by Jerel Law
“It’s some sort of tunnel,” Henry said. He made a throwing motion with his hands, and a white orb of light appeared in front of him.
Jonah could see the dirt floor now. He hopped down after Henry, then turned and helped Eliza drop down.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see that they were in a small passageway that had been carved out of rock and dirt. Water dripped down the walls in various places, creating a dank smell and a mucky floor. It only led one direction.
“We’re really going to go that way?” Eliza asked, looking down the dark tunnel as she tried to keep her voice from trembling.
Jonah didn’t like it either, but he didn’t see any other option. And he was certain that their mom—and the other nephilim— were somewhere at the end of this path.
As they made their way down the tunnel, Jonah’s mind kept flashing back to the image on the door. Abaddon. Could they really rescue their mother from his grasp? If they could somehow get her, was there any way to escape, when fallen angels and monsters and who-knew-what-else were hiding in the dark corners of the hidden realm?
But then he remembered the voice he had heard not long ago. Do not fear. Stand firm. Was it really Elohim speaking into his ear? The words had brought him so much comfort. He thought about the last week of his life, how so much had changed, how he had discovered how special he really was, how he had seen the light of Elohim shining brightly from inside himself, and how Elohim’s own angels had trusted him with this journey. The fear didn’t matter right now. He was supposed to be here.
They plodded on silently along the small pathway, which seemed to go on forever. Jonah was starting to lose track of time. They could have been walking ten minutes, or it could have been hours. He didn’t know anymore.
Henry suddenly grabbed Jonah’s arm as they walked ahead into the darkness.
“Be prepared for anything.” The worried look on his guardian angel’s face didn’t do anything to slow Jonah’s racing heartbeat. “I have a feeling . . . just . . . be ready. They know we’re here.”
No sooner had he spoken those words than the floor began to move underneath them, swirling as though it were liquid rather than hard stone.
“Aghh!” Eliza screamed, her knees sinking. “What’s going on?”
Jonah watched as dirt-covered fingers began to reach up around her leg, emerging from the floor until an entire arm shot up and grabbed her tightly. Another one sprang up, latching firmly onto her other leg. She screamed again as the hands began pulling her down.
Instantly, more hands began to reach out of the ground toward them. Before Jonah could move, a hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled him to his knees. Another one grabbed his wrist, while yet another groped for his neck. It was the same with Henry. The hands had caught them all off guard, and they were sinking into the ground now, struggling to wriggle free.
Jonah tried to push the hands away, but they were too strong, and there were too many of them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Henry fighting the hands, thrashing his body and wings around, and Eliza, whose entire leg had disappeared into the ground. This made him fight harder, but it seemed like the more he pulled, the worse it was. He felt the earth begin to open up underneath him and his leg slide into the sludge. His strength was useless, and with both arms pinned down now, he couldn’t reach back to pull out an arrow. In a few seconds, it would be too late to do anything.
“Kids!”
Rolling his face to the side, Jonah saw Henry’s head. It was the only part of him that was left above ground.
“Words,” he cried out, as a hand grabbed the top of his head and tried to cover his mouth. “The Word!” He said it right before his head was yanked down into the muddy floor, disappearing from view.
Words? What did he mean? Jonah couldn’t think clearly as he frantically wrestled with the slimy, unyielding hands.
“In the name of Elohim!” He heard Eliza’s voice, weak at first, but then stronger. “For our battle is not against flesh and blood . . . in the name of Elohim, through His word, and by His power, I command you to release us!”
A shrieking sound came from somewhere under the ground, and immediately the hands released them. Eliza pulled a dirty leg from the clay, while Jonah leapt to his feet and tried to wipe the sticky mud off himself.
But Henry was nowhere to be seen.
“Henry!” Jonah shouted, dropping to his knees where Henry had sunk below the surface. Suddenly the dirt erupted, and Henry came spewing out like lava from a volcano, up into the air and back down again amid a rain of dirt clods. He stood up slowly, shaking the damp dirt from his body and wings, coughing clouds of dust into the air.
