“Still, the Lord was patient.” The preacher raised his hands, fingers splayed. “He offered us ten Commandments out of love to protect us from ourselves and from evil. Simple rules, like any parent would give his child. Come get with me. And yet we did not follow the ten. Not nine, or six or four… And as we strayed from our Father, as we broke each commandment, we wandered ever closer to the Devil. Come get with me.” The gathering shouted its encouragement.
“‘Do not do these ten things!’ is all He asked. Yet, we did not obey. And then, as an ever-loving father might, he did not punish us. Instead he gave us His only son to teach us, hoping that we could learn from His example. We listened to the words of Jesus, and we watched His miracles. And we accepted His gifts. And how did we repay Him? How did we show our love?” Stoneworthy heard weeping in the audience, interspersed with sad ‘Hallelujahs.’
“We nailed His son to a cross. Come get with me!” Updike’s voice was husky; his eyes flowed tears. Silence gripped the shallow valley. “Even then, the dear Lord showed us the depth of His love for instead of shedding our blood He shed His only son’s.”
Moans echoed as Updike took a pitcher from a small wooden table, and poured himself a drink of water. He took another, as he sadly watched the waiting crowd. Head lowered, he continued:
“He gave us His Son, and we gave nothing in return. How He kept His patience I do not know. Humanity perverted every gift that the Lord our God gave us. ‘Freedom!’ some said. ‘It was our Democratic right.’” Updike looked sternly through the crowd. “Democratic right to disobey our Father in Heaven? Democratic right to embrace the Devil?” Updike leaned into the microphone. “Well the Lord has lost His patience. Come get with me! Judgment Day is here!”
The gathering roared ‘Amen.’
Updike wrapped his arms over his chest. “Judgment Day is upon us, and the Lord’s Wrath leaps up like a great Lion! His Wrath and Judgment comes upon us now as Apocalypse!” Some yelled in the crowd, others cried for mercy.
“Who shall stand by our God? Come get with Him! We shall not turn from Him again. We shall pick up the righteous sword of our Faith, and stand with the Lion as He roars? We must throw down the idols. The moneylenders have been Kings of the Earth too long. They are Kings set there by the Prince of Darkness. It will stop!”
The gathering was growing anxious. Stoneworthy could hear harsh and bitter words floating toward the stage. Weapons clashed in anticipation. Updike let it build and build, until the minister could feel the anguished fear wash over him.
“Righteousness!” they cried, “Redemption!”
Updike gazed out over this growing power for another minute then raised his hands for silence. It came slowly. He continued:
“Even now, you ask yourself. Why me?” He scanned the army, his head turning slowly from east to west. “Why am I called to aid the Lord while others rest? Well I shall tell you. The Lord chose you to die, and He chose you to rise up, so come get with Him!” Updike’s smile stretched wide.
“Why are you allowed to walk the World of Change when so many departed to join the Lord in Heaven? He needs an army. He needs an army that understands its mission. Your deaths are not in vain! Come get with Him. You were not called from your sleep to fight a war of human folly—you fight for God’s Apocalypse! The Lord wants the world to end, and by God it shall end! The final Change begins so come get with it!” There was a clashing roar, and it took a few minutes for the gathering to quiet. Updike held his arms overhead and nodded for calm.
“I spoke to you of a blossoming. Such an unfolding flower awaits in the seed of our purpose. You are the farmers of the New World who will bury that seed that it should grow. But such a bountiful crop that awaits us can only grow when we turn over the soil of the old. We have this chance to make the world an Eden again. But we must fight for it! We must struggle. We must sacrifice. We must raze the cities, the mansions of the moneylenders and the Idolaters. We must break the churches that worship the Gods of Science and Gold. We must turn over this soil. We must prepare the ground for the Garden! Come get with Me!”
The soldiers roared as Updike bellowed. Stoneworthy had never felt such concentrated feeling—it ran electric over his nerves. He did not know if it was his new dead status, or whether even in death, human emotion had the ability to move and join people. Was not human emotion a conduit for God’s love? He found himself on his feet wildly clapping his numb hands. Oliver Purdue threw an arm around his shoulder and whispered:
“Brother Stoneworthy! We shall till a new garden.” They embraced, Stoneworthy entranced by the tactile nature of the action. He felt alive—vibrant!
“But where do we take this great army!” Stoneworthy asked.
“To meet the others, and on to Apocalypse.” Purdue smiled.
“Others?” The minister’s eyes fixed on Purdue’s.
“Even now, two armies of the dead move toward The City: one from the south with the farthest to travel and another from the southwest.” Joy sparkled in Purdue’s eyes. “We will turn the City’s soil!”
