Embers

by Daniela Elana

  “Oh Kevin, I’m so happy you’re okay!” she clutched him, and I presumed him to be her husband as he wrapped his arms around her. Kevin looked to be in his mid-twenties with a shaved head and a smooth russet complexion

  “All right, who needs to be escorted back to their home?” the other officer said. The rest of the group agreed.

  “Are you coming?” Ally asked, turning back as they all stepped outside, leaving me standing behind Mason. My head spun, the room fading from sight.

  * * *

  The lights flickered, and the house wobbled from its foundations. Each wall collapsed into the earth. I turned as the last pieces of the home crumbled.

  Sickly people covered in lesions prowled the streets, munching on rioters. From a distance, the curved leathery wings of a giant reptile were in view. As the figure drew closer, I recognized him as the lizard man from Agartha. Behind him were his ghastly legions. Some with long elephant trunks and pink skin while others looked like an amalgamation of different species but all standing on two legs. He instructed his armies to spearhead civilians on the road. Some of the revolutionaries fired at the creatures, but their bullets had no effect as they mauled them.

  Some people rushed to the police begging them to save them. Those who went to the authorities were promised safety and loaded onto a truck and escorted to labor camps. There were already other occupants who had been rounded up in the months before who had gotten in trouble for loitering as homeless individuals. They, along with the newcomers, were forced to work from sun up to sundown. The facilities lacked adequate sanitation and food. The new occupants were malnourished and beaten for their lack of productivity from fatigue, or when they got out of line.

  With time, more and more trains brought people into labor camps, and more and more bodies were thrown into black caskets, forming a mountain of the deceased.

  * * *

  “We don’t got all day mam,” the officer said, tapping his foot. I realized I had zoned out. Everyone stared at me. I shook my head without a second thought and glanced at Mason.

  “Do you mind if I stay?” I asked. He nodded.

  The officer led the seven of them away while Caroline left with Kevin. Mason closed the door behind him. I could hear the engines of the trucks and cars revving up as they rode away.

  “Do you think things will ever return to the way they were?” I asked as we stood facing one another. He pushed back a long strand of my hair.

  “No, I think we’re finally here. The trumpets you were talking about have been sounded, and we’re waiting for the sixth.”

  “You do? But what about the seven seals and first few trumpets, do you think those have all happened.”

  “I don’t think everything happens linearly per se and a lot has been happening these last few months.”

  “I thought you were skeptical.’

  “A little skepticism is healthy, but I didn’t want to encourage hysteria on the off chance I was wrong but after today. After everything I’ve witnessed today, there’s no denying you were right.”

  “Hearing you admit this is such a relief.”

  “I’ve always believed you, Patricia, but you needed the push back to strengthen your faith and solidify your identity.”

  “You had me fooled this whole time believing you doubted me.”

  “Something bizarre happened to me seven years ago in April,” he said, placing his hands in his pockets.

  “What?”

  “I felt a pole shift.”

  “Really?”

  “I have a doctorate in geophysics and seismology.”

  “That comes somewhat of a surprise,” I said, taking a seat.

  “All the deaths I saw is something I never want to return to. I worked in the field for fifteen years before I retired and purchased the bookshop,” he said.

  “Wow, I would have placed you for being no more than thirty-five,” I said.

  “You’re generous. I’m old enough to be your father,” he chuckled. “One of my hobbies is visiting the planetarium. Seven years ago, while visiting the observatory, I realized a wonderful site.”

  “What?”

  “Niburu.”

  “You believe it actually exists?”

  “Yes, and it is getting closer, and it’s affecting the earth’s magnetic field.”

  “What are we supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know, but I think with it was the fifth trumpet and the release of Abaddon or Azazel.”

  “So, if Azazel was released, where exactly is he?”

  “That’s where the trail goes cold. No one has seen Azazel, so I have no evidence, but the data I collected from seismographs.”