“Those were the Rephaim,” Henry said between coughs. “Translated, it means the ‘dead ones.’ Like the Philistines you fought, they are bound to Abaddon, his commanders, and his minions, for all eternity. He controls them, and they do whatever he wishes. In fact, I’d be surprised if they weren’t controlled by Marduk himself.”
NINETEEN
VICTOR GRACE
Who is that?” asked Eliza, resting against the tunnel wall.
“Abaddon has divided the world into eight regions,” Henry answered. “Each region has a commander, responsible for overseeing the battle there and creating as much mayhem as possible, doing their part to keep people from turning to Elohim. Marduk is the commander of this region, called the Second Region, which encompasses most of North America. The Second Region is a key area in the angelic rebellion. Marduk is a very powerful and extremely dangerous fallen one. No doubt he is the one behind the kidnapping of your mother.”
The tunnel was gradually getting larger, and a dim, bluish glow came from an opening ahead. Henry quickly extinguished his light. He motioned them silently forward, and they moved out of the mouth of the tunnel into what looked like another basement.
In front of them was a stack of old wooden crates, and they crouched behind them quietly. Faded words were stamped on each one.
NEW YORK CITY ASYLUM FOR THE INSANE
WARDS ISLAND, NEW YORK
Eliza read the words slowly. “We’re in a . . . mental hospital, or something?”
“Ahh,” Henry said, like he was remembering something. “I’ve heard of this place.”
Jonah leaned in. “Where are we exactly?”
“These boxes are old,” he said in a low voice. “This used to be the New York City Asylum for the Insane, or rather, somewhere underneath it. Now it’s called the Manhattan Psychiatric Center. We must have crossed under the river and are now on Wards Island, under the old hospital that houses mentally ill patients. It’s also popped up recently as being a hot spot.”
Jonah looked at him blankly.
“A lot of potential fallen angel activity going on,” he explained. “Not long ago—a hundred years or so—this was a hotbed for Abaddon’s activity in the Second Region. A headquarters, if you will. It was a stronghold of his, which made sense—there were so many Fallen here, tormenting so many people. It has been quiet for the past several decades, but recently there’s been a spike in reported activity.”
He talked about years like they were days, and Jonah had to remember that to an eternal being, that’s probably what it felt like.
“But I don’t remember hearing about a lower level to this place,” Henry continued. “It must have been well hidden.”
Jonah stepped forward and looked through a crevice between a couple of the boxes. He breathed out hard through his teeth as he peered through the crack. It was exactly what he had seen in his vision. A large, dirty room lit by fluorescent lights that reminded him of the old Peacefield Memorial Hospital where he’d visited church members with his dad. He’d always felt awful for the poor people who had to stay in such a depressing place, but this was somehow even worse. A few of the lights flickered on and off, buzzing and sputtering their garish light around the room. The walls were grimy tiles that probably used to be white, but were now covered with patches of greenish mold. The f
loor was cracked cement, with a drain in the center.
Eight old hospital beds lined the sides of the room. A person was tied to each bed by old leather straps; only one bed was empty. Cupped over the top of each person was an electric shield.
The nephilim.
Abaddon’s plan was almost complete. He just needed the last one.
And then Jonah spotted his mother.
He had to blink hard to hold back tears and bite his tongue to keep from crying out to her. She looked unconscious, or close to it, like the rest of the people around her. Jonah remembered looking into her eyes in his vision and tried to focus on the fact that she was still alive. He only wished that the vision he’d seen had been real, that somehow his mom would know that he was coming for her and he would save her, no matter what.
Guards were standing with spears in front of each nephilim, while the rest of the Fallen were swarming around the room like worker bees.
“Do you see her?” Jonah asked Eliza, moving to let her look through the crack. Eliza gave a quick nod, but looked like she might explode if she opened her mouth.
