From the Belly of the Goat

by Donald Armfield

  It was now a little after two in the early morning hours in the Arabian Sea. Before leaving the Persian Gulf, Ferguson took in and extra freight per the president's request, a small two-person submarine with a towing hitch. This would make it much easier on his men. Only a glare reflecting off the open sea; gave light to the pitch-dark sky.

  “Ellis and Finch. You two will take the dive with passenger sub down below,” Ferguson says, watching a few of his men yawn, showing their exhaustion.

  Ellis wasted no time grabbing the swim gear with oxygen technology and the other invention, “The Pressure Bubble.” Which gave divers a sphere-type covering while walking deep down in the ocean waters. Finch gave one more tug on the chains, that hoists the sub into the water and gave one of his crew mates the nod to pull the switch. The small passenger submarine was set in the water and ready to go. Ellis and Finch gave a salute and yell out together at the same time, “Money in our pockets, hurrah!” Ferguson and the rest of the crew returns the gesture and the chant, as Finch closes the overhead door of the submarine. Ferguson was hoping to hear more from “The President of The United States” today, about these statue's scattered parts, and slightly wondered about what they were used for, once collected.

  Odesa, Ukraine

  Shorelines of The Black Sea

  June 29, 2017

  7:30 AM

  Reports have been coming in from all over the world. Meteor strikes, typhoons, earthquakes the worst destruction imaginable. Since yesterday afternoon's catastrophe in Los Angeles, California where the entire downtown was wiped out from a large meteor crashing down... California continues to pull apart and fall into the ocean. Other parts of the United States, like Rhode Island, Florida and Maine have begun to show signs of disintegrating into the ocean, as well. South America has called in reports of extreme temperatures, rising well over one-hundred- and twenty-five-degrees Fahrenheit. What are the world leaders doing about this? Why are they leaving us here in limbo? This is Rebecca Gaines live on CNN; please call our hotline with further crises or if you have any information on what looks like the end of the world...

  Chrissy Sandoval lets the newscasters voice die out inside her head. She smiles again at her thoughts as she tosses a few things into the back of her jeep. “We need to work faster,” Chrissy yells out to her men struggling in the extreme wind and the rushing waters of the Black Sea. The men are having trouble hoisting the head of ancient statue onto a trailer hitch.

  “Vincent, get me the location of that cargo ship collecting the rest of my statue.” Chrissy yells over her shoulder to her right-hand man.

  “Right away, boss,” Vincent says, pulling the collar of his over-size coat up and over his head. Running over to the passenger side door of the jeep, he jumps inside to make the call. Chrissy continues to whip cuss words at her men, as they continue to struggle. She just watches them struggle not even raising a finger to assist them in anyway.

  Chrissy Sandoval works for a science corporation founded by the Russians in the twentieth century. Their studies followed glacier movements and their rapid increase since the late nineteen-forties, unknown to the public and media. Other studies the corporation have been filed under the coming of Armageddon: strange weather patterns, global warming and other natural disasters.

  The corporation was built around a single stone tablet and its translation, that read;

  “One great big monstrous orange distraction.

  When the world must regurgitate its creation

  and return to the origins of darkness.

  A sanctuary can be built

  if the hindrance of the stone man comes together.”

  Further studies came from a collection of scriptures found in one of the great pyramids during the nineteen-forties. The corporation felt these scriptures were in relation to the stone tablet due to textual similarities, like;

  “Mom, won't you put it back the way it outta be”

  Darkness should cover and become one, itself.”

  Vincent climbs out of the jeep and battles the winds, looking like he's running in slow motion. “Boss, the Pocket Liner has miraculously collected the rest of the parts.” Vincent pauses to wait for a response from Chrissy. “These guys should be deemed soldiers of the ocean or something. How did they move through those waters so quickly?”

  “It doesn't matter, everything will be in my hands soon,” Chrissy says, watching her men finally get the large stone head of the statue onto the trailer hitch.

