by Sean Platt
“Tonight, we celebrate Him, for He has come!” The Prophet raised his hands in the air as he looked upon the small sea of followers lining the first two pews of The Lord’s One True Way Unity Church, planted deep enough in the Bible Belt to make certain the soil was rich without the taint that soured so much of the rest of the country, and, of course, the world.
The Prophet’s following was small but loyal, made from mostly family members, of which there were 16, from himself to his youngest grandchild, 1-year-old Ellie Mae. He winked at Ellie Mae in the front row as she yawned another adorable yawn. Her mother — also his youngest daughter, Pam — smiled, her eyes brightened by the Truth.
The Prophet was glad they’d made it to the church tonight. Glad that they’d been able to overcome the obstacles that Satan had thrown in their way.
Pam’s husband, Derek, had grown more confrontational over their differences of faith of late. Derek had made no secret that he was a Protestant. The Prophet was willing to let that slide, assuming the man would come around in his own time. But lately, Derek had drifted further from the flock. He began to question The Glorious Day that had been foretold to The Prophet by God Himself decades earlier. He was badmouthing the church, and The Prophet, to Pam. He began throwing the C-word around, calling their congregation a “cult.” He even threatened to take Ellie May away from Pam and go off to Nebraska, where his family was from.
It was one thing for Derek to disagree within the church and attempt to sow his seeds of discontent among the parishioners. The Prophet might have even put up with it a bit longer, letting the young man make a fool of himself until he came around. But the straw that broke the camel’s back came three nights ago when Derek plastered his face all over the TV, getting interviewed by one of those so-called journalists who’d taken to poking fun of The Prophet’s Message whenever possible. As Oct. 15 neared, the sinners grew more bold in their mockery of The Prophet and of God, turning The Prophet into the punchline of late-night comedy routines. As The Day grew closer, it was more imperative than ever that The Family stick together.
Yet, Derek betrayed them at the worst possible time. He appeared in an interview on one of those “news” shows on MSNBC. Derek mocked the church, laughed at them, and questioned the sanity of The Prophet, telling the news host that he thought the church posed a danger to people and that he would likely be seeking a divorce and full custody of their child.
Fortunately, God saw fit to inspire Pam’s older brothers, Elwin and Dwayne, to intercede, giving a nice, “friendly” talking-to to Derek. The boys had a way with words, and their fists, which made their daddy proud and helped him keep order in a world that sometimes forgot how to keep things straight. Tonight, Derek was still recovering from the boys’ visit, which meant he wouldn’t be here. Which was a shame, really. The Prophet didn’t approve of Derek’s background, nor his recent betrayal. But what kind of example would he be if he were not a forgiving man? Any who sought redemption would receive it.
If they sought it in time. Derek lost his opportunity. Tonight was The End and The Beginning, and Derek was on the wrong side of the fence.
Such a shame.
Missing tonight was to miss the Second Coming. To miss His Glorious Return. To be struck blind and dumb as the doors of Heaven itself were thrown open to the righteous among them.
Sorry, Derek, no room for Protestants.
But Pam and Ellie Mae, they would certainly be welcome.
And they’d all get to see Gladys again. She would be waiting.
The Prophet couldn’t wait for Ellie Mae to meet her Grandma. Gladys succumbed to cancer two days before Ellie Mae blessed the world with her presence, a huge loss to the congregation and family alike. Gladys had been so anticipating Ellie Mae’s birth. She had a lot of love in her heart. Even at the end, when the pain was enough to twist her face into a cruel mockery of the Good Lord’s Everlasting Love, Gladys always had a smile and open arms for her entire family, and all The Prophet’s followers.
Oh, how he missed her.
But man was not meant to question His will. Nor was he meant to mourn those who entered the Kingdom of Heaven. For all who believed would be reunited in the coming Light of the Lord to spend Eternity in His Glory and Love. And that reunion was about to take place in minutes.
