by Roy Bright
A large group of armed people, their clothes dirty and torn, shuffle between cover, moving into firing positions, their weapons resting on top of barricades.
Conrad sneaks a look right, around the edge of the wall, and sees more doing the same. He looks at Gary and indicates with his head that it is the same that way.
“What’s the plan then?” Gary asks.
“We become better shots than they and fight our way out,” he says, gritting his teeth.
“Jesus, Conrad, they don’t have to be good fucking shots with automatic weapons. They just have to spray in numbers. We need a better strategy.”
Before he has a chance to reply, a deep booming voice echoes upward from the escalator ahead. “Where exactly do you think you are going? I never gave you permission to leave.”
Heavy footfalls rise from the voice’s vicinity and the tattooed bald head of the cannibal leader appears.
Bare chested, his fur coat now discarded, he is around 300lbs and 6ft 5in of pure, terrifying muscle. “Holy fucking shit,” Gary says, swallowing hard. “He could easily be a demon.”
The armed personnel dotted around the room stand and, fist pumping their weapons in the air, shout, “Colt, Colt, Colt,” over and over, rising in volume and intensity.
Colt, flanked by two other armed men and the girl, Stoat, holds up a hand and puts an immediate halt to the chanting. He takes a few steps forward; his entourage remaining where they are. He rolls his head around his neck and circles his arms around from front to back, warming up his muscles then holds them out to his side. Addressing Gary and Conrad, he smiles. “Do you not like it here, are you not welcomed? I feel like the hospitality offered to you has been spat back in our faces. Not cool, my friends. Not cool.”
Gary frowns at Conrad. “Is this fucking guy for real?”
“Here I stand,” he continues, while indicating a circle around himself with a hand, “in the arena, awaiting one who is truly worthy to face me.” He motions to the people all around, as an emperor would to his subjects, and smiles. “Defeat me, right here, right now, and my children will let you leave un-molested. Surely a tempting offer, no?”
Conrad holds his weapon out to Gary.
“Are you fucking serious?” Gary says, “You’re going to fight him?”
“What choice have we? I fight him, we may live. I no fight him, we die.”
“And you trust him, his word, that he will let us go? The man eats people, Conrad, and you are all set to trust him? You’re a big man, but he is a fucking monster.”
“It is not size of dog in fight, it is size of fight in dog.”
“Not if the dog is fighting a fucking bulldozer!”
Conrad shrugs. “We shall see.” He thrusts the weapon at Gary once more, reinforcing his desire for the man to take it.
Gary sighs and looks down for a moment, then takes it.
Offering a faint smile, Conrad walks into the area Colt has elected to be the arena.
Colt smiles and once again holds his arms out to his sides. “Welcome to the brave soul with guts enough to stand and face me, and further more—”
Conrad jabs him hard in the face, a blow that rocks Colt’s head back. “Enough talk. We fight,” he says, his guard raised.
Colt wipes the blood from his lips and smiles. He swings a right hook at Conrad who slips the punch, ducks, and digs an uppercut into Colt’s ribs, then follows up with a left hook to the other side of his body and completes with a right cross to his face.
Colt rocks to his right and then takes a few steps back. He blocks a further incoming blow then jabs straight and pointed fingers into Conrad’s throat causing him to retch and splutter. He then kicks him with one of his massive legs, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Gary contemplates letting rip with his rifle, peppering the giant man with a hail of bullets but he knows that would be suicide. Conrad was right, their chance of survival rests on the outcome of this fight, as slim as it may be. He looks around, desperate in his need to formulate a plan, anything that can assist if the worst happens. He draws a blank and his face is etched with worry.
Conrad cries out in anger and rubs at his throat as he gets to his feet. Ahead, the huge man strides over to him, pulling back a fist ready to slam it into him. Conrad moves fast for his size and charges at him, spearing into his midsection and shunting him to the floor. Although struggling to breathe through the now tightened airway in his throat, Conrad draws on as much strength and resolve as he can and rains powerful blows into his opponent. His punches are like rock hammers, smashing against their intended targets.