  She pulls a revolver from the waist of her pants and shoots one of the men who helped with the hoist. Vincent jumps and covers his ears. Chrissy shoots the other five men involved with the heist and says, “That's because they suck at life.” She sheaths her gun back into the waist of her pants and starts walking towards the driver-side door of her jeep. “You coming, Vincent?”

  “Yes Boss, right away.”

  Oxford, Mississippi

  St. Peter's Episcopal Church

  June 28, 2017

  11:35 PM

  “Father, what happens next?” An older lady says, holding a pair of rosemary beads with a cross in the center up to her lips.

  “I have spoken my child. God has come in a cruel manner, but we must hold our faith for He will bring us all to the heavens above.” the priest says, releasing his hands from prayer, to grasp the older woman's hands. Raising her hands to his lips and kissing her hands gently.

  “Father, this is bullshit and you damn well know it,” a man in cut-off lumberjack printed flannel, pipes up from one of the pews. “We are all hiding in here like sitting ducks. I don't want to pray anymore. How does this happen? What did we do for God to decide this is the end?”

  “I don't have those type of answers. As a word of God, I except his offer, whatever it may be, I except either good or bad.”

  A loud crack of thunder snaps and growls out over the church. Everyone inside the church looks up at the ceiling. The wind outside begins to howl, shaking the large wooden door on its hinges. The stained glass over the Christ monument warps and then shatters. Shards of glass scatter down the isles beside the pews. The wooden doors rip off the hinges and flies into the air. “It's a nocturnal tornado!” The man in the cut-off flannel yells out, like he studied that type of catastrophe his whole life.

  All the people in the house of God begin to scream. One lady gets sucked out through the broken stained-glass window frame. “HOLD ON!” A man yells from the back row of the pews. Another man tries to hold on but quickly flies across the room, his head bouncing off a few of the pews like a ping pong ball bouncing on the surface of the table, then ripped through the doors. Other people lose their grip and slam into one another at the entrance to the church, sucked into the dark funnel of the night. The roof of the church peels back and snaps off into the funnel. The last of the late-night prayers is answered by a cloud of death.

  Egypt, Mediterranean Sea

  coastline

  June 29, 2017

  Ferguson and his crew await the arrival of the private jets, chartered by Chrissy Sandoval. The crew and Ferguson are tired and can bailey keep their eyes open. The past two days out at sea were treacherous. The battling waves and the heavy rains pelting their skin made them overwhelmingly exhausted. All the excitement of being heroes made it hard for them to fall asleep. Even the ride in the tractor trailer felt like days from the Red Sea, where they found the torso of the large statue. Ferguson still had no idea what this collection of stone body parts were for? He was just following orders from the “President.”

  The jets come to halt just above Ferguson and his crew, just hovering overhead. The crew is watching with amazement, the way these jets came to such an abrupt stop, so easily. The three jets lower to the ground and land on the shoreline, the engines die down to a low rumble. Vincent steps out of one of the three jets. “It's great to see you guys,” Vincent says. “We have been speaking over the phone for the past two days,” Vincent finishes.

  “You said you were the President
of The United States?” Ferguson questions.

  “I only said that to get you to do the job with haste, in which you did. Great Job!”

  Ferguson reaches out the same time as Vincent and they shake hands with a nod. Ferguson feels a little sketchy about the man and the fact he was lied to. “You and your men are being dubbed heroes by yours truly,” Vincent yells over the low rumble of the jets. “My boss wants you to come along with the parts you collected. What do you say?”

  “What about my boat?” Ferguson yells over the rumbling jets.

  “I'll have someone take care of it,” Vincent replies.

