While the bus was pushing to the left and speeding up, another pickup with armed men in the rear has sped past on the right, staring straight into the windscreen, they are unleashing all the might they can deliver.
Cheryl is hot on the screen, raised on Galaxa and Space Invaders in her grandparents’ antique arcade, she is holding the CTRL/Shift down, taping the bodies of the men in the truck, the windows of the truck, and the wheels, and then she holds the space bar down.
The guns in the front of the bus don’t even protrude from the lowered bumper. It just moves on an axis out of the way – and a hundred or so small flashes of fire light up the night in what the men would consider a beautiful display of fireworks, had not the bullets been passing through the tires, the truck, and their bodies. All flesh on the truck is already dead as it slows greatly, impacts a sloped bridge abutment, coming to rest on top, at an angle.
As the bus passes the wreck, smoke begins pumping out at an unbelievable rate, impossible to see through, and no way around on this narrow road, so one of the remaining trucks stops, no longer wishing to pursue. The other truck switches on his KC lights and soldiers on, just following the road for a quarter mile, ‘til the smoke runs out.
The bus is up ahead, easy to follow now, half-moon, and a clear night, open road, so the truck with lights switched off, speeds to pass the bus. Silent and dark it makes its way in front, almost unseen, as it careens. Faster it goes, accelerating beyond the speed of the motorcoach, ‘til it rounds a couple of bends and stops dead still on the yellow line in the center of the road.
The coach rounds the bend, hammering brakes, almost screeching to a stop, and slightly nudging the truck. The men of the truck have taken up positions alongside the road, rifles out, and begin shooting at the doors and windows, until . . . BAM, one of the shooters goes down. CRACK . . . another suffers a sudden chest wound, collapsing on top of his feet. CLANG . . . a lever gun takes a .223 round, right in the loading door, kicking it free from the shooters’ grasp. It falls to the ground as the man stands shaking his hands in pain, and he raises them up in surrender. The single remaining hostile realizes that they are under fire from their one-time friend using Mark’s M4, and he is determined to return fire. He could have made a worse decision, but he would have had to put a great deal of effort into it. The bullet passes through his nose and out his brain stem. Everything about him is as squishy as pudding long before he gets near the ground.
The man who had dropped his gun runs into the woods, down into a ravine nearby, and is never heard from again . . . at least not by these folks.
With the M4 in hand, barrel up and finger away from the trigger, the remaining shooter walks slowly to the door of the bus. The door opens and Cheryl points a gun in his direction until Mark says, “He’s with us.”
“M’name’s Errol, ma’am. Can I come in?”
She gestures his path with her gun.
Two Witnesses
If anyone tries to harm them, fire comes from their mouths and devours their enemies. This is how anyone who wants to harm them must die.[16]
E-Day Minus 7 Years
“Our names are Enoch and Elijah”
“Nuestros nombres son Enoc y Elijah”
“Unsere Namen sind Enoch und Elijah”
Each of the nations may have been put off, hearing from them in their own tongues, presenting themselves as Chanokh and Eliyyahu, but they would learn. The nations, and the individual people, were still reeling over the greatest magic trick of all time. Over a billion people . . . a tenth of the people on the planet. This portion of the telling picks up almost there.
The world heard it all in their own languages. Every word from their mouths came out perfectly, and what everyone saw was the same as if it were originally in their native tongue and everyone was astounded. It did not look like a dubbed Japanese movie. “We have come as Emissaries of the Most-High, Yahweh, present in Y’shua from before time. And we have brought you a means of Grace, a time to accept it, and an opportunity to embrace the Truth.” They spoke for about thirty minutes on what changes were to be made in the general operations of the world, as it is known.
This began just a couple of days after the Arrival and the First Great Disappearance. And though they were men of force and will, there was still governance in place, treaties to be kept, agreements to be made, and nations in which the world still lives. Their influence was awesome, but the enemies of Israel still had friends inside, inroads paved with promises, and on those promises, many rested their hope for peaceful solutions; manmade solutions. The jockeying for strength and hope in the Land bounced back and forth for the duration of their stay.