“They look like they’re waiting,” Henry said, watching the movements of the Fallen from behind the crates.
“For one more nephilim to arrive,” answered Jonah.
At that moment, a rusty metal door was shoved open on the other side of the room. They jumped at the crash of the door against the tile wall.
“I don’t think they are going to have to wait any longer,” said Eliza. “Look.”
They watched as four fallen ones entered the room one after the other, brandishing spears and swords. Behind them, a dark-skinned woman in a purple dress with short-cropped blond hair was being dragged by her arms across the cement. Like the others, her body was limp and her head was drooping. Two fallen ones were pulling her, and another one grunted and pointed toward the eighth holding bed. They took her there and yanked her up by her arms with such force that her head snapped back and she cried out in pain, saying something in a language that sounded African. Quickly they secured the leather straps around her wrists. One of the Fallen came forward and pointed two fingers toward her. Electricity came out of his fingertips, surrounding the woman and creating a shield around her.
“They’ve got her. The eighth nephilim,” Jonah said. He glanced over at Eliza, who was staring at the gathering in horror. Henry had grown steely-eyed, a determined look on his face.
Eliza’s voice quivered in the darkness. “What are they going to do to them?”
Jonah clenched his fists, and when he spoke, there was decisiveness in his voice. “We’re not going to wait around to find out.”
He turned to the guardian angel. “You ready for this, Henry?”
Henry, his gaze still locked on the fallen angels, answered, “I’m ready.”
But then he turned to Jonah and Eliza, looking at them with concern. “But that room . . . it’s no place for kids. It might be best if you two stay here and let me go on without you now.” Jonah could see Henry’s guardian-angel nature kicking in before his eyes.
“Are you kidding?” said Eliza, wiping an angry tear from her cheek. “And I suppose you have a plan that doesn’t include us?”
Henry didn’t answer.
“You need us,” she said. “Look how many of them there are! And look at what we just made it through. Together.”
Henry held up two hands in protest. “No one is saying you haven’t done a great deal. You have.”
“Glad to hear you say that, my guardian angel friend,” Jonah said, placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Because I actually do have a plan.”
They huddled together behind the stacks of boxes, and Jonah shared his plan with them. Henry stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“You know,” he said, “this just might work.”
“It’s going to be our only shot,” Eliza said, looking up at him. “So it had better.”
“Ready, Henry?” Jonah asked.
The angel nodded, then moved past the boxes, standing tall, wings outstretched. He wasn’t hiding anymore. He wanted to be seen, so he stood and waited.
He didn’t have to wait for long.
A fallen one suddenly screeched, a noise like a hundred fingernails grating against a blackboard, causing Jonah and Eliza to slap their hands over their ears. The creature waved his finger at Henry, and the other fallen angels turned, dozens of pairs of yellow eyes trained in their direction.
Henry’s wings stiffened and he stormed forward, stringing his bow.
A red flaming arrow soared past Henry, and Jonah and Eliza ducked behind the boxes again. Jonah heard a roar as flashes of light began to bounce off the ceiling. The fight was on.
“That’s our signal,” Jonah said. “Time to go!”
Jonah and Eliza scooted around the boxes, away from the blasts that were erupting in the room. Henry was playing his part, drawing the attention—and fire—of the Fallen. They dove behind a cement column and surveyed the situation again.
“I think it’s working!” said Eliza. “They’re chasing him!”
The fallen angels who had been milling around were suddenly focused on the intruder. Henry’s arrows were flying quickly, fallen ones hitting the ground and then disintegrating. The Fallen were raining their own flaming arrows down on him, but so far he had been able to avoid getting hit. All of the fallen ones were moving quickly in the direction of the angel, and even the ones who were guarding the nephilim left their posts and joined the others.
Some of them had spread their wings and were off the ground, fighting from midair. Henry began to back up, just as they had discussed. The fallen ones pursued him. He was getting pushed back—or rather, letting himself get pushed back—into the tunnel entrance.
