Arkapeligo- Rising

by Ma West

  It should have been daytime, but it was dusky, and it wasn’t hard to see why. The aliens were dropping rafter after rafter, creating a wall around the city, a wall so tall that it had blocked out the sky. The ground began shaking, like a purr at first but soon more like a washing machine. A flock of birds flew chaotically amidst the conflicting nature of the elements. People littered the streets, sloshing through the standing water, pointing, and screaming at the sky.

  Hashmore was still toward the center of the island and couldn’t see any ocean from his current standpoint. The intensity of the pitched noises was fading with the light, along with his faith. How could the pinnacle of his existence feel so hollow? The darkness crept in, and it only seemed fitting that it should end like this, in the dark, alone.

  Several bright lights shined directly on Hashmore from above. The light broke off into three and began circling him from above. A new red light appeared from out of the darkness, in the middle, bringing a slightly burning, warm glow with it. The beam focused in on his headset and handset. The red light disappeared just before a wet, nasty-smelling substance sprayed him like a skunk.

  Hashmore coughed and felt some initial burning in his nose and lungs, but the more he breathed, the easier it became, and his moment of panic was soon over. The encounter was over just as quickly, for the lights vanished into the sky, leaving him with yet another piece of evidence to support the existence of God’s nonexistent aliens.

  Again the outside ambient noise changed dramatically, increasing the shaking of the island. It now felt like a significant earthquake. The ground rumbled and hummed with the pulse of a mechanical drill. It swayed, but only enough to notice, and as Hashmore looked up, he could see the sway in the buildings as well. People in an adjacent building had started flooding out onto the streets, fearing the tumbling of the buildings.

  Creeks and moans accompanied the swaying of the buildings, but to his great relief, none appeared ready to topple, and the noise level seemed to be dropping. The crowd gathered around him, the people moving forward as they constantly adjusted their angle with the ground.

  He heard the sounds of puking and, as the wind shifted, even smelled it. Hashmore’s mind was relativity clear and calm, on par for his given talents. Yet the difference was his internal self. Before, his belief in the Lord actually gave him power to move forward, to carry on the banter and torch of the Lord, but if the Lord didn’t exist, what was the point?

  Hashmore felt his gut drop as he and everyone else in the crowd fell to their knees. The harsh sounds of a building finally giving way echoed down the skyline—the crumbling of cement, the tearing of steel, the screams of those lost. The lift was intense. The downward pressure was nearly unbearable, and Hashmore was forced onto his chest, his face now down on the street. He felt dampness on his forehead and smelled salt on the pavement. As he lay there, helpless to move, he wondered why the rapture and ascent into heaven all felt so humanlike and devoid of the godly presence. Maybe, he thought, there is no God and all those jerks, for all those years, just might have been right.

  Hashmore lay facedown in the cold darkness. The earthquake-like vibrations had ceased, but the force of gravity made any movement very difficult, and he was certain that the sudden drop in temperature was going to be a bad thing. His breath formed in white vapors, and he felt a sting in his lungs and throat from the cold, when a new sound engaged.

  Shifting his eye upward, he saw that the rafters were spreading out and expanding. Like great planks of metal, a clear bubble started to fill the space in between, forming large squares in the sky above. Black sky filled in as the shape of the dome began to form. A strong, cold wind blew down from directly above, freezing a tiny ice puddle on the street just inches away from Hashmore’s face.

  The downward pull of gravity had changed its mind and begun to spin with an amazing amount of acceleration. Hashmore moved onto his backside and looked up at one of the most incredible sights he had ever witnessed, and one of the most disturbing.

  A huge blue sphere rose across the new dome’s horizon.

  Hashmore was again dumbfounded, at a loss for how his faith could explain this. Its beauty was unmistakable, with its vast lush oceans, deep-green forests, and broad swaths of light brown—it was truly Eden. Even if horrific in its implications, it was magnificent in its grandeur. The crowd around him, now visible in the light, had started to take survey of themselves and their situations. He heard tears in tandem with comments like “Oh my god” and “What the hell?”