They came in simple clothing and resided in Yerushalayim, safe from the dangers of political espionage, and they spoke of the safety of the city, how it should remain safe. They ventured out into the world, visiting dignitaries and heads of state in every nation from large to small, and from time to time there were attempts on their lives, but that never worked out well for the would be assassins. Invariably, there would be the shot, or the knife, maybe an explosion, but within moments, sometimes seconds, death would befall the perpetrators. Seemingly from nowhere, something would happen, nothing maybe, who could tell, but it seemed as if the person with the knife or gun would burst into flames, and within a second or two, convert to ash, which would be blown away by the breeze. There was hardly ever any evidence to collect, and whatever could be found by the CSU boys, it was said to be the ash of undeterminable meat and bones. They could verify that it was mammal, but even determining a species for certain was impossible, except for the fact that people had seen the deaths. The ashes were so desiccated; it was as if they had been in a crematorium several times.
If the attack was indoors, unlike when it happened outdoors, some video device, cellphone, or old-fashioned camera might catch a frame, only to discover something between one or both of the witnesses, and the target of their wrath. In the daytime outdoor events where this occurred, the daylight would usually prevent anyone from capturing the phenomenon on film or tech. But at night, or indoors, it sometimes appeared as a small transfer of energy from the mouth of one, or both of the Witnesses, directed at the threat. It became popular to say that the Two could speak death or destruction on someone.
They never traveled with bodyguards of their own, and rarely accepted any from a nation or dignitary they visited, so the temptation of an open target was often too great to ignore. It was like a school in the old days, posting their “Gun Free Zone” signs, being a shooting range for killers. They were soon considered highly dangerous men, and while some of the nations – or regional political regimes – would kowtow to them, terrified of what may happen if they refused, most of the world wanted them destroyed because, even though their rule may seem benevolent, it was a “rule” all the same; not a governance. In over three years of their active rule, there were over two hundred attempts on their lives, until one day . . .
He really was a beast. He had been a cog in the Russian Mob before he was a military sniper, then KGB, which became FSB, which became much worse, before he became the highly regarded Prime Minister of Russia, without a President. It used to be, they had both. His name was Aleksandr Smotritel – or at least it had been for the past twenty plus years – because the name means “keeper” in Russian. His former name had fallen into such disuse that no one actually remembers it, and all of his best history – his current resume, so to speak – is all in the new identity. Joseph Stalin had done the same thing over a century before, because the name meant “Joe Steel,” which identified him with the common man, “Joe,” and “Steel” meant something strong and unyielding. Aleksandr Smotritel was just such a man, and so he would appear to have come from the common stock, he went by the nick-name Sasha. Sasha Smotritel almost sounds friendly, eh?
He was being friendly when he acquired the six best snipers in the world and invited the Two to speak in Red Square on a cool, crisp, sunless day. The Two knew the day was
coming, in fact they knew it was this day, and they fully expected to not get out of the day alive. Still, even knowing this, they accepted their destiny, and with a smile . . .
Well, in over three thousand years, these two had never died. They had been taken away, and with wives selected for them, they had fathered a whole world of people, all of whom had lived in a place they called Eden, just because. It was a place where Faith and Relationship had become, or had always been, the way of life, and the faithful were here for their support.
The snipers did their job, Sasha did his job, the people watching did their job – they were shocked and amazed, stunned into confusion, and then they partied as if liberty had been reborn. And the Two? The Two did their job. They died! Each with three rounds of .50 caliber, hollow point, jacketed mercury, uranium-tanged bullets, from 1200-1500 meters away, center mass, their torsos were shredded like string cheese. The mass of the bullets carried shards into the crowds where another sixteen people died, and twenty-nine were wounded. Those dead and wounded are celebrated as heroes who had sacrificed their lives, or their wellbeing, for freedom. Their names were put on a wall of honor at the UN Building in Geneva – having been moved from New York since the US exited the UN and sent them packing some years ago. The wall was erected in two days’ time, standing on a cement platform, cast of some new-fangled plastic that looked like marble, but could be made in a day, instead of being carved in a year.
