The Revelation

by Bentley Little

  He turned to face Brother Elias. "Well," he said, "we're all here."

  The preacher nodded slowly. He looked at Gordon, his black eyes clear and unreadable. "I assume you would like to know why you are with us."

  "Yes, I would," Gordon admitted.

  Brother Elias stood up. "We all have our parts to play," he said. "We must all take the roles for which we were meant." He nodded toward the sheriff. "He is a protector, like his great-grandfather before him, and his great-grandfather before him. The adversary is strong, and there is an element of physical danger in our endeavor. We need his protection." His gaze shifted to Father Andrews. "He is a man of God, blessed with extrasensory ability. We need his ability to communicate with the adversary."

  "Why do you need me?" Father Andrews asked. "Why can't you communicate?"

  "I cannot," the preacher said simply. P "But you're a man of God as well."

  Brother Elias smiled but said nothing. He turned to Gordon. "You, too, are to be a protector."

  "But why me? I can't even--"

  "Your wife is pregnant. The evil one wants your unborn infant. We need the added insurance provided by your personal involvement."

  Gordon tried to swallow but his mouth had suddenly gone dry. He felt as though he was going to faint. He stood up and clumsily knocked over his chair. His legs felt weak. Marina! "I have to go," he said hurriedly. "I have to get her."

  The preacher's eyes held him, forcing him to remain still. "You cannot leave."

  Gordon willed himself to look away, he rushed to the door. "I have to get her!"

  "If you do not come with us now, the adversary will surely get your unborn daughter."

  Gordon's hand let go of the doorknob. He turned around.

  "We need your strength. Your daughter needs your strength."

  "Why?" Gordon asked.

  "The Lord," said Brother Elias, "has always chosen special people to carry out his work, be it artistic, intellectual, or spiritual. The BachsandBeethovens , the ThomasEdisons and AlbertEinsteins , the Ghandisand Martin Luther Kings. He places these special individuals in different parts of the world, in different countries. Not all of them survive. In his jealousy and rage, Satan attempts to gather these individuals to him before they are born, to convert them to his own evil purposes, to spite and mock the Lord our God." He looked at Gordon. "Your daughter is just such a person. That is why the adversary is after her."

  "You mean," Jim said, unbelieving, "that all of this, all this chaos, happened when Bach was born, when Thomas Edison was born, when all those other people were born?"

  Brother Elias shook his head. "The adversary is lucky that the unborn infant is here at this place at this time." He shrugged. "Perhaps he planned it that way. I cannot say."

  "I have to call iVIarina and warn her," Gordon said.

  The sheriff nodded and gestured toward the door. "Call her. Tell Pete to let you use the phone."

  Gordon pulled open the door. He turned suddenly around. "What will my daughter be when she grows up?" he asked.

  Brother Elias only smiled.

  Gordon ran out into the hall.

  Jim stood and looked at the preacher, a mixture of fear and bewilderment visible on his features. "This is the first time this has happened?"

  "I did not say that."

  "Were any of these . . . special people ever born in Randall?"

  "No," the preacher said. "We were not in time. The boy was never born."

  Gordon ran into the front office, got the phone from Pete, dialed the number of his house and let the phone ring. Six, seven, eight times.

  He waited until the twelfth ring and hung up. Marina had had plenty of time to return home since she'd dropped him off. He was worried, but he knew Brother Elias would not let him drive back home to check on her. Maybe he could convince the others to stop by the house for a few minutes on the way to wherever they were going. He knew they would be heading in the direction of the Rim.

  The other three men walked into the front office.

  "We must go," Brother Elias said. "It is getting late. Time is short."

  Angry as she had been with him, Marina was scared, Gordon knew. She might not have believed everything he'd told her, but she instinctively felt the danger. She had probably already left for Phoenix. She was probably well out of Randall by now.

  Yes, he decided, adjusting the camera over his shoulder as he followed the other men out of the office. She was probably long gone by now.