  Odesa, Ukraine

  Anima Lab: Hidden Agendas

  June 29, 2017

  Ferguson and his crew stand outside the rather large building. The spiral staircase ascending the building is shaped like a human eye. Vincent promised the crew not only food and beer, but also a new beginning. Ferguson had no intentions in taking the offer seriously, but is defiantly up for some grub and beer on the house. The large glass doors at the top of the spiraling eye is tinted with black shade. Vincent rushes ahead of the crew to open the door for them.

  The cathedral-styled ceiling hangs over the checked floor tiles. Ferguson and his crew stand and look in awe at the rich layout, being more familiar with a dimly-lit bars or dingy community rooms. A double-sided staircase spins to an awning above, connecting two separate corridors to the left and the right. “Welcome to my home,” a striking woman says from the center of the awning.

  “I thought this was a science lab?” Ferguson asks, continuing to look up at the stained-glass cathedral ceiling.

  “The lab is downstairs,” the woman replies. “Please let me show you something that may be an interest to you,” the woman continues as she walks down the left side of the double-sided staircase. “My name is Chrissy Sandoval. Owner and operator of Hidden Agendas, a lab that studies souls and life force outside its normal realms. Well, that's our hidden studies. We mask them by studying weather patterns and the destruction it could cause in the future. Let's have some refreshments in the viewing room and let my presentation bring enlightenment to your further living.”

  Ferguson and his crew watch Chrissy almost glide over the tiled floor, with a sway in her hips. Her sleek and slender body complimenting the sky-blue silk dress, hugging all her curves just right. “Damn, I would think this woman is a scientist for Playboy or something,” one of the crew mates says. The other crew mate he's speaking to bites down on his closed fist. Chrissy eyes the two men as they cross the threshold of the viewing room and spits on the ground to show her disgust at the comment she overheard.

  The viewing room has maroon walls with three connecting tables and matching tablecloths. The tables are loaded with all sorts of entrees and side dishes and a large metal ice bin filled with bottles of beer. “Help yourselves. Have a seat,” Chrissy motions towards the cloth fold up chairs, strung out in front of a stage.

  The men take the offer like scavengers who haven't eaten in weeks, stuffing their faces with pastas, salads and sliced ham steaks. Pastries filled with vanilla creams and freshly cut fruits and washing it all down with the imported Russian brews. Ferguson begins to pick at a few of entrees that filled the tables, and wondering why did the sudden urgency slowed to a, “take your time and pig-out” moment. He has no complaints yet, because the food is hitting the spot.

  “May I say, there is a massive meteor strike scheduled to hit Earth. I want you know you are all safe here. We can watch the world pa...” Chrissy catches herself before finishing with the word parish and continues, “This is just a taste, boys of what I have in store for you, your future,” Chrissy says, moving near a large screen on a stage. “I'm going to show you a future after the world is swallowed by the ocean. As you can see, the outside world is going to shit. My sanctuary will bring new life without the junk that is weighing us down. A masterpiece built from the waters of destruction by Kabbalistic magic from the hands of a golem. You all helped in the rebirth of this structure. This statue will roam free, as well as us, and build what we believe is better than the original design. So, without further ado, I present, Golem Sanctuary.”

  Chrissy spins on her heels and exits the stage. The lights in the viewing room dim and a large screen rolls out from the ceiling along the backdrop of the stage.

  The film starts out with, the origins behind the Golem. It's many said ways of creation, the uses it can be used for and most of all. How it can be controlled. Reenactments of rabbis were shown collecting mud and sculpting a bulky human figure, then unraveling a scroll scribbled with a string of Hebrew letters. A rabbi goes on and slams the scroll into the cutout area made as the mouth on the large mud sculpture. Within in seconds the bulky display becomes a moving creature of hardening mud. The rabbi gets down on his knees and begins bowing at the creature's feet.

  A narrator speaking in Yiddish appears on the screen. His name scrolls across the screen “Aapo Adelberg,” He says, (another man translates), “Back in the late nineteen-fifties a Golem was used in a nuclear testing blast. The large Golem absorbed the energy of the nuclear blast. Stopping what would have caused catastrophe.