The Prophet looked at the clock, an old Western Electric that had set in the same spot for six decades, from back when this church had belonged to The Prophet’s father –back before The Prophet had returned to Him. The clock read 2:06 a.m.
It was almost time.
The Prophet led the congregation in the Lord’s Prayer, then began to deliver the sermon he’d been preparing for years. Though his back often hurt, and he was feeling every bit of his age most days, tonight he felt electric. He was without pain, and stronger than he’d felt in decades. His voice was an extension of this strength, strong and deep from his chest, in full bellow.
He spoke of Love, God, and family. Without those, you had nothing. You may have yourself a house, but without God, your house had no foundation. And as surely as Rome crumbled into the rubble of its own sin, your house would crumble, too.
Man had vanquished God from the world in the past few decades; had banished him as surely as God had banished Adam and Eve from Eden. But at least God banished Adam and Eden for their own good. Man did it with an arrogant sneer, and it would’ve surely been the death of them, if the Good Lord hadn’t seen fit to save The Prophet and his flock.
“Foolish men thought this garden was theirs to banish Him from?!”
The congregation laughed.
The Prophet smiled.
2:12 a.m.
Almost time.
“Men are so certain of themselves. So arrogant.”
“Amen,” the congregation said. Little Ellie Mae said, “A-may.”
“You can’t throw God out of His Kingdom! Can you?!”
“No!” the congregation shouted.
“Hell no!” The Prophet said. “For He alone holds the keys! He alone determines the fate of all. He alone, Amen!”
“Amen!”
“Man tried to hide God from us. Tried to hide Heaven. Said they didn’t exist and that they’d just go away like a bad dream. But you can’t hide Heaven, can you? You can’t deny the Lord and render him undone, can you?”
“No,” they said.
“Because as long as there is Love - as long as there are men who aren’t blind to His Love and able to hear his call - there is always a way. Amen!”
“Amen!”
“When God called me so many years ago, I was just an ordinary man. Blind to His Love. Deaf to His Truth. Arrogant! I was lost like a white hair in a lion’s mane. But then . . . then I heard His voice call to me. Delivered a message to me. Showed me how foolish I was to turn my back on my father’s church. That without family,” he paused to look down the rows of his family, “without you, I was as far from Eden as man had ever been. He told me what I had to do. That I had to come home and make things right. To build this church back up to bring His word home and swing the doors to His kingdom open wide for us all, Amen!”
“Amen!”
“It is time, my family. It is time to open the door and welcome Him back into our world. Time to shake the arrogance and hubris of humanity to its core and remind them that not only is God alive, but that He has returned, Amen! And NO MAN can or shall close the doors to Him, ever again. Amen!”
“Amen!” the family cried, standing in a wave. Pam held Ellie Mae in her arms and gave her a kiss on the head. Pam’s eyes were wet. Dwayne’s wife was crying, too. Tears of joy. Tears of the joyous Love they’d know for eternity, no doubt.
The Prophet looked at his congregation: family, friends, and even a couple of strangers whom he’d never seen before tonight. His church had never been so full. All here to witness His return! The Prophet’s heart swelled with joy.
“Are you ready to welcome Him back?”
“Yes!” they all echoed.
The Prophet retrieved the vial of black liquid. The vial they’d tried to keep from him. He lifted it above his head for all to see. The liquid glimmered in the light of the church. In the light of His Love.
A hush blanketed the room. You could hear their breaths caught in their throats, each and every one. They were viewing a gift from Him. The key to the kingdom. Many erupted into tears of joy.
Outside, thunder shattered the silence. One, two, several strikes, so loud they may have been tearing the sky apart above them. God had a way with dramatic entrances, The Prophet figured.
“Then let us open the doors to Heaven and welcome Him back into our world, Amen!”
“Amen!”
The Prophet opened the vial.