Finally, Henry retreated into the tunnel, the Fallen following him there.
Jonah and Eliza watched as every last guard disappeared through the doorway, hungry for the battle, eager to spill angel blood. No one noticed them enter the room.
They ran by two nephilim, strapped to beds and caged with the energy shields. On the left was a tall, redheaded man in a mud-covered business suit, sprawled limply on the bed. To the right was an Asian woman in a simple brown dress, just as dirty, lying the same way behind the glowing shield.
Eliza paused in front of the woman, but Jonah pulled her arm as he hurried past.
“Come on, Eliza!” he whispered urgently.
“But . . . these people—”
“There’s no time!” Jonah barked, dragging her with him. “We have to get Mom!”
Eliza shook her head and jerked her arm from his, but said, “Okay!” and hurried behind him until they were in front of their mother.
“Remember,” Jonah said, “don’t touch the shield—or force field, whatever this is . . .” His voice fell as he saw his mother close up. Her head still lay across her shoulder, her eyes closed, but puffy and bruised. The cut that he had seen in his vision looked deeper now than it had appeared, more jagged across her cheek.
“Mom!” Eliza whispered desperately through the translucent shield. “Can you hear me, Mom? It’s Eliza! Are you there?”
She did not move. Jonah’s mind flashed with visions of his mom from the past. Images of her walking him to school on his first day of kindergarten, of standing in the kitchen flipping pancakes, reading him a book at night—all the memories came flooding in. As he looked at his mother now, beaten, trapped, silent—he started to feel very sick to his stomach. Was she unconscious, passed out from the abuse she had taken, or the lack of water and food? Maybe she was just asleep. Or maybe . . . he stopped, unwilling to let his mind think that maybe it was too late.
“Mom!” he cried. He knew he was being loud, but right now he didn’t care. “Mom!”
“Jonah! Keep it down!” Eliza scolded in a hoarse whisper.
Jonah kept shouting. “Mom! You have to wake up! We came to get you, and you have to come home now.” Tears began to roll down his cheeks. “We need you, Mom! You c
an’t leave us. You can’t go away. We need you. I need you. I love you, Mom.”
Slowly, Eleanor raised her head and fluttered her eyelids weakly. She stared with her eyes half-open, trying to focus. Looking hazily at them, she finally realized who was in front of her.
“J-Jonah?” she said weakly. “Eliza? What are you . . . ?”
She was alive!
Eleanor opened her mouth and tried to say something else, but no words would come out.
“Don’t try to talk,” said Jonah. “Just wait until we get out of here. There’ll be plenty of time to talk then.”
He felt a new surge of energy. His mother was alive! But she was not going anywhere unless they could get her out from behind that shield. Henry had given them specific instructions on how to release her. He just prayed that it worked.
“It’s your turn now, E,” Jonah said.
Eliza looked nervous, but took two steps back and raised her hands slowly above her head. Immediately, she generated a shield of her own, of bright white light, extending from her fingertips to the ground. She began to move forward, until her shield and the one guarding her mother were almost touching. She glanced at Jonah, who nodded to her. Closing her eyes, she took one big step forward.
The shields collided, and a giant buzzing sound filled their ears. It reminded Jonah of the mosquito zapper they had on their back porch at home, except it was about a thousand times louder. Sparks flew, and Eliza was thrown onto her back. But both shields had disappeared, cancelling each other out.
Eliza lay on the ground for a few seconds, staring straight up at the fluorescent lights, dazed. But she quickly pushed herself up on her elbows, straightening her glasses.
Jonah and Eliza embraced their mom quickly, and then Jonah spun around to see if they had been heard. Blasts of light and flame shot from the tunnel. The intense battle was still raging between Henry and the Fallen. Somehow he was still holding them off, distracting them so that even the explosion created by the shields colliding hadn’t drawn any attention.
