A Pale Horse

by Wendy Alec

  “You are the Lion of Judah,” Polly said softly. “And the risen lamb.”

  She took both of Jesus’ hands in her own and turned them over so that the palms faced upward. Her tears fell onto two large nail holes, one in the center of each palm.

  Jesus leaned over and kissed Polly’s soft blond head. He took her face in his scarred hands.

  “You have loved me all your life, Polly. Your love has been such a great gift, both to me and to my Father. You have loved us, not for what we could give you, but you have loved us for ourselves.”

  Tears fell down Jesus’ cheeks.

  “But now there is something I need to share with you. What do you remember of the few minutes before we arrived in this world?”

  Polly closed her eyes. “I remember seeing the guillotine. I remember being really scared. And suddenly, you were there. And then I was here.”

  Polly’s mind ran back to the moment she looked into the most beautiful and compassionate eyes she had ever seen.

  “I took your hand. And we were gone. Is it the Rapture?”

  Jesus nodded. “Yes, Polly,” he said softly. “The Rapture has been and gone. This is true. But there is still something I have to share with you. Something you may find hard to understand. So listen carefully.”

  Polly nodded.

  “I have to leave you for a very short time.”

  Jesus laid his hand on hers.

  “Beloved Polly, there will come a time when we will never be apart again. But it is almost time for the fifth seal to be opened.”

  “The seal of the martyrs,” Polly whispered.

  Jesus nodded.

  “You see, Polly,” he said tenderly, “the guillotine did fall. You were killed. You are one of the great company of end-time martyrs. Those who loved their lives not unto death.”

  “But I don’t remember being . . . ” She held her hands to her throat. On her palm was blood. She looked down; her white garments were crimson and stained.

  She stared at Jesus. Stunned.

  Polly watched in wonder as tears fell down Jesus’ cheeks.

  He gazed at her, almost in adoration.

  “I go now to my Father. To open the fifth seal.”

  Polly stared at Jesus in intense yearning. Suddenly, her eyes clouded.

  “Alex . . . ”

  Polly’s eyes grew wide.

  “Alex . . . ”

  “Alex has his own journey, as do you. Lamaliel will take you to the altar beyond the Rubied Door.” He smiled. “And I will see you soon. Very soon.” He kissed her again on the forehead and disappeared.

  “You are greatly honored in this world.” Lamaliel bowed to Polly. She followed the ancient elder through the meadow until they reached a towering jacinth wall.

  Tears welled up in his eyes. “We the angelic have not had the privilege to lay down our lives for the Lamb, though we would willingly do so.” He turned the latch of a small door inside the wall. Polly followed him through the door, then hesitated, looking up at Lamaliel in trepidation.

  “It is the presence of our great Emperor, Yehovah, the King of the universes, that you sense. You sense his great mantle of authority and might.” He smiled gently and held out his hand. “He is the Mighty One, but He is also the great King of mercies. Of compassions. There is no need to fear. Come with me. We will enter through the corridors of the slain Lamb to the inner chambers, where you will bathe in the fountain that flows directly from the rubied throne of Yehovah. There you will receive your white garments. And your crown of courage. The crown of the overcomer. Then the royal guard will take you to join with the rest of your sisters and brothers who await you with longing, underneath the carnelian altar.”

  They turned a corner. Lamaliel looked up in reverence. Polly followed his gaze. Above them towered a door that must have been well over a hundred feet high. It was made of huge individual glistening rubies.

  Lamaliel fell prostrate. The Rubied Door opened slowly.

  He nodded to Polly.

  “They await you. The Lamb is about to open the fifth seal.”

  Chapter Forty

  Illuminus Safe House, Lawrence, Kansas

  Jason looked out the Victorian windows of the Kansas farmhouse, at the rolling snow-covered fields. He had showered, changed clothes, and eaten and was feeling on the way back to being halfway human. He pulled on a snow jacket hanging by the back door and pushed open the large screen doors. The cold hit him like a tidal wave. Alex and General Assaf sat on the porch swing, drinking steaming hot coffee from a thermos.

  “Coffee?” asked Alex.