The door of the church flew open as the man burst in. The one who had tried to stop The Prophet from realizing God’s Dream. The man screamed, “No!”
But he was too late.
The liquid boiled over, spilling out and onto The Prophet’s hand, burning his flesh. He screamed, but his voice was drowned by the crash of thunder and flashes of light, brighter than anything he’d ever seen.
Then blackness.
The Prophet woke up coughing, vomiting smog from his lungs. Darkness and flames licked the world around him, and for a moment The Prophet was certain he’d woken in Hell rather than the Heaven he was promised. He cried out, “Why?”
But then he saw he wasn’t in Hell, unless the Lake of Fire looked exactly like the ground outside his church. Rain started to fall, slowly at first, then hard and fast, smothering most of the fire as The Prophet lay there, helpless to do anything but watch as drool spilled from his gaping mouth and pooled onto the ground below.
He passed in and out of consciousness, drifting through an endless series of meandering thoughts, but always returning to the question: Who dragged him to safety? Someone had to have pulled him from the church. The Prophet had felt something, like someone was with him, but didn’t see anyone and couldn’t remember a thing.
He thought of the famous poem Footsteps.
Perhaps it was Him.
The Prophet woke to the morning light. His body was stiff, his face numb. He brought his hands to his face; it felt mottled and burned on the left side. However, and thankfully, it did not hurt to touch.
He looked around. Where is Gladys? Where’s my family?
The Prophet was alone, sitting in the ashes of the church. He looked around. The rest of his compound was untouched. Only the church lay in cinders, struck and burned from the face of the planet, reduced to little more than a memory frosting the air over its charred foundation.
The Prophet stumbled to his feet and approached the blackened remains of the church he’d known all his life. It was as though a giant, or the Devil himself, had picked up the roof and tore off the walls, leaving nothing but the remains of the floor, pews, and several piles of smoldering remains he couldn’t make out at first.
Then it hit him.
There were bodies.
The entire congregation had been reduced to cinders. He found the smallest of piles and thought of Ellie Mae, smiling at him.
The Prophet fell to the ground weeping.
“What have I done?”
Eleven
Brent Foster
Black Island, New York
Black Island Research Facility — Level 6
March 22, 2012
Morning
The woman and child behind the glass are not my family.
That was the thought Brent kept beating into his brain as he glared into the cavernous observation chamber behind God knows how much bulletproof, bombproof, and everything else-proof glass, here beneath the earth at the end of the world.
The glass was one-way, thank God. Brent couldn’t imagine having to look into his family’s new sets of alien eyes, or having them see him on the free side of the chamber. The cell reminded him of an enclosed room he’d once seen at a zoo where penguins were kept, except this cell had no pretense of a natural habitat. It was sterile, industrial, and lacked anything that could ever be accused of being a creature comfort. No cots and no toilets. Nothing but gray, concrete-looking walls, a row of drains in the floor, and ominous looking vents and holes in the ceiling. On the far side of the chamber was an oversized square door, which exited into another room Brent hadn’t been cleared to enter.
This was Brent’s first time this deep under the massive facility beneath Black Island. Civilian access was limited to the first level. The farther down, the higher clearance level needed to access it. The whole place reminded Brent of the interior of spaceships he’d seen on shows — industrial in color and style, sliding doors with retina and hand security panels, and the constant hum of electronics beneath the continuous rush of cold, sterile-smelling air into the facility. The room he was in was small, one of several that looked into the viewing chamber where his family was being held, though he could not see into those rooms through the one-way mirrored glass. He wondered how many other men were in identical chambers watching their wives and sons, and what those people had planned for them.
Gina and Ben paced back and forth like animals, slightly hunched, arms swinging loosely, heads tilted as if trying to constantly hear something just out of earshot. Both bodies were stripped of clothing, a final indignity, layered atop the alien infection that had already bleached them of much of their humanity. While their skin wasn’t as dark as the alien skin, or as wet — and it didn’t have what seemed like lights beneath the surface — it had definitely already altered from human form. Their skin was smooth, yet scarred in places, and slightly waxen. It was as if whatever infected them was slowly shedding the outer skin and replacing it with something else, not fully alien, but not fully human. Perhaps it was working with what biology allowed in its best approximation of the alien skin.