Colt covers up with his forearms and elbows, shielding his face from the onslaught of punches. Then, exposing himself to a flurry of punches yet taking them, he lowers his guard, reaches up to the sides of Conrad’s head and pulls him into a powerful and vicious head-butt. Bone breaks as his forehead connects with the Ukrainian’s nose.
Conrad cries out in pain and rocks backward, rolling off Colt. Blood spurts from his nose and runs over his lips. He splutters as it runs down his throat. His instincts fire, and he raises both arms into a cross, preventing him from receiving a kick to his face. The force drives him back further and his forearms feel as though they have been struck by metal, such is the intensity in which the kick connects. He is in trouble and he knows it. The flesh around his eyes is swelling and his respiratory system is in panic. He looks up through blurred vision to see a huge fist rocketing its way toward him. He can’t block this one and it connects. It doesn’t hurt, his adrenaline levels are now too high for that, he just feels an overwhelming, concussive thunk in his brain and his teeth snap together with a metallic taste filling his mouth. When his senses return to him, albeit a fraction of a second later, he wonders why he is laid flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Sight and sound washes in and out in waves, blurred and ill-formed. Somewhere to his left, he hears the sound of chanting, cheering. Who is it? Why are they cheering? Then it comes back to him. He is in a fight, one he is about to lose, and there’s a lot riding on it. He finds strength within himself to roll over onto his side and drag himself onto one knee.
Colt smiles, a bloodied and evil one. “Finally, an opponent worth facing, with courage to die the old way.” He points at Gary. “You there. You should be ashamed of yourself, skulking in the shadows, letting this brave warrior fall for you.”
Gary regards him with contempt.
“I would have fought you both at the same time. It would not have mattered to me,” Colt proclaims, playing to the gallery. He laughs loudly. Raising his face upward, he leers maniacally as he readies another blow for the man attempting to get to his feet.
As he wobbles into a near standing position, Conrad attempts to raise his fists to his opponent but is once again sent crashing to the ground with a hammer blow that splits the side of his face and crushes his senses into nothingness. He is done. In all his life, he has never been beaten down in such a manner. Colt was too strong for him; too strong and able to withstand what he had to offer. His attacks hurt the man, of that much he is sure, but his demented mind had not allowed itself to suffer the effects and so, as he looks up to see him raising a foot once more, destined to cave in his skull, he knows that he has failed. That he has failed everyone. He waits for the inevitable.
With a roar, Colonel Nathan Taylor races up the escalator, powering toward the huge man who is about to bring a crushing foot down onto his sergeant. Before the monstrous cannibal has time to react, he leaps into the air, wraps his legs and thighs around his neck and spins himself around, jerking the man down with him.
Colt feels a powerful force connect with his neck and before he knows it he is spinning around in the air, his neck muscles cracking under the pressure and he lands on the ground in a crumpled heap. Whatever just happened hurt. It hurt a lot. He screams his displeasure while pounding his enormous fists into the ground like a gorilla. His forces raise their weapons but he shrieks at them not to interfere, then gets up and ch
arges at the man who is now standing in front of him, adopting a martial arts defensive stance.
Nathan slips the overreaching right hook and double jabs the man square in his face, rocking him back. He allows him no time to recover and, using the man’s knee as leverage, plants a foot onto it and propels himself upward, kneeing him in the face, splitting his mouth and nose wide open. The man screams at him but Nathan isn’t done. His speed and sheer controlled power is too much for his opponent. Smaller than him he may be, but he is twice the fighter and he punishes him with his superior skills, swinging a swift and vicious kick to his right knee, bringing him down. He launches a front kick with his left foot at the man’s face and somehow he blocks it. Nathan wastes no time with his follow up. He crashes his fist into Colt’s ear, knocking him down.
Standing up, stunned and off balance, Colt feels his ear and it is wet with his blood. His mind swims, attempting to make sense of what is happening, but is afforded no time to do so as a flurry of blows rain in to his nose and jaw. Raising his hands, he tries to block the punches but feels an arm wrap around one of his and jerk it down with incredible force. Colt’s wrist snaps and he screams.