  Jason nodded and rubbed his palms together, obviously frozen. Alex poured strong black coffee into an enamel mug.

  “Gloves are in the right pocket, Mr. De Vere, sir,” said General Assaf.

  Jason took out a pair of fleece gloves and pulled them on. “Thanks. I thought Kansas and Missouri had the worst of the pandemic.”

  “Whole area’s clean,” Alex mumbled through a mouthful of cornbread and butter.

  “The Resisters sweep it twenty-four seven,” General Assaf replied. “The entire regional government of Kansas and Missouri were patriots. Patriot states. Our intelligence served us well. We prepared an antidote. Resisters in Missouri, Kansas, and Indiana received an effective vaccine. It was previously developed by the U.S. Army and used under an investigational new drug status. We were able to recreate it in one of our underground laboratories. Kansas, Missouri, Texas, Virginia, and Indiana received the anti- dote two weeks before the pandemic. It was administered subcutaneously to every citizen of all five resister states. All victims of the biological attack. The all clear has been given.”

  “Cornbread, Uncle Jas?”

  Jason sat on a large wooden swing directly under the disused old fan on the ceiling of the porch. He nodded. “Just the coffee. Strong.”

  “It’s strong, all right.” Alex grinned. “I’m going to make pancakes.”

  “He’s almost like his old self,” said Jason.

  The general smiled. “He believes it’s what Polly would want. Whatever was in that envelope transformed his whole world.”

  “Talking of that . . . ” General Assaf took out an official-looking document and handed it to Jason. “It came through while you were sleeping.”

  Jason looked down at the death certificate. “Jontil Purvis,” he murmured. “I don’t believe it. Cause of death: black plague. December fourteenth.”

  “Our people are still checking with our contact inside the detention center to see if there’s any record of her being a dissenter,” General Assaf said. “To all intents and purposes, it looked as though she died of the pandemic.”

  “Let me know if you find anything else,” Jason said. “I still don’t get it about Nick. I need hard evidence.”

  He rocked back and forth in silence, drinking in the vast vista of snow-covered fields that stretched out for miles before him. Deep in thought.

  Kansas. He had never been to Kansas. It was pretty. Like a Christmas card.

  “Hey.” A soft voice broke the silence.

  Julia stood in the doorway, towel-drying her hair. Normally flatironed within a millimeter of its life, it hung in soft blond curls framing her heart-shaped face.

  Jason smiled. “The natural look.”

  Julia grimaced. “No flatiron.”

  She threw the towel at him.

  “It’s freezing—come inside!”

  “Hey, Jules, I . . . I’m sorry about your ring. God knows what they did with it. From Callum, I mean. It was some kind of rock.”

  Julia cocked her head to one side and studied Jason intently.

  She dropped her gaze down to his ring finger. He was wearing his old wedding ring.

  “Where . . . ?” Her voice trailed off.

  “Lily. She kept it for me. She said I’d need it on this trip. And it so happens that she’s right!”

  They stared, almost transfixed, into each other’s eyes.

  “I have to tell Call
um, Jas. It’s only fair,” Julia said softly.

  “About the ring?” he murmured, never taking his steel blue eyes off her honey brown ones.

  “No, about us.”

  Alex watched from the kitchen in amazement as Jason’s and Julia’s fingers intertwined. Jason kissed Julia full on the lips. “Tell him soon.”

  “I will.” Tears of joy welled up in Julia’s eyes. “Tell me I won’t regret this, Jason Ambrose De Vere.”

  He clasped Julia’s petite hand in his and moved his head half an inch from hers.

  “You won’t regret this, Julia Samantha St. Cartier. It’s destiny. I take thee . . . ”

  Julia shook her head at him and laughed. “It’s going to be formal or nothing.”

  Alex pushed open the screen door, holding a plate of pancakes. His mouth dropped open.

  Jason looked up. “Careful, Alex—you’ll swallow a wasp.”

  Julia sat on the sofa next to Jason, her head resting on his shoulder.

  “Um, Uncle Jas . . . ”

  Jason glared at him darkly. Alex nodded at Jason’s wedding ring.

