Last Days Trilogy

by Jacqueline Druga

  The cloud of dust blinded him and sent him into a coughing spasm. He waved his hand comically in front of his face as if he could ward it off. “No, Reg. I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “Huh?” Reggie turned to Marcus. “Oh shit, did you fall?”

  Marcus grunted and brushed himself off. “You were supposed to be watching.”

  “Oh, Marcus,” Reggie sighed. “I was. Look.”

  Marcus turned to see....

  Nothing.

  No buildings, no road. Thick brown dirt beneath a remarkably blue sky. The dirt had formed one small cliff like structure and it cradled the diner high off the ground. Almost as if the dirt was a wave.

  “What now?” Reggie asked.

  “We walk.”

  “Direction?”

  “East.”

  “Okay,” Reggie stated. “How do we determine east?”

  “I’m a scientist, Reg, please.”

  Momentarily impressed, Reggie frowned when she saw Marcus peer at his watch.

  “What are you doing?”

  “East.” He picked up their gear and turned to the right. “My watch has a compass.”

  “Oh my God, you are a nerd!”

  “Is that necessary?” Marcus handed her a bag. “Let’s try to head out of this destruction.”

  “Devastation of fire and brimstone.”

  “What?” Marcus chuckled.

  “I did have doubts about Devante’s biblical power of prophesy, but hell, look around.”

  Marcus slowed. “Reg, please, it was a meteor. Nothing more, nothing less. A meteor.”

  “Are you convincing yourself or me?”

  “Both,” Marcus said. “I guess I can’t let myself attribute such power to Devante. I can’t. I refuse.” He paused. “So, a meteor. It’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Not biblical, not supernatural.”

  As he said these words, a sudden vibration began, rumbling in the air, and then from the ground beneath. Marcus grabbed Reggie and tried to keep them steady, but it was useless. As they tumbled to the ground, they could hear an ear-piercing creak, like timbers cracking.

  Seconds later, speechless and disoriented, they glanced over to see the last remnants of the diner disappearing into the earth. The ground stopped shaking. Dead silence.

  Reggie stood and brushed herself off. “‘Nothing biblical,’ you were saying?”

  Marcus picked up their bags with trembling hands, and then grabbed Reggie’s arm. “Let’s just walk.”

  Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles, CA

  “Yes, children, the truth can be frightening.” Devante’s deep voice reverberated over the loud speaker with a slight echo.

  This time, however, his words did not bring excited cheers, but sorrowful cries and whimpers. His voice was soothing, comforting.

  “It was a painful deliverance. And a necessary awakening. However, the thunder of the sky, the flames of vengeance did not awaken all. There are still many in the world who do not believe. Infidels are forming groups as we speak… to vanquish me. I know this. It has happened before. I am not afraid. But the signs will continue. You, my dear people, have witnessed on your continent what will become of your green earth, indeed of your world, if you do not change. Now, before the sun sets, the other side of the world shall witness it as well. A great sea separates many countries and cities. Today the floor of this great sea will buckle. Water will rise and form a great wall that will wash away the cities that surround it.” He paused as he swept the crowd with his eyes. “There is nothing that can be done. There is nothing that can stop this.” Devante lowered his head as if in sadness. “But... there is still time. You. You who are here. You who listen to me here and through your devices in your homes, you who believe in me, you are shined upon. The others, who do not, must be cast out in order for the destruction to cease.”

  A moaning uproar emanated from the crowd, mass questioning, and mass fright.