The murder, as a few called it, took place at noon in Moscow – in the same time zone as Yerushalayim – where the bodies were carried and put on display. It was called “Lying in State” by some, but the bulk of the crowds that came to see them were jeering and spitting. Thousands came by to spit, blow raspberries, and even to urinate on their platforms. There were Plexiglas covers over the bodies, which had not been embalmed, or even cleaned up. Their clothes had not been changed, and the blood from their wounds, caked and black, still soaked every layer. The Two had simply stood still when the shots were fired, not raising a hand, a voice, or even an eye, to see or stop the onslaught. They made no motion or gesture to prevent the cataclysm. They accepted the Will.
Why, this time, was everything so different? Previously, there was something done, something terrible, preventing their death. Because of the open-mouthed appearance, the visual effect seen by cameras, etc. they were said to be able to speak fire on their attackers. But on this day, what for them was the day, they didn’t even look up. Their eyes were cast down, toward the floor some of the time, and to the front row of the crowd most of the time. There was some muttering in their lips, but lip readers later could not make out words. Their gaze had been peaceful and almost cheerful to those who looked into their eyes. It was almost as if they were in prayer. Their flesh tore open, along with their clothes, shredded and splattering, shattering of bones, soaked in blood. The report of the shots rang out, the security contingent of the PM looked everywhere they could, some people of the crowd bled and died, and Sasha threw up his hands in triumph.
Stepping forward on the platform where they were standing, Smotritel stood, arms extended, as if embracing the crowd, receiving all the adulation a man can stand, champion of the world, and then his head exploded. All at once, the same snipers who killed the two, counted down in their Bluetooth headsets, “Three, two, one!” and the triggers fell, squeezed simultaneously, sending six rounds across the expanse, three in various parts of his body, and three through one head in the same slice of a second.
One of the bullets passed through another six “blessed martyrs” before bouncing off the pavement and some video equipment, lodging itself into a building. Another passed through some fleshy parts of about a dozen onlookers, stopping in a large box of cabling from a broadcast crew. The third traveled out stage left, deflected off a manhole cover, penetrating the engine of the Volvo limousine prepared to take Aleksandr Smotritel away, but that limousine will never drive again. As for Aleksandr, that is another story.
In four hours, the plane with the bodies of the Two is landing in Israel, and their plastic coffins are being carried by van to the Temple Mount. For three and a half years, they had spoken as for God to the world, and in all that time, as one journalist – now unemployed – once said, “They shut up the heavens!” In all that time, it had not rained more than an occasional drizzle, and that in places where it did rain, it was not good enough to bless the crops. Everything would grow, but it would grow short, small, without any plenty in their production.
Sasha’s plan was to allow the bodies to lay in state – collecting the jeers and tears of the world – for a week, then to invade Israel, taking it as a possession, if only because the Two declared it to be protected. But they hardly matter anymore.
When the Two would visit a place that had been openly hostile toward them, when the crowds rose up, whenever violence occurred, the rivers of that nation would run red, as blood, all the way to the drinking fountains, reservoirs, and wells. When they left they would pronounce how long that condition would remain, and it was so. Sometimes, like in Kenya, they were told it would be seven days – seven being the number of completion – and so it was. In Egypt, it was forty days – the number of testing – and that is what they got. In Italy, where their presence was met with open rebellion from Rome – the capital of the alleged Church – and because of the numerous attacks from the “Devout,” they pronounced that the waters would be as blood for 240 days. They said it represents 10, the number of order, times 12, the number of Governance, times 2, for rebellion and division.