  He hoped to God she was.

  Marina, taking a hot shower, did not hear the telephone ring.

  A line of light orange was just beginning to infiltrate the fading purple of the eastern sky as the two pickups pulled off the paved highway onto the control road. Brother Elias had originally said that he wanted enough pickup trucks for each of them, plus a few extra vehicles just in case. But the sheriff had been able to scrape together only three county trucks and one private vehicle--Carl's. As it turned out, they only needed two of the trucks. Father Andrews could not drive a stick shift and so was forced to ride with Gordon.

  And Jim did not want Brother Elias driving by himself. Not with a county truck.

  The preacher had said nothing to Jim during the twenty-minute ride to the control road but had instead stared silently out the window at the passing trees. Jim had tried to talk to the preacher, had tried to ask questions, had tried to get some type of conversation going, but Brother Elias had refused to speak, and soon he had given up. He turned on the radio for a brief while, but the only station that came in was an obnoxious rock station out of San Francisco, and he ended up turning the radio off. "You get the strangest stations in the early morning," he said to Brother Elias, but the preacher ignored him and they drove in silence the rest of the way.

  Gordon and Father Andrews drove in silence as well, each thinking private thoughts. Gordon had looked at the priest as the truck before them had sped past the turnoff to his house, and Father Andrews, as if reading his thoughts, had smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry," he said.

  "She'll be fine." They had driven the rest of the way in silence.

  Ahead, the right taillight of the sheriff's truck began blinking slowly on and off, and the truck turned onto the control road. Gordon slowed down as he followed the sheriff's lead. What little light they had had from the not-quite-rising sun was cut off instantly as they entered the low darkness of the forest. Here it was still night. They descended the dirt road down from the highway and wound through a small ravine.

  Around them, the trees grew high and tall and close to the road. Even the high beams of the truck did not penetrate far into the blackness.

  To their left, past the trees, unseen but felt, rose the huge majestic form of the Mogollon Rim.

  The sheriff's truck moved carefully over the one-lane road, taking the sharp turns slowly. The road straightened out, and the truck's red taillights increased in brilliance as the sheriff braked to a stop.

  Gordon pulled to a stop as well. Jim came jogging back. He motioned for Gordon to roll down the window. Instead, Gordon opened the door and stepped out. "What is it?" he asked.

  "Come here," the sheriff said. He walked briskly forward, past his own truck and stood in the middle of the road. "Look familiar?"

  Gordon nodded, feeling the coldness creep over him, the goose bumps rising on his arms. This was where he had been walking in his dream.

  He recognized the shapes of specific trees, the convergence of certain silhouettes. Beneath his feet, even the dirt of the road felt familiar. "This was where part of my dream took place."

  "Mine too."

  He turned toward the sheriff. "What does this mean?"

  Jim shook his head. "I don't know." He nodded toward the truck. "Our friend there's not talking."

  "We are wasting valuable time," Brother Elias said from inside the pickup. "We must start moving. There is much to do." His voice sounded stronger in the forest darkness, even more authoritarian than usual, and there seemed to be a
hint of urgency in it.

  Brother Elias, his skin the dark brown of a full-bloodedAnasazi , wearing only a loincloth, clutching a spear, standing before a ceremonial bonfire as around him warriors stood hushed.

  Father Andrews shut his eyes against the vision, forcing the unwanted picture out of his mind through a sheer effort of will.

  "Go back to your truck," Jim told Gordon. "Let's get going." He climbed into his own cab, slammed the door shut and put the engine into gear. Behind him, he heard Gordon's truck start up.

  They moved forward. The narrow dirt road was now straight, moving toward the landfill in a direct line through the trees. A doe hopped onto the road, froze for a second in the glare of the oncoming headlights, then bounded off. They saw no other animals. Finally, they came to the open chain link gate of the landfill and stopped.

  Before them, blocking the entrance, parked sideways across the dirt road, was a truck.

  Brad Nicholson's Pepsi truck.