  Devante waited for them to quiet down. “You can say ‘No’. You can allow the unbelievers to destroy your earth. Look around. Look at the trees, the grass, the fields, they die. But, if you go to the home of the man who does not believe in me, see that his home flourishes, his land feeds him. He is protected by a force we do not want to be a part of. As long as he remains, he will take the green land from you.” Devante paused. “Cast him out. Do you know of anyone, your neighbor, your friend, your father, your mother? Do they not believe? Do their gardens grow? They follow the wrong path... Cast them out. Harsh words. Harsh truth. This world will end. You can stop it. Let our numbers alive be greater than the 144,000 predicted in your ridiculous Book of Revelation. Only you can make the change.” His voice softened. “I know you are afraid. You seek these words from the Bible: ‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

  Devante paused, looking out among the crowd, his voice a sudden force. “Wrong!” The word echoed throughout the rumbling, murmuring crowd as Devante’s voice grew in crescendo. “Your New Testament... wrong! Everything you have been taught about your God is wrong!”

  The people went crazy with panic and screaming.

  “Listen to me!” His command silenced them. “God is not a God of love, understanding and forgiveness. He is a God of vengeance, fury, wrath and punishment. Take a look at the place you called Chicago! By our sun’s setting, take a look at the cities that will be buried with the waters of the sea. You want an end? You want the punishment to stop? The wrath to cease? You know what you must do. You know where to look for your answers. Seek!” Devante shouted deeply. “And you shall find....” He dropped his voice. “Me.”

  The moment Devante spoke his final word, a rush of people charged the stage, screaming his name over and over, the stadium a sea of waving hands.

  Devante stepped back and slipped behind the curtain to the quiet backstage.

  The screams faded as Devante retreated into the bowels of the stadium, where Rev. Bailey waited.

  Slowly, Rev. Bailey lifted his eyes and shut his Bible.

  “I spoke to them.”

  “I heard,” Rev. Bailey said softly, his voice spiritless.

  “Do you have any questions of me?”

  “As a matter of fact...” Rev. Bailey stood from his seat and walked toward Devante. “I do. Why would you say what you did?”

  “It is the truth.”

  Rev. Bailey’s calmness abandoned him. His face flushed in anger. “You lie.”

  “You dare take that tone with...”

  “I’ll take any tone I please!” Rev. Bailey charged. “You said not to call you ‘Jesus.’ I wondered why. Now I know. You said God is not a God of love, forgiveness and understanding? How blind can one man be? Yes, I wanted answers, any answer.”

  “Do not preach to me!” Devante demanded.

  “Do not preach to these people!”

  “It is my work!” Devante said. “Do not question it.”

  “Like you told those people out there to question the Bible?” Rev. Bailey chuckled. “And I’m as much a fool as them. You denounce the Bible. Why? It holds the truth. You ridiculed the Book of Revelation. Why? Because it tells about you. You are not the Savior!”

  “I am the savior of this earth!”

  “No. You are the deceiver.” Rev. Bailey’s arm flew out. “And you are here to deceive the people of the four corners of the earth. Your numbers will be as many as the sands on the beach. And, Dear Sweet Lord in Heaven above...” Rev. Bailey stepped back and breathed out. “I helped you.”

  “And you did your job well,” Devante said, and he turned and walked to the door.

  Click-click.

  Devante stopped cold.

  “My job...” Rev. Bailey began, his voice soft and resolute, his hand firmly gripping an extended revolver. “...is not done.”

  Devante spun quickly, his eyes piercing. “You dare to aim a weapon at me!”

  “Oh, I dare to do more than that!” Rev. Bailey chuckled bitterly. “I have erred. A fool’s choice, a test I failed. Though my mistakes of t
he past cannot be undone, I can change my mistakes of the future.”

  “You ramble like a fool.”

  “No.” Rev. Bailey shook his head. “I speak rationally.”

  “You think you can destroy me?” Devante taunted, nearing the Reverend.

  Rev. Bailey smiled. “I do. You see, even though your being is the bile of hell itself, your body is still that of a man. And you will die as easily as any man.”

  “That may be true.” Devante’s voice dropped. “But lest you forget... your soul... is mine.”

  On this last word, which penetrated the reverend’s heart, Devante’s hand closed and flashed out in a blur, his massive fist slamming into the reverend’s face. In a split second the reverend was nose-to-nose with Devante a foot in the air. He could smell the brimstone of his breath.

