by J. Thorn
John grimaced and thought of Jana, his mind twisting with concern for his wife and hatred for his ex, who attempted to wreck his marriage.
“I ran for the basement. I hid in a coal room which most of these old places have. The previous owner covered the door with a moving blanket and I think that’s what saved my ass. I hid in there until the shots, screams and cries ended.” Steve stopped stirring the eggs and did his best to maintain the tough guy persona. “When I climbed out of that place, I walked the same street you did. This place is my girl’s neighbor, to her left. I’ve only been here one night but I won’t be staying for another. It’s a matter of time.”
Steve let the comment hang and John knew what he meant.
“I was at a Halloween party,” John said.
“That was my second guess,” William said with a sarcastic wink. “Where?”
“Over on South Belvoir, not far from here.”
“Do they know you’re on this street?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they do.”
“Then we need to eat this and get the fuck out.”
“What do they want?”
“Damned if I know. Can’t get shit on the radio or cell phone.”
John nodded in agreement and ate his eggs. Steve left the kitchen and returned with a backpack and coat. He threw a black trench coat to John.
“It’s gettin’ cold. Fucking Cleveland winters.”
John set the duffel bag down and put the coat on. In the inside pocket he felt a heavy object. He reached in and pulled out a twenty-two caliber pistol.
“That’s all you get until I can trust you. If you try shooting me with it, you can bet your ass I’ll return fire with this bastard.” William held the sawed-off shotgun up in the air.
“As long as you don’t spray-paint me with a pentagram then I won’t put a round of twenty-twos in your ass.”
Steve laughed and so did John. They looked at each other.
“Where are we headed?” John asked.
“Right now, I’m not really sure. If we can find other survivors maybe we can put together a tight group and set ourselves up somewhere safe, like maybe out in Geauga County. Find an old farmhouse until this shit blows over.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Then you and I best be getting to know each other really well.”
Steve turned and headed through the kitchen toward the back door. The full light of morning illuminated fast-food wrappers and newspapers blown from overturned garbage cans. John stepped out after Steve and pulled the frosty air into his lungs. The burn of it sharpened his senses and gave him the slightest bit of hope.
***
On the east block the soldiers tagged every house with the sign. The men swept a wide circle, careful not to attract attention with movement or noise. By dusk, seven APCs rolled down Winston Road. Steve thought he heard the rumbling vibrations of tanks.
“What’s left to eat in there?” John asked.
“Shit. We’re gonna need to take what we can from the pantry and kitchen closet. Let’s stash some of it in the basement, just in case. Keep your flashlight off and keep under the windows. Something tells me they’re not going to forget they saw you.”
John gathered cans of chicken soup and dumped them into a pot on the stove while Steve washed his hands and face with the warm water. Even though the electricity to the neighborhood was off, the natural gas continued to flow to the hot water heater and stove. The men ate in silence. Two vehicles sped past the house on Winston, neither pausing to search.
“Logically, what could it be?”
“My guess is a dirty bomb or maybe a terrorist threat, shit like that.”
Steve pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. A deflated menthol parted his lips and he huddled in the corner to prevent the lighter’s flash from giving up their location. Steve inhaled and pushed the minty smoke back into the room, leaning against the wall with a satisfied groan.
“Smoke?”
John held out his hand and Steve tossed him the pack.
“I’ve neglected my addiction,” John said.
John masked the light of his cigarette and closed his eyes. The nicotine brought a wave of normalcy and comfort.
“What if we’ve been invaded? What if the troops aren’t U.S. soldiers?”
“I guess it’s possible. I haven’t gotten close enough to one of those bastards to tell.”
Steve sighed and decided to break the uncomfortable silence with a more mundane question.
“How do you pay the rent?”
“I’m a web designer. I build websites.”
“Yeah, I know what a web designer does, asshole.”
Steve shot John a look of derision hidden by the dark room.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Right. You assumed I’m a thug that wouldn’t know what a web designer does. You probably think I’m a mechanic or somethin’, right?”
“I don’t know. What do you do?”
“I’m a mechanic.”
John wiped the tears from his eyes as he chuckled. He sighed and shook his head.
“I wish I knew what happened to my wife,” John said.
Steve snuffed his cigarette against the wall.
“That’s the toughest part for me. I’ve got family in Pittsburgh and Columbus. I’ve got friends in Lyndhurst and University Heights. I don’t even know where to begin.”
“We should sleep,” John said.
“I’ll take first watch. Go ahead, and I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”
“Okay.”