  Gordon got out of the pickup, his heart pounding. The cab was empty, he saw, its door open. The canvas strap used to close the back gate of the truck was swinging gently in the open air.

  "Stay back!" the sheriff ordered. He had gotten out of his truck and was advancing toward the gate, gun drawn. Gordon remembered the rifles sitting in the bed of his pickup and he was tempted to grab one, but he remained rooted to the spot, watching as the sheriff moved cautiously forward.

  Jim put one foot slowly in front of the other, trying desperately not to make any noise. He glanced from side to side, listening for the sound of movement, prepared to defend himself against whatever might jump out at him. He reached the open door of the cab and cautiously peeked in. Empty. He moved around the front of the truck, still preparing himself for an unexpected attack. From here, he could see the rest of the dump. A reddish orange glow emerged from the smoldering embers of thecumbustible pile in the middle of the cleared area, and he shivered. He scanned the space immediately around him.

  Nothing moved. He continued walking around the truck. The canvas strap of the rear door had stopped swinging, and the sheriff realized that there was no breeze. Something must have hit the strap to make it move. His grip tightened on his gun, and he peeked into the back of the truck.

  Nothing.

  He relaxed. Puzzled, he looked again into the interior of the truck then toward the bright headlights of the two pickups. He shook his head in an exaggerated motion. "Nothing!" he called.

  Gordon moved forward and Father Andrews got out of the truck. Both of them approached the gate. "That's Brad's truck," Gordon said. "How did it get here?"

  "I don't know," Jim said.

  Brother Elias emerged from the cab of the first pickup, clutching his black-bound Bible in his hand. The preacher walked through the open gate of the landfill and moved around to the back of the truck where the others were standing. " "Just as the weeds are gathered and burned with fire, so will it be at the close of the age. The Son of man will send his angels, and they will gather out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and throw them into the furnace of fire."

  Matthew--"

  "--13:40," Father Andrews finished for him. He looked into the preacher's black eyes, and the preacher smiled.

  The sheriff glanced around the dump. The sky was becoming progressively lighter. Although the sky to the west was still a dark purple, to the east it was anorangish blue, almost daylight. The tall ponderosas were no longer black silhouettes but were now identifiable as trees.

  Brother Elias focused his cold gaze on the sheriff. "Get the pitchforks from the trucks," he ordered. "Get the rope."

  "What about the rifles?" Jim asked.

  "We do not yet need them."

  Jim started for the pickups and Gordon moved to follow him, but Brother Elias clapped a strong hand on his shoulder. "He will get the weapons," the preacher said. "You move the truck. We must have the way clear."

  Jim returned with four pitchforks and the coils of rope. Gordon, to his surprise, found the keys still in Brad's ignition, and he moved the vehicle away from the gate. Glancing down at the seat next to him, he saw an empty can of Pepsi, a few wet drops of the beverage visible on the vinyl upholstery, and he thought of his boss.

  He shut off the engine and hopped out of the truck. He saw the sheriff run back to his pickup and pull the smaller vehicle through the gate into the dump. Brother Elias waved for him to park in the center of the landfill, near the smoldering woodpile. Jim stopped the truck, turned off the lights and came running over.

  Brother Elias picked up the pitchforks and handed one to each of them.

  Gordon accepted the implement and hefted it in his hands. It felt heavy, lethal. The shiny steel of the pronged points captured the first rays of the rising sun and reflected them back at him. He wasn't sure exactly what Brother Elias had in mind, but he knew that as a weapon a pitchfork was good for only one thing--stabbing.

  The thought did not comfort him.

  Jim and Father Andrews accepted their weapons from the preacher.

  '"Take care, brethren,"" Brother Elias said softly, '"lest there be in any of you an evil, unbelieving heart, leading you to fall away from the living God." Hebrews 3:12." The preacher stared hard at each of them, then picked up his pitchfork. "Let us go forth," he said.