  The unearthly scream that followed was as if all the souls of hell were crying in unison.

  Devante inhaled deeply. Rev. Bailey shook out of control as his body dehydrated and dissolved, until nothing more than a mass of leathery flesh was left of Rev. Bailey.

  Devante turned and walked out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Los Angeles, CA

  Devante met with President Nelson at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, aptly enough, in the Presidential Suite. No security accompanied the President, not even the Secret Service. President Nelson sipped on a brandy and paced. Devante sat calmly and comfortably.

  “I understand the destruction that could happen,” President Nelson said, forlornly. “I don’t want the world to end.”

  “Does any man?” Devante asked.

  “But can we stop it?” President Nelson countered. “Truly, can we?”

  “You ask me if it can be stopped. I have already told the answer to that question.”

  “A harsh answer.” President Nelson paused, and then said, “What it boils down to is you want to pretty much eliminate all those who don’t believe.”

  “The people want the believers eliminated. They are the cause of the world’s end.”

  “I want to help...”

  “Then do it.”

  “But the only way is to make a sweep of this country, full force?”

  Devante peered up at the President. “I know you are planning to keep order with your many soldiers. It would take little to turn your military into police men.”

  “You mean arrest those who don’t believe?” President Nelson asked.

  “I have my own people, they will help. They will find the non-believers. But your army must seek them out as well. Find them. Take them.”

  “And do what?”

  Devante hesitated, dramatically it seemed, before answering coldly. “Kill them.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “They threaten humanity and the prolonged existence of mankind on this earth.” Devante rose slowly from the couch and looked down at President Nelson. “Soon, all will see that, and you will lose control of your army if you do not partake in the purification. You ask me how to stop this. And I tell you simply. Yet you balk at what I say.” Devante moved toward the door and stopped. “I hear tales about you. Stories. They say you are a leader without a strong will. Or courage. A man without a spine.” Devante paused. “Prove them wrong. Show them that you will stop at nothing to save lives, no matter how extreme.” Devante opened the door and looked once more at President Nelson. “Dream well.”

  Northwestern Indiana

  “Found another,” Reggie called, and then raced through the darkness to the small fire Marcus was building. She handed him a large twig.

  “Oh, this one’s good. Thanks.” He began to break it up.

  “I was thinking, what I wouldn’t give to have a tree to pee behind. And there it was, just sticking up out of the ground.”

  Marcus snickered. “I could think of other things to pray for.”

  “I wasn’t praying. I was blaspheming.” Reggie plopped down on the sleeping roll.

  “This should do it.” Marcus nodded to the igniting fire. “It’ll burn out quick, but we’ll be sleeping by then.”

  “At least we don’t have to worry about starting a forest fire.”

  “No, we don’t.” Marcus scooted over next to her. “You cold?”

  “No, but I’m tired. You?”

  “Tired.”

  “How far do you suppose we walked today?”

  “Miles.” Marcus answered. “Probably ten, give or take, considering the time we started and when it got dark.”

  “More than ten,” Reggie said. “At least eight hours, right? At maybe five miles per hour. I think we walked forty.”

  “Forty?” Marcus laughed. “No chance. First of all, no way that dirt blasted out forty miles. No way. Look at the sky. Clear as a bell. No dust clouds. That much dust would have clouded up the sky. And you forget, we stopped for twenty minutes every single hour. No, ten. Twelve or thirteen at the most.”

  “Fine, get pissy about it. Toss your scientific knowledge in my face.”

  Marcus shifted his head toward Reggie. “How is using common deduction scientific knowledge?”

  “It’s algebra. I sucked at algebra. You know that. So you used it.”

  “I give up.”

  Reggie nudged him. “I’m kidding you.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Look how cute our little fire is.”

  “It’s little.”