  Once more, Hashmore was in the position of knowing what should be done and how to do it, without the passion to do so. His whole life was leading up to a great event for the Lord, yet this event had done nothing but disprove his most fundamental beliefs about the Lord. Hashmore was caught in a mental paradox between believing despite all that he saw around him and acknowledging that he was wrong at the core, and therefore unfit to serve.

  The group started to splinter and break up, with each conversation taking a different twist, each requiring a different set of actions to be taken. Hashmore took a deep breath and prepped himself like a fat man getting ready for a workout. He looked around for something to stand on, found a nearby hydrant, stood up, steadied himself, studied the crowd, and began. “Everyone, everyone. My name is Hashmore, and I am the emergency manager for the city of Manhattan.”

  Dispersing the crowd was a relatively easy job. The nervous, scared people needed to stay busy and be productive to avoid panic. By organizing the group into sets of three, Hashmore instructed them on how each group was to make contact with a building, take inventory, and establish communications via the runner system with headquarters at RUDY.

  Eager to engage in their new assignments, the majority of the crowd scattered. A few people stayed behind. Some of them were the pukers, now taking the time to clean and right themselves. Some older and younger people stayed behind in their respective fetal positions, distraught over the course of events and loss of it all. There would be no way to know who was actually doing what, but if some of them followed his instructions, Hashmore believed he could get things settled down.

  One small group stayed behind, and while Hashmore couldn’t quite hear the conversation, it was getting very heated. He took a moment to observe the group. Some of its members were speaking passionately. It took him by surprise that someone could still have this much fervor for anything. He again recognized that he was feeling completely empty inside.

  The juxtaposition made him feel uncomfortable, and he considered walking away, when the group approached him. “Hey, you there . . . yeah, you, Mashbore. I got a fucking bone to pick with you.” A man wearing a slick suit and an expensive watch, with a terrible haircut, came over. “Just what in the hell do you think you are doing? Are these people your employees? I don’t fucking think so, because they’re my fucking employees.”

  In the past, this man would have infuriated Hashmore, but right now, he felt too empty to care. Truthfully, he really didn’t care if anyone followed his instructions. But he didn’t know what else to do other than execute what he thought was God’s destiny for him. In a long diatribe, the man continued talking about how damn important he was. For Hashmore, this was simply what he was doing at this moment. For him, it could have been any task. The depression of losing his Lord was setting in, deeper and deeper.

  It was the mayor who ended the conversation. A clean, straight-on jab to the man’s nose sent him reeling back, a tear in his eye. The mayor looked at Hashmore. “Politics is fucking over. Now it’s time for leadership. Now look at you, man, this is your time, your time to be that superstar, but you look like a man who can’t get it up anymore. I don’t know what’s going on in that mind of yours, but we need you here and now. So get your ass downstairs and tell us what the fuck we should be doing.”

  Hashmore smiled. He seldom liked the way his friend and boss spoke, but he always seemed to love the message. Hashmore smiled again. If not whole inside again, at least he fel
t human.

  Chapter 36

  To Pray or Not to Pray

  For all his years in police work, Hashmore still found the actual collar to be the most stressful and least fun part of the job. Examining the evidence, hunting down the details, retracing the cover-up—those were the parts of the job he enjoyed. Shaking guys down, staking out perps, and chasing and fighting people were not the enjoyable parts of the job. That’s why Hashmore and Biggo Mandainity made such a good team—Big M loved every part of the job he hated, and vice versa.

  So when the aliens only took Hashmore, it was a source of great discomfort and stress. With the return of the warmth in the air and the stabilizing of the ground came the alien craft’s return, hovering right above Hashmore. The undercarriage opened, and a light illuminated the spray like a fluorescent marker, clearly distinguishing Hashmore from the other humans. A pink light surrounded the two men and slowly closed in. Hashmore felt nothing, but the mayor cringed in pain as he was forced to back away. He didn’t appear to have suffered any significant injury, but it made Hashmore all the more nervous.