John climbed the steps towards the bedrooms. He flopped on the mattress, searching in vain for a comfortable position. John set the pistol on the floor. He stared at the barrel, reached for the grip and then thought better of a loaded gun in his bed. All kinds of possibilities, even impossibilities, raced through John’s mind at lightning speed. He still could not formulate a theory. No warning, no sirens, no panic. Based on Steve’s account, the city simply winked from existence and the soldiers moved through to tag houses. John wanted to sleep. He also wanted to figure out this horror. His restless mind permitted neither, so he headed downstairs.
“I can’t sleep,” he said.
“What do you want me to do about it? Rub your head and tell you stories?”
“I thought you might want to sleep first.”
“No, I don’t. I’m keeping watch. I’ll come up in a few hours when I get tired.”
John turned and went back upstairs. Slowly, the adrenaline from earlier wore off and he became tired. He tumbled into the bed and fell asleep.
***
A single, sharp crack shook the house followed by a dozen more. The shouts of men filled the streets. John opened his eyes and could not remember where he was or what he was doing. Windows on the wall opposite his bed burst open in rapid succession. The icy fingers of the November night crawled into the room.
John leapt out of bed. He froze when he heard the footsteps in the hallway.
“In here,” someone shouted.
John sat on the end of the bed. A bright beam of light blinded him but he could hear the room filling. He held his hands up in defense.
“It’s a priest. It’s a priest,” someone else shouted.
The light switched off as did the four red dots circling the room.
“Father, are you hurt?”
John looked up at the inquisitor with genuine fear and confusion.
“He’s in shock. Quick, let’s get him to the medic.”
Two men lifted John by the arms and carried him down the steps. An APC sat outside the house. Another group of soldiers ran out to get John and led him into the vehicle. They sped off down Winston and turned right on Mayfield toward downtown Cleveland.
Chapter 9
Steve could not open his right eye. His nose pointed left at an awkward angle, and his mouth ached as blood ran from a gash in his forehead.
“He’s awake,” a voice said.
“What were you doing with John the Revelator?”
The question confused Steve. His brain struggled to keep up with the situation.
“Who?” He spit the word through broken teeth and split lips.
A fist slammed into his mouth, sending a fresh wave of pain down Steve’s spine.
“John the Revelator. He is the one foretold by the scripture. The one Father has been looking for. If you don’t tell us what you were doing to the priest, we will cut you to pieces.”
“What priest?”
“The one you were holding captive in the house. Did you think you could ransom him? God will cut you down, sinner. He is gonna cut you down.”
Steve’s head lolled to one side as he fought to maintain consciousness. Voices swirled through his head. The coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth. He thought of his dead girlfriend and smiled. Steve looked around the room and saw shelves of boxes. He assumed they had him tied up in a warehouse.
“I thought I could use him as a ticket out of here, out of town,” he said, lying.
“You worthless piece of shit. How dare you desecrate the collar of our Lord.”
Fists rained down upon Steve until another voice cried out. The tone cut through the others with an edge of purpose, of dynamic potential.
“The Lord is my shepherd. There is nothing I shall want.”
Steve said nothing.
“Young man, you have committed vile and blasphemous deeds. God will weigh your soul on these matters. If you cooperate with me, I will send advance warning to Him of your coming.”
Steve shook his head. The blood settling in his stomach made him sick. His body ached and he wanted nothing more than to pass out.
“All men have fallen short of the glory of our God the Father. Speak, son, and let his forgiving kindness accompany your soul to the Gates of Heaven. Now, where did you find John the Revelator?”
“He found me. He thought I was one of his parishioners and he aimed to save me.”
Steve waited, hoping to fool them.
“Glory be to God. I believe Father John carries the word of our Savior on his lips. We’ve come to call him John the Revelator. You will be rewarded in the Kingdom of Heaven.”
The butt end of a machine gun crashed into what was left of Steve’s nose. Streaks of color blinded him. His neck snapped back and darkness moved in from the outer edges of his vision.
Father delivered his Last Rites.
“I believe in God, the Father Almighty,
the Creator of heaven and earth,
and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord:
Who was conceived of the Holy Spirit,
born of the Virgin Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, died, and was buried.
He descended into hell.
On the third day He arose again from the dead.
He ascended into Heaven
and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty,
whence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic Church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and life everlasting.
Amen.”
Steve struggled against the encroaching darkness as the words rang out in his ears. Hands grabbed his hair and shook him. They did not want him to pass until they finished.
“Pater noster, qui es in caelis:
sanctificetur Nomen Tuum;
adveniat Regnum Tuum;
fiat voluntas Tua,
sicut in caelo, et in terra.
Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie;
et dimitte nobis debita nostra,
Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris;
et ne nos inducas in tentationem;
sed libera nos a Malo.”
“What the fuck?” Steve asked through a shattered mouth and lacerated tongue.
“The Rites are complete. Show him the Glory of our God, almighty Father, forever and ever.”