  A life-like scale model of a town, with a population of over four hundred something residents, would be the drop site. The pollution levels scanned that day was highly concentrated. It would've spread by leaking into the ground and contaminating the water supply up to a one-hundred-mile radius. Further testing on individual soldiers, in smaller amounts of the same redesigned plutonium gave signs of sickness, like normal flu symptoms. Testing in larger amounts was done on rats, who suffered severely. The rats showed signs of orifice leakage; black liquid oozing from the rats' eye sockets, had an odd smell to it and clumped after a few minutes lying out on a surface, not only that but the rats became sluggish. The rat's jaws drooping open and scraping along the bottom of the cage as it walked around. After the rats go through a vomiting stage, turning into a dry heave battle to breathe, the rats' keel over and die.

  “I've had enough!” Ferguson stands up and yells, “What does this have to do with the meteor shower and the millions of people dying?”

  “I'm glad you asked, Mr. Ferguson.” Chrissy steps back onto the stage and says, “You see, I believe that I can absorb some of this energy from the blast. The dying souls in these apocalyptic moments is part of the wipe out. As a new living community, we can become the power of all the countries. Holding the cure to the end of the world, so to speak.”

  “You're fucking nuts lady. I have no idea what you are talking about?” Ferguson fires out with rage.

  “Calm down, Mr. Ferguson. In the next forty-eight hours there isn't going to be no stopping this three-ring circus we call a world. There is a giant meteor in the earth's orbit, I'll even say we have less time than that. Join me in the calling of my Golem, the sanctuary to new life. I guarantee the energy absorbed by my creation will hold back a large portion of Russia from suffering the world's end.”

  Ferguson looks down at his feet, then over at his crew, with the same sad impressions on their faces. He turns his sight back in Chrissy's direction and says, “fine we will join you.” Chrissy cups her hands together with glee. “Great! Then let's begin with the opening ceremonies.” Before the film was turned off. Ferguson heard the narrator say something about, “The Golem's first direction should come from its creator when it's brought to life.” Ferguson is thinking now he knows a way to stop this crazy lady and her bitter ways of a new beginning. She doesn't seem to care about the rest of the world, and something had to be done.

  Odesa, Ukraine

  Shorelines of the Black Sea

  10 Hours...until the end

  The entire world sat around as the skies darkened, huddling close together on their couches as they listened to their local newscast talk about the meteors approaching. Some people gathered around churches to pray to the heavens. Other people crowded in open fields to oddly watch it come crashing down. In the past twenty-four hours many pa
rts of the world fell to destruction due to large pieces of debris breaking off the meteors in orbit. California is officially the new island of the United States. The people left homeless or who survived the devastation were salvaging little that they have. Some of the people in California were holding up signs that read, “LEARN TO SWIM.”

  Chrissy Sandoval's evil mind continued to imagine the worst that could happen. Chrissy watches the villagers hustle around, putting the final pieces together of her monumental golem.

  Ferguson and his crew are sitting in the sands along the coastline. They all have what some are thinking may be their last bottle of brew. Chrissy brought together the residents of a small village outside of Odesa. In just under nineteen hours an enormous mud structure was erected. A small opening at the top represented the mouth of the new beginning, well that was what Chrissy was calling it.

  Ferguson had his plan rolling around in his head, that got better during the construction of the mound of mud. He found a small revolver left behind on a crate from one of Chrissy's men. It was loaded with only two shots. Ferguson is very confidante in his shot and knows he only needs one shot. When Chrissy Sandoval climbs inside the yellow metal basket, to be raised to the top of the mud mound. She plans to do a speech about the new beginning, “more of her outlandish, idiotic rants that make no sense,” Ferguson is thinking. Within the first sentence of her speech, Ferguson will fire the shot and kill the weird bitch. What comes next when the scroll is dropped in the hole on top of the mud mound, Ferguson doesn't know?