  Hashmore looked at the ground as he smelled burning, only to notice that all vegetation sprouting out of the sidewalk was shriveling up. A burst of foul, stale air and fog rushed forth and filled the light-contained barrier. Hashmore held his breath, but each little slip sent a burning sensation down into his lungs. After several long seconds, he heard a sparking noise, and the fog and wind ceased.

  Sparks and sounds of distortions brought Hashmore’s attention beyond the barrier. The mayor had taken to throwing rocks at the field. As he continued to watch, Colonel Major now approached with his weapon drawn. Able to breathe freely again, Hashmore lost the sense of panic, but only briefly. The colonel and the mayor were having a heated discussion as the colonel prepared to open fire on the alien ship.

  While the outside world seemed very concerned, Hashmore felt relieved. If his God didn’t exist, maybe these aliens could give him some answers.

  Answers were what Hashmore was seeking, but what were the questions, and what could he expect aliens to know of the Lord, anyway? Could aliens have a relationship with Jesus? What did their existence do to his relationship with the Lord? Would they have their own version of a savior? Would Jesus be universal or a human endeavor?

  Panic slowly grew inside him, like a high school student learning about an exam after ditching the previous class. Any excitement was overshadowed by the implications of the answers. What if the moral foundation from which he had based his whole life was a farce? Could he find redemption in a new system?

  Following his train of thought, Hashmore was overwhelmed by guilt. If he was about to be judged, he suddenly hoped for some instant extra credit to cash in on, like the time he helped an old lady cross the street or gave money to a hobo. Alas, there was only a purple light separating him from his world—it held like a solid, reacted like a gel, and now that the fog had vanished, breathed like a screen.

  The mayor had prevented the colonel from firing his weapon, and the group had joined him in throwing stones. To what effect, Hashmore wasn’t sure, but it was a touching gesture, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a tinge of happiness. His comrades cared, and it was nice to feel like someone cared. It could be hard to feel God’s love at times, but then again, it could be hard to feel others’ love most of the time.

  Again the temperature dropped, and Hashmore’s breath steamed in the cold. A strong wind brought with it an icy chill, and with a sudden change in pressure, Hashmore felt himself being gently pulled upward with even greater force. A strong whoop sound echoed in his ears as Hashmore was propelled by the hands of the wind, as if God himself were reaching down and lifting him up. With that, he ascended into darkness.

  Lord, are you there? It’s so cold, so very, very cold. Lord, are you calling me? I can’t hear you? Lord, are you there? All I want is for your will to be done. All you have to do is tell me what to do, and I shall go to the far end of the world. I will challenge demons. I will do all that you ask. Just please, please give me warmth. I’m so very, very cold. I can’t hear myself think over the chattering of my teeth. I can’t find the light. Where do I go? Oh, Lord, show me the light so I may enter your kingdom.

  Lord, are you there? Why do you not reach out to me? Why do I stand to suffer here in the cold and dark? Have I not carried out your will as I understood it? Did I not do enough good? Lord, if my time is now, why do you not judge me? Why do you not reach out to me? What do I have to do to get through to you? How many of your enemies’ demons slayed is enough? How many of your children have I protected? I risked my life every day for you, and in my time of need, this is how I am repaid? To be spit out and flung into the cold and dark, no more than a speck of food to be spit out, not even worth its own in nutrition. Perhaps, Lord, it is elsewhere I should look for enlightenment. Perhaps, Lord, I was wrong.

  Lord, are you there? It’s so cold, so very, very cold. My heart grows cold too, my Lord. I feel the need for anger to heat my body, for I fail to feel your warmth. I try to stay my mind, but the evidence mounts against you, my Lord. If others, nonbelievers, can feel your warmth but I cannot, does that not say that maybe it is human creation, something that we can conjure within our thoughts and emotions? Victims are real. You can see and smell their corpses. The emotions that create those victims are real too—a jealous lover, a terrorist fighting a devil, and a greedy banker pulling an inside job were all fueled by emotions that they could strongly feel. I, Lord, I can’t feel you anymore. Lord, why don’t you answer me? Lord, why is it so cold?

