point. Literally. Finally, after what felt like an hour, he said, “Could mean it’s settling down. Or, it could be false hope and the sky could fall any time now.”

  Despite his sullen tone, I smiled. “Hope isn’t that bad, you know. Not when it’s all you’ve got.”

  “True.”

  And that was that. I sighed and followed his gaze to the fire. I was starting to feel bad for something that wasn’t even my fault. Guys were weird creatures. Why couldn’t he just, you know, tell me he was upset? And they say girls are the complicated ones.

  I took a breath and turned, prepared to say just that, when I saw something in his hands. His eyes flickered to me at the same time, and he gave me a small smile when he noticed what I was looking at.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He stared at me for a beat longer before holding it up for me to see more clearly, and my breath caught once I had a better view. “I found this when I was tending to the fire right after you and Danny . . .” He cleared his throat, then pointed to the tiny cross-shaped branch. It was no bigger than my thumbnail and dangled from some sort of thin vine. “I found the branch after you went to rest. It reminded me of the story about your mom.”

  He shrugged and handed it to me, and I took it carefully, making sure not to break it. “It’s probably stupid,” he added. “And it’s really fragile and might not even last long out here. I just—”

  “Ethan,” I interrupted. He finally looked me in the eyes for the first time since I’d come outside. “This is the sweetest, most considerate thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.”

  He smiled—a true, genuine Ethan smile—and reached out to take the vine again. He nudged my wrist, prompting me to raise it.

  “I thought it was fitting,” he said. He tied the ends of the vine into a knot, securing the bracelet around my wrist before looking up. “A sign that you’ll never be alone, even if the world is kind of collapsing around us.” He brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen into my face. “As long as you have this, you have me, in a way.” He scrunched his nose. “Does that make me sound insane and stalkerish?”

  His eyes, which had been full of fatigue and trouble just a few minutes before, were now shining. The sight made my heart skip a beat, and in that moment, I knew there was something special about Ethan Grant. I just hoped he felt the same about me.

  “No,” I whispered. “It sounds kind of perfect.”

  Chapter 9

  We were bruised, exhausted, and very nearly broken by the time we reached Susan Sinclair’s house at nightfall the following day. I had no idea how we even made it. With all the limping, coughing, and pain, each of us belonged in a hospital, not out in the open. The storms had ended, but the clouds still swirled ominously above us. Teasing us. Reminding us that anything could still happen at any second. Letting our guards down wasn’t an option.

  I wasn’t sure where the hell we were at this point—Dr. Fowler mentioned something about West Virginia. I just knew that we’d started to hit mountainous areas, and it didn’t help our conditions at all. In fact, I was this close to throwing in the damn towel with the whole thing. Why did we even trust him to begin with, if he felt such a desperate need to travel this far just to talk to some woman? Because he’s the only one with any sort of sense of direction.

  I’d had no visions all day, which caused both relief and slight panic. I’d never gone an entire day without them. Ever. Maybe my brain was just too tired. Maybe I couldn’t form a coherent thought through the fever-induced haze settling into my head. It made sense, as breathing was becoming a conscious effor
t.

  The two-story house stood alone at the top of a hill. It had been beaten by the storms, with shutters hanging off the shattered windows and a door resting on only one hinge. The chimney was reduced to rubble, and what was clearly once a wrap-around porch no longer wrapped around, to say the least.

  The house was still standing, though. And somehow, so were we. I wasn’t sure how to explain either miracle.

  Dr. Fowler hesitated once we approached what was left of the porch steps, assessing the damage. The rest of us clustered together behind him, waiting for him to make the first move. There was no way I was charging up there first. The place looked like it could crumble at any minute.

  Soon, a middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway. The moment he saw her, the doctor made a mad dash up the steps. Ethan and I exchanged a wary look before following slowly. His hand found mine, and when our fingers intertwined, I cowered into his side. I had no idea what to think of this person. Dr. Fowler obviously trusted her, but could we?