  “What’s going on? Is there something you both should be telling me?” Alex winked at Julia mischievously.

  She lifted her head and pulled her hand away from Jason and slapped Alex’s chest. “Nothing you haven’t already guessed.”

  Jason studied Alex intently. “Alex, I know it’s personal. But did Polly’s note mention anything . . . ” He hesitated and took a slug of his coffee. “Um,” he said awkwardly. “Did she . . . ?”

  Alex shook his head. “You’re not exactly subtle, Uncle Jas. You mentioned the date December fourteenth twice, then asked for Jontil Purvis’s death certificate.”

  “Well, did she?”

  “Did she what?” Alex stared at him inscrutably.

  “Mention the Rapture?” Jason growled.

  Alex nodded. “She did.” He took the envelope from his shirt pocket and handed it to Jason. “Read it. Polly was always fond of you, Uncle Jas. She’d want you to read it. She’d want you to know the truth.”

  Jason nodded. He stood up, took the envelope from Alex, and walked to the far edge of the porch, reading in silence. Strange. It was as though he could hear Polly’s voice in his head.

  Tuesday 1 December 12, 2025

  My beloved Alex,

  I had a dream last night, Alex. It was a dream but it wasn’t a dream. Call it a forewarning. An omen of things to come.

  I saw my name on a list. The Blacklist. They’re coming for me, Alex. I saw militia in black suits. Machine guns. I was taken to a detention center. Near the water. It looked like the Piers.

  They’ll take me away. They’ll do terrible things to me. They’ll tell you I died of the pandemic. Don’t believe them.

  I’m not sick, Alex. I’ve never felt so good in my life. And He’s coming. I can sense it as surely as I know my love for you.

  They’ve been talking the past hour about the vaccine on the TV. It’s the Mark, Alex. The Mark of the Beast. The number of the Beast is 666.

  So they’ll kill me. But He’s coming, Alex.

  Jason frowned. The ink was smudged.

  Alex’s Apartment, Meatpacking District, New York

  Three Days Earlier

  Polly brushed the streaming tears from her cheeks. She picked up the pen, her face glowing with a strange, ethereal luminosity.

  “You know what I’ve learned in my short twenty-four years? You know what’s strange, Alex? I always thought that to die for my faith would be the hardest thing I could ever face. To be martyred. But you know . . . ”

  Polly looked over at the picture of Alex on her bedside table. She picked up the pen again, her fingers trembling. She could hear the slamming doors of the Homeland Security military vans that had arrived three minutes ago.

  “It’s not the dying that’s hard. It’s the living it out that’s easier said than done. I’m going to miss you so terribly. I wish you were here with me.

  “Alex, you have to know this: that the Rapture is close. So close. I’ll be with Him forever. Don’t ever forget what we . . . ”

  She heard the thudding of boots up the stairwell.

  She folded the letter, pushed it into an envelope, and ran to Alex’s study.

  Safe House, Lawrence, Kansas

  “They found it inside my grandfather’s thesaurus. It was our hiding place. I’d told General Assaf to look there. Polly knew I’d find it.”

  Alex wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

  Jason’s eyes welled up. “Hey, pal, I’m here for you, Alex. Always.”

  And Jason Ambrose De Vere clasped Alex Lane Fox in his arms and held him. Like a son.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Second Heaven

  Michael stood directly opposite Lucifer on the barren ice wastelands of Gehenna. The ice tempests raged violently over their heads.

  Lucifer’s features were shadowed by his white hooded velvet cape. Michael pulled his own cloak tightly around him. He studied his brother.

  “Your beguiling speeches that once found their mark leave no trace on me,” said Michael. “You demand a war, Lucifer. A war you shall have. Twice you have been vanquished, yet still you persist in your vain delusion to overthrow Yehovah.”

  “Why, Michael?” Lucifer flung off his hood. His long raven hair blew violently in the tempests. A sudden euphoria spread across his features.

  “Why?” He clasped his hand dramatically to his temple. “Why did it elude me before? It is so simple. I have the answer!”

  Lucifer grinned.