Two soldiers grabbed Steve by the arms and lifted him up. They cut the ropes that bound his legs and walked him up a flight of steps, his bare feet scraping against the coarse sandstone. He shivered in the open courtyard as stars flickered cold light on the bare trees. A soldier placed a crown of thorns on Steve’s head. They tied him to the wooden beams and raised the cross high in the air. A soldier lanced Steve’s side and the blood flowed from his stomach.
“May our Lord have mercy on your soul and promise you everlasting life.”
Chapter 10
“Has John the Revelator arisen yet?” Father asked.
“No, your holiness, He is still recovering from the ordeal. The sisters are tending to him and offering prayers to God. How do you know it is truly Him?”
Father held a grainy photograph up in front of Father Joseph’s face and tapped it with his finger. Father didn’t know which parish Father Joseph led before the First Cleansing and he never bothered to ask.
“He was found on the east side of Cleveland. Look at the photograph. He is the one.”
The priest believed the photograph could have been any number of men, but he knew better than to question authority.
“What is the status of the diocese?” Father asked.
The priest hesitated and then motioned for Father to sit at a polished round table inside the Cleveland Marriott East, the temporary headquarters of the Holy Covenant. A tablet PC connected to a digital projector flashed to life on the bare, white walls. The priest navigated through folders on the hard drive until he found a collection of satellite photographs.
“Here you can see the areas secured under the Holy Covenant, Father.”
The subservient priest used the cursor to draw red circles around Cleveland Heights, South Euclid, Lyndhurst, Shaker Heights and a handful of other communities on Cleveland’s east side.
“The areas in blue are still in the process of going through the First Cleansing.”
He used the cursor to point out Parma, Parma Heights, Lakewood and Ohio City, all on Cleveland’s west side.
“Has there been any further communication from the Vatican?” Father asked.
“No sir, we have received nothing since the transmission of the Holy Covenant sent one week ago. Spotty communication has come from the diocese of the city of Pittsburgh and Buffalo, but that is the extent of our current network.”
“It is in the Lord’s hands.”
“Yes, Father. It is in His hands.”
Father stood and adjusted the white collar underneath his black shirt. He’d considered wearing his Sunday vestments but did not want to soil them on the sins of the fallen.
“I would like to return to the church.”
“Yes Father, I will arrange that immediately.”
The priest left Father alone in the conference room while he summoned a driver and vehicle. Father stared at the screen, fascinated by the number of pixels comprising the images. He let his vision blur and squinted his eyes. The number of crosses that arose from the eagle-eye view of the city reminded him of God’s will and his duties as a servant. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fine cigar. He removed the plastic wrap. It crinkled as the smell of fresh tobacco filled his nostrils. Reaching back into the same pocket, Father grabbed a stainless-steel, military-issue lighter. A piercing, blue flame sent threads of sweet smoke into the air as the nicotine pulsed through his veins like the glory of God. The Lord’s mortal representatives had always indulged, and he considered tobacco to be a minor transgression.
“Father, the commander is here along with a driver and security detail. They are waiting for you on the curb.”
“Thank you, my son,” he said.
The bluish haze of the smoke lingered.
“Please alert me of any progress on the Holy Covenant or of any communication with the Vatican.”
“Absolutely, Father.
”
“May God be with you.”
“And with you.”
Father snuffed out his cigar and followed the commander through the dark hallways of the hotel and into the main lobby. The sound of generators echoed off the stone pillars, casting greasy diesel exhaust throughout the room. The fountains of water, normally filled with chemicals, lay still in pools of undisturbed silence.
A Joint Light Tactical Vehicle, or JLTV, sat on the curb. The vehicle looked like a Hummer with a tank’s turret on the top. It was able to move at the speed of an SUV but with firepower. The commander stepped through the shattered glass door and stood next to a JLTV parked underneath the canopy. Threatening gray clouds high above Lake Erie promised an early November snow. The commanding soldier held the door open for Father, keeping his gun raised and his senses alert. A number of support snipers encircled the vehicle. The commander nodded to the driver while sliding into the front seat as Father moved into the back.
“Father, are we headed to the church?”
“Yes, but take your time. I would like to get a visual assessment on the results of the First Cleansing.”
“Yes sir.”
The JLTV pulled out of a parking lot littered with abandoned cars. The Holy Covenant identified many of the guests in the hotel as infidels and the First Cleansing eliminated them. Records showed many succumbed to the Dark Lord’s powers by drinking alcohol from the mini bar – or worst yet, ordering obscene movies in their room.
The JLTV paused as the commander surveyed the ramp to Route 271. Although the infidels did not organize a planned resistance, the commander knew war well enough to anticipate it happening sooner or later. He would not be the first victim of a road side bomb. He motioned for the driver to continue and the JLTV maneuvered around several disabled vehicles on the highway.