  The other three fell into step behind us as we continued on to the house, climbing the creaky steps with caution. The doctor and the woman were speaking in hushed voices, but looked to us once we all piled onto the porch.

  “Here they are,” Dr. Fowler said, relief evident in his features. “This is Susan Sinclair, a dear friend of mine.”

  Susan smiled, but something was off about her expression. She didn’t share the relief of the doctor; she seemed apprehensive. Once her gray eyes landed on me, they widened.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, not breaking her gaze for a second.

  I gulped. Everyone else stared in my direction, but Ethan tensed and wrapped a protective arm around my waist and pulled me toward him. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. I’d never seen this woman before, so I had no clue why she was looking at me like I was some long-lost friend.

  As if sensing my discomfort, Susan regained her bearings quickly, then cleared her throat and stepped to the side. “Please,” she said. “Come in. No telling what else is bound to happen out here.”

  The doctor went in without hesitation, and Ethan and I followed suit. I was grateful that he didn’t break his hold on me, because this woman freaked me out. The inside of her house was actually homey, with a huge couch and cushiony recliner in the room we were standing in. It didn’t take long to see further effects of the storm, though. There were gaping holes in the walls, and the railing of the staircase was in pieces on the steps. With a glance to the left, I saw her kitchen was also in shambles. Despite that, my stomach rumbled once I caught sight of the refrigerator.

  “So.” We all turned to look at Susan, whose gaze moved from me to Dr. Fowler. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Eugene?”

  The doctor’s shoulders slumped then, as if the weight of the previous days was finally crashing down on him. “I think you know, Susan. I need help. It’s happening, isn’t it?”

  She stared back at him, unblinking, before nodding with a regretful look on her face. “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, I believe it is.”

  He took a step toward her. “Please, tell me. How can we put this to an end?”

  “So it’s true then?” I asked. I didn’t even recognize my own voice anymore. After surviving the previous days on a bag of chips, a can of beans I shared with Ethan, and a few sips of water, I was surprised I was even conscious. “This Bennett guy, he’s actually controlling all this?”

  Susan regarded me for what felt like ages, causing me to shrink back into Ethan’s side. “You really don’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t understand,” I snapped. “So please, enlighten me, since you seem to know something about me that I don’t.”

  My head was swirling, and I swayed on my feet a little before Ethan and Danny each grabbed a shoulder to steady me. My body couldn’t take much more of this, so this woman needed to either explain herself, or point me in the direction of the nearest bed. Well, unless that bed was buried beneath a pile of rubble.

  Susan wasn’t unnerved by my outburst, however. She merely stared at me and said, “All right, then.” She gestured toward the sitting area. “You kids have a seat. I think it’s time for a history lesson.”

  Sensing my ever-present unsteadiness, Ethan rested his hands on either of my shoulders and guided me to the couch. I flopped back on the cushions, and my body practically screamed in relief. A shiver went through me, despite the warmth of the house. I would’ve killed for even half a cup of hot chocolate. Ethan took a seat beside me, and Danny plopped down next to him while Haven and Nate took spots on the floor.

  A moment passed before Susan appeared with two huge bags of tortilla chips, a can of beans, and a few bottles of water. Danny snatched the chips and tossed one bag to Nate. Susan offered me an apologetic look when I cringed at the sight of more chips and beans. Did nothing else survive the freakin’ apocalypse?

  “Not much fared through the storm,” she explained. “Though there wasn’t much in the pantry to begin with. Times have been a bit tough lately.” She settled into the recliner across from us as the doctor crossed the room to stare out the window, his arms folded in front of his chest.

  “Issfine,” Danny said through a mouthful of food. He passed the bag to Ethan, who started munching away. “Better than nothing.”

  He had a point. But . . . ugh. Forget it. I reached into the bag and grabbed a handful for myself, and once the nacho cheese deliciousness cleared my foggy head, I could have kicked myself for almost rejecting them.

