Battle Sky (The Battle Series, Book 4)

by Mark Romang

  The old man wiped at a stray tear. “Thank you, son. Your kindness will keep me alive a little longer.”

  C.J. glanced behind Silas. “Which direction did you say the deer ran off in?”

  “I never said which direction it fled. But I will now.” Silas pointed a gnarled finger. “The buck charged up the ravine in a northwestern direction, crashed through those huckleberry bushes and disappeared into a thicket of young fir trees.”

  C.J. studied the thicket Silas referred to. It would be easy for a deer to find cover in there. The boughs from the fir trees meshed together and touched the ground. “Okay, Silas. Let’s go get him.”

  The old man took off, striding easily up the hill like a mountain goat climbing a crag. C.J. gave chase and struggled to keep up. He followed Silas through the huckleberry bushes. Usually six feet in height, the thorn-less bushes stood only two to three feet tall. Lack of rain stunted their growth. A few dried-up berries left over from summer clung to branches.

  Just as they were about to penetrate the thicket Silas paused and touched a fir tree. He held up his index finger and thumb, and looked over his humped shoulder. “Deer hair,” he said, and entered the thicket, leaving C.J. behind again.

  His growling stomach urging him on, C.J. picked up his pace to catch up with Silas. He entered the thicket, pushing away the boughs with his hands. He’d only traveled a few yards through the tree maze when he noticed Silas had disappeared. “Silas? Where are you?”

  “I’m a few yards ahead of you. Keep coming.”

  C.J. rolled his eyes and moved forward. I should’ve just told him to get lost. Crazy old man. C.J. slowed his pace down out of necessity, keeping his eyes peeled mostly to the ground. So far he hadn’t spotted anything that made him think the buck had entered the thicket.

  “Are you coming? There is a clearing just ahead of you. The deer is here,” Silas called out in an excited voice.

  C.J. slung his rifle over his shoulder and used both hands to shove back the fir boughs. For several seconds he pushed through the greenery, eager to see his downed prey. After he traveled about twenty paces the young trees began to thin out. Morning light filtered into the thicket. But C.J. still couldn’t see Silas. The spry old recluse always seemed one step ahead.

  C.J. slapped aside a bough and jogged around a tree, reaching the clearing. But the ground sloped abruptly without warning. He stumbled, lost his footing, and tumbled into a rocky depression. He slammed to a stop, his shoulder smacking against a rock. Stunned, C.J. lay still for several seconds. He didn’t think he’d hit his head, but his faculties were slow to come back online, and something didn’t seem right to him as he lay there.

  He couldn’t understand why the earth was so unstable, why it wriggled.

  The dirt under his body twisted and squirmed.

  And then he realized he wasn’t lying on the ground at all. And with the sick realization came a scream. The startled cry fled his mouth.

  “Snakes!”

  Chapter 18

  C.J. screamed again and again. He kicked his feet and flailed his arms, rolled over onto all fours and tried to crawl out of the depression. But the rocky depression was deeper than he first thought. He was actually in a pit, steep and narrow.

  A pit filled with snakes.

  Thousands and thousands of slithering snakes.

  Angry snakes.

  C.J. made it to his feet. His breath came out in ragged gasps. He hated snakes. Even a solitary snake gave him the willies. And here he was knee deep in thousands of them. He’d fallen into a snake nest.

  C.J. needed to climb, wanted to climb, but the pit walls were covered with serpents. He took off his rifle and dragged the stock against the snake-covered walls, knocking down dozens of the serpents. He slung the rifle back over his shoulder and leaped up for a rocky outcropping. He grabbed the outcropping with one hand and attempted to pull himself up. Adrenaline and fear gave him momentary unnatural strength. Muscles in his forearm trembled as he hauled himself up like a rock climber gripping an overhang. He managed to reach his other hand up and grasp the outcropping. But his progress halted when a snake latched onto his hand.

  He let go of the outcropping.

  C.J. landed feet first into the writhing mass. He lost his footing, started to fall but regained his balance. Whimpers of terror burst out from behind his clenched teeth. He grabbed the snake with his other hand and yanked it off, the serpent’s fangs ripping the thin skin on the top of his hand. He flung the snake down in disgust. “Silas! Help me!” he bellowed.