  Reggie gave no reply.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” Reggie replied quietly.

  “You got quiet.”

  “I was thinking.”

  “About?” Marcus asked.

  “Well, what if this is it?’

  “Reg,” Marcus chuckled. “The dirt will end. The destruction didn’t....”

  “No. That’s not what I mean,” Reggie continued, “I mean, what if this is what will remain of man’s existence? Bleak. Nothing. Our legacy.”

  “That’s pretty deep. Usually you don’t go there... you know, to serious places.”

  “I know.” Reggie shrugged. “I usually don’t take things seriously.”

  “So don’t start now.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t start taking things seriously now.”

  Reggie looked around. “I have no choice. Devante isn’t God, or Jesus, I’ll grant that,” she said. “But if he is powerful enough to cause this, then isn’t he powerful enough to replicate God’s end?”

  “No,” Marcus said resolutely. “And never say that to me again. Promise me.”

  “Okay, I promise, but...”

  “No buts. Only our Creator and demented madmen with a nuclear arsenal are powerful enough to destroy us,” Marcus stated unequivocally. “As for Devante, he is forgetting one thing. I am his creator. So somehow, some way...” Marcus lowered his voice to a whisper. “I feel it. I really feel it, Reg. Somehow, I have the power to destroy him.”

  Los Angeles, CA

  The President, sweating profusely and on the edge of screaming, insisted on relating his nightmare to John, his White House advisor, who had awakened him in the middle of the night. His dream, he said, was monstrous. The advisor tried to butt in with the latest news, but the President wouldn’t hear it; he had to tell him, he said; had to get it off his chest. His wife burned, he said, staring straight ahead, screaming as she was engulfed by flames, eating up her skin in blackened patches. His sixteen-year-old daughter stood by, held in place by unseen hands, her clothes in tatters from sexual assaults. All the while, a mob of onlookers chanted, “Deceivers and non-believers must pay.”

  “You can’t imagine how horrific it was, John.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. President, I believe I can,” John replied. “You see, it’s happening now.”

  The North Sea had risen up. Earthquakes were rocking Europe, tumbling cities in the United Kingdom and on the Continent. A tidal wave had risen in the North Atlantic and, just hours before, had buried and washed away London, Amsterdam, and Brussels. The Shetland Islands. All of them gone.

/>   Of course, minds turned to the supposed reckless prophesy of an eccentric man who looked like Christ, a man who had told of such events; who had predicted this tidal wave as he did the destruction of Chicago. He was not wrong, men said.

  The President, tears welling in his eyes, turned to his advisor. “He told me what to do to stop it. I have to decide and decide quickly.” He spoke in a hoarse whisper, almost to himself. “If he was right about Europe and Chicago, what next?”

  “What, Mr. President? I can’t hear you, I don’t understand.” John moved his head closer, trying to hear.

  “Religious persecution in exchange for life. Freedom of belief in exchange for death. Devante’s way or no way,” he said breathlessly, his words not quite audible. “Is there really a choice?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Northwestern Indiana

  They began to spot trees and rooftops sticking up from the ground, then spotlights appeared in the distance.

  “We made it.” Reggie said in relief.

  “I never thought we would.”

  “I bet we walked at least a hundred miles today.”

  “Reg, stop that. And we are about to find out who’s right.”

  “Halt!” a deep male voice called out. “Identify yourselves.”

  Reggie squinted in the bright floodlight.

  “Identify yourselves,” the man repeated.

  Reggie grabbed Marcus’ shoulder, whispering, “Remember, you’re a wanted criminal. Let me handle this.”

  The soldier challenged them once again to identify themselves.

  Reggie called out, “Dina Lewis and Jerry Martin.”

  “Oh my God,” Marcus moaned. “Not them.”

  “What?” Reggie snickered. “He’s young. He doesn’t know.”

  “Do you have any identification?” the private asked. He approached warily. He was young, no older than twenty. And short.