  “I shall be magnanimous. My war, as you and I are both aware, is not with Yehovah, whom I still revere and reverence, but is primarily with the Race of Men. I shall be predisposed to magnanimity towards Yehovah.”

  Michael studied him, steely eyed.

  “Why, my brother . . . ” Lucifer smiled winningly at Michael. “ . . . your judgments of me are far too harsh. I have decided!”

  He spun around suddenly and raised his face to the tempests.

  “Relay to my Father that I absolve Him of all crimes against me and the fallen host. I would show him my benevolence. There shall be two thrones.” Lucifer stopped in mid sentence, deep in thought.

  “In fact, this would please me greatly. I shall finally be as He. Surely we shall rule together. As one.”

  Michael raised his hand. “I can endure your diatribe no longer.” He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I shall report to the High Council that you have finally gone insane.”

  Michael turned his back and started to walk away, his hand on his broadsword.

  “You tell Yehovah!” Lucifer shouted after him. “I retract my kindness. Because of my brother Michael’s supreme insolence!”

  Michael stood very still. Slowly he turned.

  “I shall tell Yehovah that you suffer from a strange malady. That your mind has been afflicted. That you suffer delusions that reach far above your station.”

  “I shall yet defeat you, Michael, my brother,” Lucifer hissed, his eyes raised toward the First Heaven. “At the rise of the two crimson moons, I will gather my armies and defeat you in your own backyard.”

  Michael raised steely eyes to Lucifer.

  “Then it is final. We war, brother.”

  Lucifer stared at the place where Michael had been standing. But Michael had vanished.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “We war.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Lawrence Military Airfield, Lawrence, Kansas

  Huge searchlights illuminated the small convoy of military jeeps as they screeched to a halt on the tarmac of what had previously been known as the Lawrence Municipal Airport. The Midwest’s new patriot government had recently commandeered the airfield into military use. Generals Rivera and Assaf got out of the first jeep. Jason, Julia, and Alex got out of the second.

  Jason glanced down at his watch. It was well after two a.m. He followed Julia’s and Alex’s gaze to a sleek military jet squatting just a few
yards in front of them.

  The jet was almost a precise replica of his own Gulf- stream 7, seized by FEMA by order of Xavier Chessler. He scowled.

  General Rivera walked over to Jason. “Gulfstream Five. Designated C-37A in U.S. Air Force service. Belongs to the Midwest Patriot movement now.” He grinned. “Believe it or not, we have five of these babies.”

  Rivera escorted Jason over to the steps of the jet, where General Assaf was in close conversation with the pilot. Assaf turned to Jason.

  “The aircraft is equipped with military comms, secure voice, and data capability, Mr. De Vere. We’re still in patriot country over Kansas, Iowa, and Wisconsin.”

  “Our men have been in touch with Canada,” Rivera added. “They’re not exactly fans of the Union. You’re cleared.”

  General Rivera saluted once more.

  “Once you’re out of Canadian airspace you’re on your own.”

  Assaf saluted back.

  Jason took Julia’s arm and followed General Assaf up the steps of the jet. He took in the crew at a glance: two pilots, a flight engineer, and a communications systems operator.

  Julia sank into a well-worn leather seat.

  “Hey, Aunt Jules, I know you still hate flying,” Alex said. “You may want to use these for takeoff.”

  He threw Julia his X-pod and earphones, which she caught deftly with one hand.

  “Thanks, Alex.”

  “So nothing’s changed, then,” Jason teased.

  Julia ignored the comment. “So where exactly are we headed?” she asked.

  “To your Uncle Lawrence in Petra, in Jordan,” Jason replied, settling into the seat opposite her. He watched as Alex stared over the pilot’s shoulders into the cockpit.

  Julia heaved a sigh of relief and squeezed Jason’s hand. She smiled, placed the earphones in her ears, and closed her eyes.

  General Assaf walked through from the cockpit, steering Alex back down the aisle. “A slight detour, I’m afraid,” he said.

  Jason frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “We fly to Tel Aviv.”

  Jason stiffened. “Israel?” He shook his head. “Too dangerous. The Waldorf Jerusalem’s Adrian’s temporary Middle East headquarters. He and Chessler have their moles everywhere.”