  Lord, are you there? It’s me, Luke, and I’m so very, very cold.

  The physical act may have been similar to a child exiting a waterslide, but it felt more like a baby being born into a completely unfamiliar and frightening world. Thank the Lord, it was warm. Not only warm—hot. The liquid, not quite hot enough to scald, immersed his body. Every nook, every crevice, was infused with unbelievable warmth. Hashmore dared not open his eyes or his mouth but lay motionless, enjoying the salvation of its warmth.

  He feared opening his eyes, but a desperate need for oxygen forced the issue. The liquid appeared to be nothing more than water, but he was encased in the shell of his prison not more than a few inches from his face. Oh, how cruel to be saved from the cold just to die in the water. God, he wondered, must have a strange sense of humor, or maybe he doesn’t exist at all.

  Twice now he had faced imminent death, nary a glance of the afterlife, nary a word from his Lord, and nary a vision of understanding or enlightenment. Death sucks, Hashmore thought to himself. Yet the drive for life continued, and he soon pounded ruthlessly on the shell, desperate to escape.

  “Calm yourself.” A voice came, a voice not from the outside but from within. Maybe he was finally receiving a prayer come true.

  He cried out to the voice, using his loudest prayer voice. “I’m here, my Lord. I will obey. Please tell me what to do.” There was a long pause, and as it continued, Hashmore found his thoughts running again—maybe it wasn’t anything, maybe just my imagination. As his stress level rose, he became conscious of his need to breathe and again thrashed at the shell.

  Again the voice came, still from within. Only the Lord could have such a voice. “Calm yourself. Breathe normally.” Hashmore’s instincts were powerful, and he continued to press against the shell, if not thrash. “Calm yourself. Breathe normally.”

  Hashmore responded, still in his prayer voice. “My Lord, I can’t breathe underwater.”

  The voice responded again. “Breathe normally.”

  Fear gripped Hashmore from several angles, and he was again forced to believe in a miracle as he slowly exhaled through his nose and felt the bubbles rush past his face. He opened his mouth, expecting a rush of water to fill it, but he only felt air—precious, live-giving miracle air filled his lungs.

  “At last,” Hashmore cried out in his prayer voice, “Lord, you have delivered me a miracle. Thank you! Thank you! Th
ank you! Oh, Lord, speak to me again. My Lord, please speak to me again.”

  Nothing happened, but Hashmore was not deterred, for he had heard the voice of his Lord, and no alien could ever take that away from his faith. And perhaps, Hashmore thought, maybe humans were not the only children of God.

  With the return of warmth, air, and his faith, Hashmore felt more relaxed than he could remember in recent years. As a young man, his faith had seemed so real, so internalized, but as he got older, the harder it became to hold on to that emotional connection. With so many numerous personal failures occurring over the years, and so many sad and evil occurrences witnessed, Hashmore just ignored the numbness, attributing it to the harsh realities of society. He never noticed the numbness that had started to accompany his faith as well.

  Resting his eyes in the moment, Hashmore felt the voice again inside his head. “Can you hear me?”

  Excitement rose within him as he felt the excitement of a puppy whose master has returned home after a long day away. Hashmore cried out again in his prayer voice. “Yes, my Lord, I can hear you. Oh, blessed am I, Lord. Please tell me what to do.”

  While he could understood the words in his mind, they seemed distant. “What’s going on? Why are his vitals changing so rapidly?” The voice thundered in his head. “Calm yourself. Relax. Can you hear me?”

  Like a teen girl at a boy-band concert, Hashmore screamed out in his prayer voice. “Oh yes, Lord, I can hear you. I am ready. I can hear you.”

  There was a long pause while nothing happened. Hashmore continued to pray but heeded the request of his Lord and lowered his voice. Calm returned to him as he recited the Lord’s Prayer over and over again. It was several recitals before the voice came back. “Can you hear me? If so, please uncross your hands.”

  The request confused him. Why was his God still asking if he could hear him? Why did God want him to unfold his hands? Hashmore got that sickening feeling in his stomach, but he complied and pressed his hands flat together.