Nathan is about to rain down another blow as he holds the man’s broken wrist in his hand when a gunshot rings out and he drops to the floor, bringing the big man with him and using him as a shield. He looks over him to see a young teenage girl firing wildly in his direction, screaming. He then turns and looks behind him as the sound of automatic weapons opens up.
Gary raises his rifle and unleashes a volley of bullets at the girl as she fires her handgun in Nathan’s direction. The bullets rip into both her and the men to her side, their bodies jerking with each penetration, propelling them backward and down the escalator.
All hell breaks loose as firing erupts from all directions.
Gary unleashes suppressing fire to each side the best he can with short but accurate bursts that allows Nathan time to sprint toward Conrad, grab hold of his body armor, and, screaming, with all the strength he can muster, drag him to Gary’s position.
Gary races forward as another hail of bullets cuts through the air overhead and helps Nathan pull Conrad to safety.
Nathan wastes no time in gathering up Conrad’s dropped rifle and entering the firefight with equally well-placed bursts. He then raises a hand to his ear. “Dragonhammer, this is Eagleguard, ditch all you have on my beacon, wide spread, 50.”
A voice in his comms unit replies, “Eagleguard, this is Dragonhammer, solid copy. We only have 30-mil though.”
“JUST THROW IT ALL OUR WAY, DRAGONHAMMER. Eagleguard out.” He turns toward Gary and screams, “DOWN. FLAT. AS MUCH AS YOU CAN.”
The windows to the front of the mall explode as the M230 30mm cannon fire rips through them, splattering into the horde of cannibals massing their way toward the men, cowering in the corridor, their hands covering the unconscious one in an attempt to push him to the ground as much as possible.
Outside the mall, three Apache gunships unleash hell from their chain guns, decimating the front of the building. The onslaught loud and relentless as the rumbling of the guns drowns out the screams on the ground. Glass and metal shower inward and the noise is deafening.
Gary keeps low as projectiles zip overhead and blast into the walls around him. He has been under fire before but nothing as intense as this and it is terrifying, like lying under a dragon’s fiery breath waiting for the inevitable. But it doesn’t happen. As the gunfire ceases and he peers into the dust and smoke ahead, his mind gives thanks to God above that he is still alive. That notion is short lived, however, as behind he hears an approaching mass of snarling and slavering, as hundreds of creatures scramble over one another to get down the corridor to feast upon them. He looks at Nathan, despair in his eyes and then looks down.
Nathan sees the look in Gary’s eyes and he knows there is no time for them to run, no time for them to grab Conrad and get out of there. “It was an impossible plan,” he says with a half-smile. “We almost pulled it off.”
The sound of the approaching demonic horde is almost upon them and Gary places his hand on top of Nathan’s and squeezes.
A portal bursts open and out of it steps Raphael. He grabs Gary and Nathan and hurls them backward through it then picks up Conrad and steps into the portal. It closes behind him and the demons miss them by inches, leaping into the air, connecting with nothing.
Gary and Nathan collapse onto grass in an undignified manner and roll over to see the angel walk through the portal, Conrad slung under his arm. Gary is the first to celebrate, falling onto his back, his arms stretched past his head. He screams a laugh, an action not out of amusement but out of the sheer fact that he has cheated death again. He looks up to the sky. “Guess you really are looking out for me, huh?” In the distance, he hears the faint drone of helicopters and so props himself up onto his elbows, studying his surroundings. Looking in the direction of the sound, he sees three objects move across the land, their blinking lights marking their trajectory. From their distance, he reasons that the portal must have transported them a couple of miles away from the mall and then wonders why the angels haven’t moved them further. He gets to his feet and looks around, only now noticing that there are many people near him and some Blackhawk helicopters.
“They must have got here after I left,” Nathan says, standing up and moving past him.
“Who?” Gary asks.
“I’ll explain later, but this doesn’t look good.”