If he had any remaining rays of hope that his family could be saved, they were dimmed to a flicker five minutes earlier when Capt. Keenan brought Brent down to Level 6 and he’d gotten his first look at the haunting in Ben and Gina’s eyes. The beautiful life that used to dance inside them was gone, replaced by dark, reptilian pupils; their eyes left as vacuums of humanity no different than those of the doorman, Joe, after he’d been infected.
“What are they going to do with them?” Brent asked.
“I’m not sure,” Keenan said as if considering a tiny insect. “Observe them, of course. But beyond that, I don’t know.”
“They’re gonna run tests, aren’t they?”
“I imagine so.”
Brent knew exactly what a battery of tests would mean. While he contemplated the certain death sentence for his family, he watched as his 3-year-old-son huddled close to Gina, eyes on the windows, as if at any moment one of them would crash in and something would storm inside to threaten them. Even though the boy’s eyes were dark and alien, Brent recognized fear when he saw it, no matter the species.
The boy’s fingers clung tighter to Gina, but her maternal instinct was apparently dead. She seemed to regard the child as a stranger, something she was reluctantly forced to share space with. Were Gina still Gina, she would have been shielding Ben in her arms, protecting him from any slings or arrows that might come his way. This thing that had been Gina simply allowed the child to be near, but offered no comfort, reassuring touch, or hint of humanity.
Brent’s heart shattered yet again.
“I need to go inside. Please.”
“I know what you’re thinking, but they’re not your family,” Keenan said with zero emotion. Brent wondered what Keenan had done before the world went to hell. His bedside manner was shit, and Brent had a feeling he was catching him on a good day.
As if Keenan sensed Brent was looking for more and would get it even if he had to start asking, he said, “I don’t know much, just a tiny bit I heard from one of the science geeks on Level 7. These aliens in the city are like parasites, you see. They infect people, kill their hosts, then play house in the shells. That’s why what you see in th
at room is not your family. Your wife and son, as you knew them, are dead. The parasites are like hermit crabs crawling into a new home.”
Brent turned back and saw his son shivering, clinging to Gina’s leg.
“No,” Brent said. “You can’t see it. But I can. My son is still in there. I know it because I can fucking see it! And I don’t want your scientists killing him. He’s not dead! Look at him! Look how he’s clinging to his mother. You think an alien, some damned hermit crab, would be doing that were it simply inhabiting a shell?”
Keenan stared at Gina and Ben, as if genuinely considering Brent’s question. There was a look in his eye as if he were thinking about someone else, or remembering something. After a long minute, Keenan shook his head, as if casting the memories away, then turned back to Brent, eyes clear and focused again. “The last vestiges of humanity. Instincts. Nothing more.”
“Bullshit!” Brent said. He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing a scream and speaking through clenched teeth. “I want to speak to whoever’s in charge!”
“You know . . . ”
“No!” Brent said, putting a finger up, pointing precariously close to Keenan’s face. “Don’t say it! I’ve done everything that’s been asked of me. You all shot my friend. You took all our belongings, shaved us down, and brought us to this place where we have to do what we’re told, when we’re told, and never question authority. I never said a word. Never resisted. Did as ordered. Figured you all are the government, or what’s left of it, anyway. Believed you’ll make sure everything’s okay. But I can’t sit by while people I don’t know make choices I have no say in about MY family, without even giving me the chance to speak!”
“I understand your frustration,” Keenan said.
“The fuck you do!” Brent shot back and turned from Keenan, eyes back on the window, watching as Ben followed Gina to the far end of the room, huddling together in a corner.