Because Rome refused their leadership, and demanded their own governance, this was the result. Eight months of contaminated water brought Rome to its knees, but not without resentment. When the Two were murdered, the Vatican threw a Rome-wide party that reminded the oldest of us of that day the terrorists flew planes into the towers, and the way the Muslim nations celebrated the death of so many. By the way, those nations that espouse Islam also rejoiced at the death of the Two.
They spoke for three and a half years, and they died . . . for three and a half days.
Midnight of the fourth cycle of the sun, the Two awoke, threw off their plastic covers, skimmed their hands down the front of their clothes, healing all the holes in their garments, evaporating the blood, the crust of which fell as dust from their garments, and then they prayed. No one heard their prayers, but they were caught on security cams, and cell phones, witnessed by hundreds of people who had come to spit and piss on them, led by the representatives of Hezbollah, Hamas, and the Palestinian Authority. The crowd dispersed in terror, running into and over one another, afraid of what the Two may do to them at this affront. The terrorists were terrorized at the presence of those who had just been dead, now risen, walking, praying to their God, and then staring into their souls. Some, in terror, took guns to hand and began shooting at the Two.
The Two did nothing but walk out on the Temple Mount, gesture at the Dome of the Rock, which fell in pieces of rock and metal to the ground, and as they walked through the rubble, they just disappeared . . . completely.
All of this took place under the watchful eyes of numerous security cameras, hundreds of eyewitness tourists, many with their cell phones recording it, a throng of angry Muslim, and a small Fox Terrier who had no idea what he had seen, but still, he stared into nowhere, and everywhere in disbelief.
In the five minutes before, and the two minutes after, all of the ships fell out of hyperspace, directly in position around the planet, Earth, with all their little satellite devices already deployed and in position. At the next moment after the Two disappeared, the sky was awash in light – some said they saw flecks of sparkles, like in Star Trek – and another couple of billion people disappeared, just after the Two left the Mount.
River City Showdown
Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.[17]
E-
Day Minus 7.3 Years
The Club has been hemorrhaging manpower so badly that they have to hire outsiders, and because of the likelihood of ending up dead, the price of their help is extortionate, or is that exorbitant. It is huge. There are a few self-professed super-soldiers, who think they can singlehandedly stop the killing. Because, at least in their minds, they are the very best of the best, when they offer their considerable services, the tally rises and rises. There are more than a few badass mercs who believe that they can get it done, even a team of disgraced ex-SEALs, who have tracked down Mike’s hotel location, though they have no idea who or what she is; they are unprepared for the reality that is she.
Dixon has gotten a list of phones taken from every death scene since the trailer, tracking and tracing every one of them, and they are many. All of them are offline at the time the search begins, but periodically, one will appear, if only for a moment, and the trackers move. At first, Dixon tries to get it done using the police forces, but in reality, they are not as eager to protect and serve in this situation as maybe they should be . . . or should they be? If those in danger were the ladies’ auxiliary of some Rotary or Lions club, the police interest may be greater, but they are a little slow to respond when the gunplay is against local criminal pond scum.
Dixon is still first on alert from the traces and when he gets info, so does James; Dixon’s primary contact. The first time it happened, a phone came on, Dixon alerted James, James sent a crew of five, who invaded the garage apartment where the signal originated, and the whole apartment blew off the top of the garage. The phone had been mounted to a derringer, and a .40 cal bullet, launched into fifteen pounds of Tannerite, surrounded by over 35 pounds of oil-rubbed C4, wrapped in 25,000 steel ball bearings, one half inch in diameter, in the bottom of an old steel trash can, topped off with a couple gallons of cement to shape the charge. When the explosives blew, the balls blasted out through the walls of the apartment at over 3700 feet per second, tearing through every wooden stud, and every piece of body armour, ripping through every arm and leg, bone and muscle along the way, penetrating every skull. James could have sent twenty men and the effect would have been the same, but with a greater body count. The roof of the building dropped onto the bottom floor and every building for a few hundred yards ate a little steel.
The Warriors' Ends- Soldiers of the Apocalypse Page 17