  Susan smiled knowingly, then turned. “I assume they know the gist of all this?” she asked Dr. Fowler, who nodded. “All right, then. It started in sixteenth century Greece, with a man named Alexander Andreas, and a discovery that should have never been unearthed.” Her gaze became distant. “No one is sure as to how he came about the scrolls exactly. Some say they were buried deep within the earth; others say they washed up on the beach one fateful day. Either way, they fell into the hands of a man who saw the scrolls for what they were: power. All-consuming power.”

  “Time out,” Danny cut in. Susan glared at him, but he kept on. “Why didn’t he just use them right then, if he knew what they were? If he was so power-hungry?”

  “I’m sure Eugene—Dr. Fowler—educated you all on visionaries?” She looked at me pointedly, and I sunk further into my cushion. Did she know? And if so, how? Did I look like a freak, too? “Only a visionary is capable of opening the scrolls, and Alexander was no more a visionary than I am.”

  “So how did he know what they were?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself—this was already unbelievable enough, and it just wasn’t adding up. It felt like I was listening to a fairy tale. “If he couldn’t open them, then wouldn’t they have just looked like rolled up pieces of paper to him?”

  Susan acknowledged that with a nod. “There’ve always been stories, especially in the families of ancient Greece, and this was one of those tales.”

  “So, he knew what they were when he saw them,” I reasoned. “Just from the stories he’d heard?”

  “It sounds unlikely,” she said. “But, as far as we know, yes. You have to remember this was centuries ago, so this is mostly speculation. It’s only what’s been passed down from generation to generation. Obviously, details can become muddled in that span of time. It’s worse than playing a game of telephone.”

  “You mean to tell me we’ve been walking—walking—for two days straight, starving our asses off, based on speculation?” Nate asked with disgust. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me.”

  “Can I finish my story before you start spouting off at the mouth?” Susan asked. “Or else you’re more than welcome to leave. I don’t allow snideness in my home.”

  I glanced down at Nate, who was giving her a death glare, but he said nothing else.

  “It is speculation,” Susan continued, “that’s now being confirmed as truth. As you can see . . .” She gestured to the ceiling. “Here we sit beneath a whirlwind of chaos.”

  Ethan leaned forward, pl
acing his elbows on his knees. “How does all this work? Do you know?”

  “There are four scrolls,” Susan answered. “There’s a very particular order in which the scrolls must be opened. The summoner must be meticulous so that the fourth soldier is called on the first day of the new year. At least, what’s considered the new year for the one who possesses the scrolls. This obviously depends on where the summoner resides. Then, each scroll brings forth its own soldier of the apocalypse.”

  “Soldiers?” I asked. “What does that even mean?”

  Susan sighed, wringing her hands as if trying to come up with the correct wording. “The soldiers are the ones who descend from the heavens, and each brings about his own form of destruction. This is how civilization as we know it is brought to an end. Each is given one week to reign as he pleases. The first: the master of earth.”

  “He brought the storms,” Ethan said, to which Susan nodded.

  “Bingo,” she said. “Now, the scrolls must be opened precisely one week apart—I’m talking down to the very minute. The second soldier calls forth fire. The third, ice. And the fourth . . . The fourth is Death himself.”

  There are different forms of silence that can fall over a group of people. Sometimes, the members of the group are simply speechless. Sometimes, they’re scared of saying the wrong thing. And sometimes, they’re stunned into a terrified silence.

  Our silence was the latter.

  True to form, Danny was the first to speak. “Death himself. And that means what, exactly?”

  Susan chewed on her lip before responding. “It means there are no rules. Not really. At that point, the world will be wiped clean, except for the areas deemed safe by the master of the scrolls—i.e., Bennett. This is why he’s set up his safe haven. The people who are practically killing themselves to get there, they have no idea what the price for that protection will be. They’ll only be allowed to stay if they agree to follow Bennett—his rulings, his laws, whatever he comes up with. The same goes for all the other sanctuaries he’s set up across the world.