Gary looks in the same direction as Nathan to a huddled mass of people, crowded around Sarah. She is in tears and in her lap lies Abigail. “No!” Gary says, panic setting in. Rising to his feet, he breaks into a run, pushing people out of his way then stops as he reaches Sarah and his heart sinks as he looks into Abigail’s ashen face, her breathing wheezing and labored.
Sarah looks up at him. “Help her. Please God, someone help her.”
Fifty
The wall crumbles and collapses into the water as Judas and Uriel push against it, revealing a passageway behind. Deep within the catacombs beneath the Basilica and close to their destination, their feet slosh through ankle-deep water that has leaked in for years from the broken building above. They clamber over the remaining bits of wall, making their way into the opening on the other side.
“Uggh, I hate getting wet,” Charlotte says, lifting a foot out of the water and looking at it.
“Moan, moan, moan,” Judas replies with a faint smile.
The cavern is illuminated by a faint glow emanating from Uriel. “That’s a neat trick,” she says, acknowledging the skill.
“It’s not that hard, it is something we can all do. Even you will be able to do this, in time, once you learn all there is to learn regarding your skill set.”
She turns away, thoughtful, and makes her way over to Judas then looks into the passageway, noting how its appearance changes, moving from a structured architectural design to more cave-like construction with bricked walls giving way to natural stone. “Is it much further?” she asks, following him through and ducking under the remaining wall.
“No,” he replies, continuing to move forward. “This is the last passage. It leads to a chamber and in it lies The Book and Seal.” He stops and looks back at her. “And I think you are gonna like what you see.”
“Oh?” she says, her eyebrows raised, eyes alert and focused.
He winks at her, turns back around, and walks away.
She looks at the angels who glance at one another and shrug.
Leading them onward, Judas weaves through the narrow passageway as the gradient drops and they feel themselves moving deeper into the Earth. After a short time, it levels out with a pool of much deeper water that forces them to wade through it up to their waists, and then starts to climb again, affording them some respite from the wet. As they continue onward, the ground changes from a damp sludge to dry and dusty, and a sudden waft of warm air surprises them.
“Wow,” Charlotte says, h
olding her hands up, “it’s like a warm summer’s day down here.”
“It means we’re close,” Judas replies, forging ahead.
Her eyes narrow. “The Book and Seal give off heat?”
“No, what they reside in does.”
Her brow furrows but she decides to question him no more, instead favoring getting to their destination and seeing for herself what is causing the phenomenon. Looking around, she sees Judas moving away from her and she sets off to catch up. Ahead, a strong light filters out from a bend in the tunnel and her pace quickens as her curiosity gets the better of her. Anxious though she may be to retrieve the Book and Seal to swing the fight in their favor for once, she is also giddy with excitement at what lies ahead and feels like a nine-year-old girl once more, running down the stairs to see what Santa has left her. She grabs the rocky wall, moving around the bend, and then quickly retracts her hand as it is hot to the touch, not enough to burn the skin, but enough to be unexpected.
“It’s hot,” she says, holding up her hand and rubbing her fingers within the palm as if to prove the point.
“It sure is,” Judas replies with a smile, “and you’re about to find out why.” He motions toward the chamber with his head and then steps through.
She follows, and as she walks in a dazzling light forces her to turn away for a moment in order for her eyes to adjust. She turns her head back and stares at it, mouth agape.
Judas looks at her and smiles.
She inches toward it, past Judas, her face the picture of wonderment. “It looks just like it does in the movie,” she says, turning back to him.
“Well, almost sweetie. But it was close enough. That Spielberg knew what he was doing.”
“I should have known,” Uriel says, as he and Jophiel step inside.
Charlotte glances at Uriel and then back at Judas. “Can I touch it?” she asks.
He smiles and gives a small nod.
She grins and claps her hands together then walks forward. Glancing back once more with a wide smile, she looks down and then places both hands upon the Ark of the Covenant. It feels warm to the touch, a pleasurable warmth that tingles up her arms and washes over her face and neck. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath and it tastes amazing, even within the confines of the dirty chamber. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I am actually touching the Ark of the Covenant. This thing radiates such a wonderful energy, it’s incredible.”