  “I may have an idea where he is.”

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAOs

  “I believe you.”

  “You do?”

  “I’ve always entertained the idea you were the actress Maricel. The media never did much to explain you away.”

  “Really?”

  “Your shorter hair and glasses you wear now are a nice touch.”

  “Thanks and yeah you’re right that they didn’t explain me away well. It feels like all my hard work was undone overnight.”

  “I looked forward to your next project but was disappointed when it was announced it was canceled.”

  “Wow, you were a true fan.” I laughed.

  “I know what it’s like to have walked away from my artistic dream too. In my younger years, I was a musician in a Christian alternative band called Heaven’s Choir, but I screwed things up when my ego swelled, and I tried to go solo. Anyhow, I was never as famous as you, but I had a sizeable fandom before my fall.”

  “Interesting. It explains your flawless hair. You’ll have to show me some of your albums sometime…So, do you believe the Azazel part too?” I said, folding my lips in. He nodded.

  “Yes, and I don’t know which is more impressive, the fact I’m talking to a movie star or the former bride of Azazel and queen of Lemuria.” He eyed me.

  “Thank God, I am not anymore.”

  “I like the name Maricel better than Patricia. Do you mind if I call you by your real name?”

  “I missed my name as well,” I said.

  * * *

  We grew to be better friends as he taught me about fencing since he enjoyed that and music. Fencing was a hobby I never would’ve pegged him for since he seemed like more of an instrument type guy who was ready to pull out a guitar for a bonfire. Some evenings, he did play for me and show off the songs he wrote and recorded. He and I shared the fall from grace of being two former artists who had given up the lifestyle to live modestly.

  Downstairs in his man cave, there were a rare collection of swords and knives from various parts of Europe and the near east in a display case.

  One evening as we fenced Mason fell to the ground and smiled, waiting for me to strike him. Seeing him on the floor vulnerable while I lowered my sword, brought on a cool breeze that edged my spine. Although we were only pretending, it conjured memories of Logan in New Mexico. I dropped the sword and sprinted upstairs.

  “Maricel, is everything okay?” Mason snagged my shoulder, halfway up the steps.

  “I’m fine.” I shoved his hand off and moved past him. His hand enclosed around my wrist, and I looked up at him then at the ground.

  “If something is wrong, you can tell me,” he said. I shrugged.

  “Okay.”

  “You have nothing to lose to open up.”

  “I’ll leave you with this thought...Maybe, I’m not as innocent as you think,” I said, removing his hand.

  * * *

  The government had reopened through a declaration of a state of emergency by the president, and martial law had been instituted. Martial law managed to keep some civilians under a semblance of order whereas rebels lurked, refusing to be captured and live by the rules. They dwelled on the scrimmages of town, traveling in packs and attacking
in mobs whenever confronted. The media labeled them the new “revolutionaries” of our time but also a domestic terrorist organization since their motto was to free themselves from the dictatorship they believed America had become while others called them crazy “anarchist.”

  The federal government issued a mandate to ration food. Similar to the great depression of the early twentieth century, movies were the masses’ escape. Free movie screenings were offered on Friday nights after six, causing theaters to fill with tired, homeless, starving people.

  As I sat on the couch, reading the Septuagint beside Mason, the doorbell rang. I crossed one leg of the other smoothing my skirt. A familiar voice chimed on the other side of the door. I looked up to see Caroline entering her eyes red and puffy.

  “What’s the matter?” I said as she took a seat beside me.

  “Remember when everyone left with the officer?” I nodded.

  “They were taken to facilities!”

  “You mean labor camps?” I said. She nodded.

  “I received a letter from Ally,” she said, handing it to me.

  Dear Caroline,

  If you’re reading this, I just wanted to inform you that after we left with the “kind” officer. Tammy and I were split up from Kent. At first, they said I was being taken home, but they lied, and I ended up in a labor camp. Tammy and I became cellmates. I never got a chance to see my daughter or husband. I wonder if they know I’m still alive. It kills me to know they’ll never see me again.