  Silas didn’t acknowledge his plea, and C.J. knew at once his best chance at escaping this hellish snake pit rested upon his own strength and resourcefulness.

  C.J. flipped on his headlamp. He wore the headlamp because he’d left the bunker early this morning at the darkest part of the day. The LED headlamp cast a light shaft across the depression floor. He saw an uncountable number of tiny illuminated eyes. Luckily the pupils were rounded and not a slit, which meant the snakes were likely non-venomous. His headlamp also revealed long stripes from head to tail.

  They’re garter snakes, he determined. Garter snakes are considered harmless. But when threatened they can coil and strike. They also discharge a musky-scented secretion when disturbed. The foul odor in the pit made him lightheaded. C.J. wrinkled his nose and slapped at a snake hanging from his jeans. Why did you have to create snakes, God? They’re disgusting.

  C.J. leaped for the outcropping once more. This time he grabbed on with both hands. He latched onto the outcropping and performed a chin-up. He frantically dragged his boots along the wall searching for a foothold, but all he found were snakes clinging to the wall. He kicked at them to knock them from the wall. He was thankful he’d tucked his jeans into his boots, otherwise the agitated garter snakes might slither up his legs.

  “Lord, please help me!” C.J. cried out. He found a foothold at last and levered himself up the wall. He figured he was about halfway up the wall. Progress, but not nearly enough. Now he needed to find another handhold. He tried to stay calm as he searched for a lip or fissure to grab onto, but it was hard. Fear paralyzed him little by little. His limbs felt liked they were filled with lead.

  His headlamp illuminated a tiny ledge directly above him. He reached for it, and was just able to acquire purchase.

  But his movement knocked a snake off the wall. The serpent dropped onto his shoulder and latched onto his jacket, biting the material repeatedly. On the brink of losing his mind, C.J. ignored the hitchhiking snake and kept climbing. His knees and elbows banged against the rocky wall. He could see daylight now as he neared the top. Don’t fall. Keep climbing no matter what happens, he told himself.

  He could see the pit’s edge. He reached for the edge and grabbed hold for dear life. His second hand followed and he wormed his way up. The snake still hung onto his jacket and bit the collar on his jacket now. Don’t worry about it. Just get out of the pit. C.J. pulled his head and shoulders above the hole. He swung one leg up, and using his elbows to push off the ground, rolled his legs out of the hole.

  He scrambled to his feet, grabbed the snake attacking his jacket and flung it off. He broke into a jog. The fir boughs slapped his face. But glancing down at his legs, he saw three more snakes had latched onto him. He could feel their fangs penetrate his skin beneath his pants. C.J. screamed, a bellow that was equal parts fear and rage. One by one he grabbed the snakes and angrily tossed them as far as he could.

  Breathing hard, he looked back at the edge of the pit. To his horror, he saw hundreds of garter snakes slithering out the hole and heading straight for him. Ordinary snakes don’t behave like this. These things are demented, he thought. And as the snakes rapidly approached him, he thought of something else. The bizarre notion chilled his spine.

  I think these snakes are the demons that tried to possess Tanner.

  His entire body shook like a leaf, yet he somehow found courage to stand his ground, and with eyes wide open began to pray aloud. “I su
rrendered my soul to you, Jesus. The blood you spilled purchased me. I’m your brother now. Your Father adopted me into His family. Your resurrection from the dead defeated Satan and his demons. These snakes can’t harm my soul because your Spirit lives inside me.” But despite his defiant prayer the snakes continued to pour out the hole in the ground and race toward him.

  C.J. slid the safety off his rifle and fired into the slithering mob. The rifle sounded like thunder in the forest. He slid his bolt back. A shell casing flew out and flipped end over end. He quickly slid his bolt forward and down, chambering another round. He fired again. But seeing that it was no use, he turned and ran.