  After taking her shower, Marina dried off, slipped on a robe and went back into the bedroom. She sat on the unmade bed and stared at herself in the full-length mirror on the front of the closet door. The house was silent, she thought, too silent. And she wished, not for the first time, that they lived a little closer to town. Outside, it was still dark. The moon had long since set, and the sun was not yet peeking its face above the eastern horizon. The forest outside the window looked ominous and vaguely threatening.

  That was nonsense, Marina told herself. It was the same forest that was out there in the daytime, the same trees she walked amongst in the light. She was just spooked because of what Gordon had told her.

  She stood up and moved over to the dresser for some underwear. She would get dressed and drive to Phoenix, spend the day shopping in the bright clear heat of the Valley, surrounded by miles of steel and concrete and people and civilization.

  She slipped on her panties and stood still for a moment, listen Was that a scratching noise she heard coming from the kitchen?

  No, she told herself. But she did not move, dared not breathe. She listened carefully.

  Yes.

  Something was out in the front of the house. Something small. She pulled her robe closed, then rushed over and slammed shut the bedroom door. Moving quickly, she pushed a chair against it. She put her ear to the door.

  All was silent.

  Marina moved over to the window. It was dark and she could not see very well, but she thought she detected movement in the underbrush.

  Scared now, she inched her way across the room to the phone, still watching the window. She dialed the emergency number. The phone rang five times before someone answered. "Sheriff's office." The voice was tired, harried.

  "Hello," Marina whispered into the phone. "My name is Marina Lewis. Is my husband Gordon there?"

  "Gordon Lewis? He went someplace with the sheriff. May I take a message?"

  "I think there's a prowler in my house," Marina whispered. "I'm in the bedroom, and I barricaded the door. I heard noises out in the kitchen."

  "Stay calm, ma'am. We'll have someone out there as soon as possible.

  We're a little understaffed right now, so it may be a while before we can get to you. I suggest you call a neighbor and try to find some type of weapon--"

  "I need help!"

  "I understand that, ma'am." The voice was clearly under stress.

  "I'm pregnant!" Marina screamed. She dropped the phone, willing herself not to cry. The house was still silent, but she knew someone--something--was out there. She could feel it. She moved next to the door and crouched down, pressing her ear against the wood. Never before had she been so conscious
of the child inside her, never before had her unborn baby seemed so alive, so in need of protection. She felt an unfamiliar predatory instinct flare up inside her--the instinct of a mother prepared to protect her young against all odds.

  Something just outside the door gave a small yelp, and Marina jumped.

  She pressed against the door with her shoulder, pushing all her weight against it so nothing could get in. With one hand, she held the chair in place. There was the sound of rough gnawing on the wood outside the door.

  "Get out of here!" she screamed.

  Tiny voices in the hallway laughed, and there was the sound of little feet running away. Marina began sobbing, still pressing her shoulder to the door.

  A rock flew through the window, glass shattering on the floor, and she screamed. She threw open the bedroom door, kicking the chair aside, and looked out into the hall.

  Nothing.

  She ran across the hall into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it. The shutters Gordon had put over the window were securely in place. Whatever was out there was playing with her, she realized. If it had wanted to kill her, it could have done so easily. She sat down on the toilet and bent over, her hands over her head, her head between her knees.

  The four men walked slowly across the gravel of the dump in the early morning half-light, toward the spot where The Selways’ bodies had been found, Brother Elias in the lead, Jim bringing up the rear. The harsh white light of the rising sun shone in bar like beams through the branches of the trees. At the far end of the landfill, the side mirror of a large parked bulldozer reflected back the sunlight in a single concentrated flash.

  Brother Elias moved toward the large pile of garbage at the edge of the cliff. He stopped, cocking his head, listening. He began walking forward more slowly now, staring at the ground, his pitchfork held out before him.

  The other three followed silently.

  Suddenly Brother Elias made a harsh stab into the pile of garbage in front of him. There was an ear-piercing squeal, and the preacher lifted his pitchfork.