  It wreaks of rotten bodies in the camp, and they force us to work all day. Even animals eat better than us. They feed us slop, we fight over like rabid dogs.

  Some trains bring more labor. Each day I watch good people lose hope because they were lied to and told they were going someplace safe only to find themselves worked to death.

  I don’t know if this letter will reach you because they tend to monitor the mail. If by the Grace of God, this bird I’ve given it to delivers it to you, I’m asking for your help. There’s a lot of evil happening, and I can’t stress to you enough how important it is you get this message out and warn the world.

  I know your husband is on the police force. For the few years I’ve known you I know you and Kevin are good people. Tell Mason. He’s like family and has a lot of connections. If either one of you can get me out of here, that would be a blessing. And please tell my family what’s happened to me if you get a chance.

  —Fight the good fight, Ally Richards

  “Reading it still haunts me. I heard chirping outside my window this morning, and I opened my window to see a dove with the note tied to his leg. I untied the note and saw it was from Ally,” Caroline said.

  “That’s incredible!’ I said, refolding the letter gasping at how it resembled my vision.

  “I tried to find her family, but their home was ransacked, and they were killed during the riots.”

  “My God.”

  “And Kevin refuses to do anything about it. He says he’s sorry Ally ended up in the situation. But we have to worry about ourselves. So I figured maybe Mason, can help.” Mason stood behind us, we both looked up at him, and his hands were tucked in his pockets.

  “If we are going to get to her, we better leave now.”

  * * *

  Three hours later, we arrived at the camp in Houston. A Large barbed wire fence enclosed the massive gray facility. When security spotted our car driving up to the entrance, they approached us. Mason explained himself. They escorted us through.

  The camp resembled Ramu, even scarier sector 7A. Armed guards stood over people who toiled in the fields for the night shift.

  Inside the facility itself, those who were done working for the night were behind bars. Most laid there and slept like the life in them had been sucked out. While others who noticed our new faces beat on the cell bars when they saw us, some extending their arms as if to reach for freedom.

  To the far right corner, Ally hunched over. Her once perfect dark hair always swept back in an updo was now greasy and covering her face. We rushed to her, and when she looked up, her gaunt countenance astonished us.

  All the bones in her face protruded and a tremendous amount of hair her once thick hair in the front had fallen off her balding scalp.

  “Tammy died yesterday,” she sobbed. A guard pushed past us and opened the cage and dragged her out by the collar of her shirt.

  “Leave her alone!” Caroline cried. The man ignored her plea as he withdrew a syringe.

  “What are you doing?” I said. He glared at me.

  “This one is of no use anymore. We need more room for able bodies,” the guard said.

  “We can take her off your hands,” Mason said. The guard smirked, ignoring Mason and injected her arm. Ally’s eyes folded shut. Her mouth remained open with the last drops of saliva leaking from her lips.

  I turned around to see a young guard trying to push another woman into a cell. She attempted to wiggle free from his grasp. Her dark eyes widened when she noticed me. Inside of herself, she must’ve found enough strength to wiggle free enough to kick the man in the stomach, rushing toward me, and cupped my face.

  “God led me to you!” Her eyes watered.

  “Mom!” I cried. The young guard who she kicked grabbed her back. She motioned to elbow him. He tossed her on the ground, and she passed out.

  While the guard reached to drag for her inside the cell, I kicked him from behind in the center of his back. He crumpled forward. Another guard snatched me from beneath my armpits and smacked me in the nose. Droplets of blood dripped on my hoodie as his hands squeezed my sides so tight my circulation felt cut off.

  A man sprung out from behind the stack of crates in the corner and delivered a series of blows to the guard’s head who held me. He dropped me. My kneecaps collided with the floor with an ache as the man struck him to his death.