  Chapter 19

  Olympic Peninsula—outside the bunker

  Andrew Maddix sat on a felled tree near the defunct goldmine. At this elevation the wind never ceased. The morning breeze disheveled his flowing brown hair. Even his beard swirled in the breeze. Maddix looked like a studious man contemplating life and his wilderness surroundings. Yet he was no ordinary man. He was strong and powerful, his features ruddy and glowing. He was an immortal, having crossed over from the finite to the eternal.

  No mortals still living on this dying planet could see him, nor would they be able to see Coleton Webb who stood nearby, or Maddix’s son, Spencer, who stood watch with bow in hand. And surely they wouldn’t see the dozens of warrior angels positioned strategically in the forest nearby. Some things were not meant to be seen, just as some things were not meant to be understood.

  Below him and under the boulder-strewn ground his charges were likely beginning their day, doing whatever living in a bunker entailed. Perhaps the three mortals were eating breakfast or drinking coffee, reading a book by candlelight, playing cards or simply talking.

  Whatever they were doing, it was unlikely they realized the supernatural danger stalking them. The Abyss had recently purged its residents, and some of its denizens made a beeline for this sub-alpine location. Most mortals are blissfully unaware of fallen angels warring against them. When Maddix had been an ordinary resident of Earth he certainly didn’t give demons a second thought.

  Only now did he understand it himself. Two realms existing side by side—the physical realm and the spiritual realm. One realm can be seen; the other realm remains invisible. And yet both realms are equally real.

  Looking back, Maddix realized he’d been in danger much of his mortal life, a target in the unseen war against humanity, a war that started all the way back in the Garden of Eden, and a war that still raged now. Ironically, Maddix now found himself on the frontlines. He represented God and His Kingdom, and Maddix took nothing for granted. Too much was at stake for him to drop his guard. He served the Kings of kings. And the King deserved his best.

  Maddix lifted his gaze skyward and to the east. He didn’t scan the forest much. He allowed the angels to keep watch there. They would spot enemies advancing long before he would. Instead, he watched the sky because he awaited word from Mithellius. His sixth sense told him the Legion was on the move and that war loomed. Perhaps it was his sword that shaped his thoughts this way. The Eden sword felt warm against his thigh, and a faint glow emanated from its bronze scabbard. A sure sign a battle was about to commence.

  Maddix had already devised his battle plan, and shared it with his warriors. Variables existed that could alter the plan. Everyone knew that. But its main thrust would not change. Michael assigned him and Vallen to defend the Mason family. But Maddix planned to do just that by going on the offensive. He wanted to strike hard and fast, and drive the Legion completely off the Olympic Peninsula.

  The battle wouldn’t be an easy one. Maddix and his century of troops were outnumbered thirty to one. But the Bible was filled with stories of small God-honoring armies overcoming much larger armies. Gideon took only 300 men into battle against 135,000 Midianite warriors. But because Gideon’s faith was strong, God gave him a crushing victory. Maddix expected the same results to happen in their upcoming battle.

  Whatever the task, if the Lord stands behind it, success will follow. His will always triumphs. The key is to keep your focus heavenward. Shift your gaze elsewhere and the enemy slinks in and launches arrows of doubt and fear. Satan can always sense when faith is weak, when its fortifications are broken down and vulnerable to attack.

  Maddix heard a small commotion take place to his left. He turned his head. Two angels pointed to the west. Against the azure sky, and less than a thousand feet up, three golden contrails streaked the sky. Maddix knew what caused the contrails. Mithellius and the other two angel scouts approached with news.

  Maddix stood up and withdrew his sword. His hip had grown hot from the sword’s heat, and he sought relief.

  The three angels landed close by. Maddix hurried up to Mithellius. He looked into the angel’s eyes and saw worry. “You look distressed, Mithellius.”

  Mithellius nodded. “I see trouble ahead for the Masons, but especially for C.J. The Legion is attacking him. They’ve disguised themselves and taken on the form of serpents. C.J. is alone and being overrun.”

  “Where is this assault taking place?”

  “A mile from here. To the northwest.”

  “Why is the young man alone?”

  “He was hunting. A demon masqueraded as a deer and lured him into a thicket where the rest of the Legion hid.” Mithellius glanced at his companions, and then back at Maddix. “We must act quickly or the Legion will possess C.J. It may already be too late.”

  Maddix reached into his robe and produced a small bugle. He blew one long note to gather his troops. A moment later his entire century of troops encircled him. He tucked the bugle back into his robe and addressed them. “War has found us. The Legion is attacking a believer not far from here. We must defend him.”

  Maddix looked over his warriors. Intensity glimmered in their eyes. He detected no fear in any of them, just determination. Oddly enough, Spencer’s eyes shone the fiercest. “I’m reminded of something Robert E. Lee once said long ago. General Lee said, ‘It is well that war is so terrible, otherwise we should grow fond of it.’ Make no mistake, this battle will require all our skills, and test the limits of our resolve. But God will fight with us and for us. We cannot lose. So let us pray.” Maddix bowed his head. “Lord, we approach you with both humility and confidence. You are our creator and deliverer. We ask that you strengthen us for battle. Go before us and destroy the enemy. Send the Legion to the Abyss if that is your will. Guide our sword thrusts and make our arrows fly true. You are the ultimate protector, and we serve only you. Amen.”

  Maddix opened his eyes. He raised his sword over his head. The Eden sword erupted into flames. “For the King we fight,” he shouted just before teleporting with his troops to the Legion’s position.

  A second later the glade became peaceful and serene, almost lifeless except for the lone white dove perched atop a fallen log hiding the goldmine’s entrance. The dove cooed softly a few times. And then it took flight, ascended high above the treetops and flew after the departing angels.

  Chapter 20

  Olympic Peninsula

  C.J. plowed through the undergrowth, bowling over alder shrubs and swatting aside devil’s club. He wanted to put as many obstacles as he could between himself and the snakes. Open ground made it easy for the serpents to slither. So he ran like a madman through the underbrush, not slowing at all for obstacles. He ignored the scrub swatting his face, the prickly devil’s club ripping at his clothes. All that mattered was keeping ahead of the snakes.

  He couldn’t say how far he’d sprinted. He’d been running hard for several minutes. The stitch in his side could attest to that. In and out of the forest he fled, up and over hillsides and down into ravines. He chanced a look over his shoulder.

  His heart sank even lower.

  The mob of serpents slithered after him as determined as ever.

  They were unwavering snakes, or demons or spirits, or whatever they were. All he really knew was that they were evil and chased after him. He couldn’t
seem to shake them. The snakes were so close behind him that he could smell them. They gave off a revolting stench like burning sulfur.

  I wish St. Patrick were here to banish the snakes from the peninsula. If he expelled snakes from Ireland, he can surely chase them into the sea here too.

  C.J. dug deep and pushed beyond his exhaustion. If his speed slowed the snakes would catch him. Luckily he wasn’t all that far from the bunker. He was a half mile or so from the back entrance. Perhaps he could find safety there, and Tanner might be able to help him. His brother had made the demons stand down before. Maybe he could do it again.

  But the distance to the bunker might as well have been ten miles. I’m not going to make it, he thought sourly. Nearly spent, he charged up a steep hillside. His legs felt like they were cast from lead, and his racing breath came out in frantic grunts. He would soon hyperventilate. I’m a goner if you don’t intervene, Lord.

  He was halfway up the hillside when he remembered the ridge emptied into a deep and wide gorge. He kept climbing though. He didn’t have a choice in the matter. He certainly couldn’t return the way he came and wade through the serpents. Man, I sure could use a flamethrower about now. I’d roast those demon snakes.

  Nearing the ridge, his optimism surged. He’d forgotten there was a zip-line station on the hilltop. After the Rapture took place, preppers and rebels came together to build a network of zip-lines on the peninsula. This particular zip-line platform and trolley were hidden in a mountain hemlock. If he could slide on the cable stretching across the gorge he could put some serious distance on the snakes.

  C.J. emptied his energy reserve on the dash to the ridgeline. When he topped the ridge and looked up into the hemlock tree his optimism nose-dived. The trolley wasn’t on the zip-line platform like he’d hoped. Someone had already used it to traverse the gorge. The trolley was likely hanging on the opposite platform. And it did him no good there.