  I inched away on the cold concrete floor, taking my unconscious mother’s hand. Mason and Caroline helped me to my feet while Mason scooped her up and ran with us.

  Stealing a quick glance back at the man who had come to my aid, his dark loose curls flipped upward as our eyes met. There he was the same intense eyes of my familiar stranger.

  He stood wiping a bead of sweat from the edge of his brow, fixing his eyes on me while we took off. His expression remained devoid of emotion. Mason placed her in the back seat beside Caroline, and we buckled ourselves in as he sped away.

  “Never do something like that again!” Mason shouted at me for the first time, his face olive complexion was now reddening.

  “I saved my mother from being beat and enslaved!”

  “Maricel, hear me out!”

  “Maricel?” Caroline’s eyes narrowed.

  “I can explain the name thing later.”

  “Please do.” She folded her arms over her chest.

  “Her real name is Maricel. She’s the actress from the movie the missing continent,” Mason said.

  “Wait, you lied about your identity?”

  “Yes, but I promise it’s not what it looks like.”

  “She left Hollywood because of her engagement to a fallen angel, but she escaped him and changed her identity to hide from him. Now she’s with us,” Mason said. Caroline shook her head.

  “Nothing, either of you, are saying is making sense. I don’t even know who I’m in the car with anymore.”

  * * *

  A couple of hours later, we arrived back where Kevin waited inside the sitting room with Hans. He stopped to talk to Mason while Caroline helped me carry my mother to one of the bedrooms upstairs. I laid her on the full-sized bed.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” Caroline said, shutting the door behind her.

  “Mom,” I said. Her eyes opened, she sat up, and she squeezed me against her.

  “I thought I’d never see you again. I’m sorry for what I said to you three years ago.”

  “Don’t be. You were 100 percent right about Aza
zel.” Being able to hold each other eased my pulse that had been raging since I’d left for Houston. It was nice to finally catch my breath in the presence of a loved one.

  Our moment of rest was snatched in mere seconds with the rocking of the house. Several portraits crashed to the floor—their glass, splintering to pieces. Some screams rose through the vents from downstairs.

  “I’ll be right back!” I hollered and ran downstairs. About halfway down the staircase, I froze at Mason and Kevin barred the doors.

  “Caroline, go upstairs!” Kevin shouted. She grabbed a steel bat ran up the winding staircase with me. Halfway up to the rooms, my gaze wandered to the small oval window to my right.

  “Maricel, come on!”

  Diseased people climbed over the gates of Mason’s estate. Some of the gates and walls of neighboring homes crumbled with zombies, making their way onto their property.

  A maid being sent home at the neighboring house wailed as one diseased individual, snatched her by the hem of her dress with his long yellow nails and tore her dress off until she was nude. His nails traced her bare flesh while he sniffed her. He raised his claws and slashed her face. She fell back—he cut her cheek again, skinning the flesh off her bones.

  Other zombies attacked the staff who were outside of the home. Behind the mass of zombies was a tall lizard with a man’s statue. I recognized him from Agartha as he led the legions. I pivoted around, gripping my chest from the fire in it. These sights were nothing new as a survivor of terror, yet no matter how used to the trauma I was—it never failed to hurt.

  I rejoined Caroline, who was already at the top of the staircase. When I got into the room, I slammed the door, locking and pressing my back against it.

  Downstairs the sharp fa-thud of the two large front wooden doors being charged into, startled us, and Caroline concealed her scream with her hand. Tears welled in her eyes. I pushed the dresser in front of the door and crawled into my mother’s arms. She clutched me, running her fingers through my thick locks.

  The lights blacked out as the crackle of gunshots, furniture being knocked around, and vases shattering rose into the air. A strong sulfuric smell engulfed my nostrils. I coughed tasting it. The odor came with a high pitched squeal that brought me to my knees for the few seconds it lasted, then the noise faded into the background. I turned on the flashlight of my phone to see Caroline, brandishing a gun.