Fear leapt across Stoneworthy’s mind. He knew many good people within the City, but he corrected himself. That had been in life, and he was dead. His life had a meaning, but he had to follow the course that his death had taken—a road to Heaven on Earth! His actions could save them all from walking death. Purdue looked toward Updike.
“I must speak now!” he said, and moved to the stage. The preacher gave him a warm embrace. With Updike’s big hands on his shoulders he began:
“Go now!” Purdue’s voice rang over the speakers. “Go my brothers and sisters and prepare. We have spent years training for this moment, and now the Lord has asked us to move. Go now, and pray. Remove all doubt from your hearts for we take up the banner of the Lord at dawn! All Hail His Apocalypse!”
A roar rang up from the crowd that made Stoneworthy think of lions. The dead produced the sound of life with their passion. So great was the storm of feeling that crashed against him, Stoneworthy was moved to tears. His mind was keen and fresh—newborn in a world that was about to die. Something dark passed by the depths of his consciousness that drew his lips down momentarily. Dismissing his hesitation, Stoneworthy drew Updike’s full cheek close to his and kissed it. He left the stage with the preacher and Purdue arm in arm, wondering at the new garden that awaited them on the morrow.
53 – Vengeful God
The Prime enjoyed the whirling hot tub jets pounding against his kidneys. With the urgency of the job interview over—again—he found himself in a state of total physical relaxation. Mentally, he was close to joyful panic. All of his plans were coming together. The prophecy was true. He would rule the world.
He had started the job interview hours before, when news came of Barnstable’s refusal of the preacher’s ultimatum and Updike’s treasonous speech—a declaration of war.
His Operatives within the dead army had radioed that Updike had called for a jihad. Absolute perfection! Further, Reverend Able Stoneworthy was with the Captain—the Tower Builder dead now. He had bullied Barnstable too much to hear that news earlier. The minister’s whereabouts had been a question for the last two days, and was an annoying reference in Vanguard’s reports. Reappearing dead and in cahoots with traitors gave the Prime authority to assume complete control of Archangel Tower. Absolutely, and inarguably perfect!
Better yet, Operatives monitoring the other arms of the undead army reported they were on the move. South and southwest by many, many miles they presented big, slow targets. Perfect! Perfect! Perfect! The Prime had just got off the phone with General Topp. He had set the time for the first strike. An air defense fighter would radio updated coordinates when required.
His Operatives from all quarters gave troop strength of some three hundred thousand in the south with the bare minimum of weaponry and mechanical support—and the majority of that was of an old and undependable variety. Southwest of that was a force twice that size with little in the way of heavy weaponry or artill
ery. The northern army and closest was the best equipped but it had not started moving yet.
Updike’s threat was empty—a zombie army up against the most powerful fighting air force and army in the world? The Prime was pleased. He would put on a show that would have his enemies shaking.
And any Divine or Infernal Powers that thought they could take over the world would see how far the Prime was willing to go to see that they didn’t. Updike thought his mission was of Divine origin, but there was still no sign that he had any actual support from that quarter. The Prime had already planned to question his captive about that after the job interview. Updike’s army must be the first move in the bigger game.
That was all he needed to fill him with explosions of happiness. Until today, he had been operating in the dark in a pentagram drawn of blood. His Demon Ally and captive gave him signs and riddles. Though he was pleased to see that his intuition was proving correct, such extravagant risks were difficult for him. Intuition had helped him to climb to the top, but it was a terrifying way to maintain the position.
The Prime had revealed his backup plan to Topp with some reluctance. Throwing his cards out there for a lackey to see left him anxious. But he had a Demon watching the General for signs of reluctance. Time. He needed time for the game to unfold. And he had little patience. It was all too much, and he was afraid that obsessing about it would micromanage it into the ground.
To distract himself he had continued with the job interview:
“Do you have hot tubs in all the offices, Prime?” the pretty brunette joked, and crossed her legs. He couldn’t believe it, but he was actually drooling. That’s throwing her off. Wait till she has a look at my…
Her body floated a few feet away from him. The round lumps of her buttocks protruded from the frothing water. Even her death had not stemmed his passion. He and the Demon organ had taken her three times since. He didn’t mind the oily feel of her blood against his skin.
“Get in the tub and I’ll pay you well,” he said and when she shook her head, he grabbed her legs and pulled her screaming toward the water. Raping her with the Demon organ was good; raping her with the Demon organ and his own had been…Heavenly.
His mind played to the events at 232 Towerview Terrace. His Operatives had nothing new to report. He tried to use his sated calm certainty to draw upon his intuitive resources. The evidence at the crime scene suggested something big had transpired there: unexplainable elements that encouraged the Prime to suspect an Infernal or Divine link. He checked himself, reined in his suspicions. The unknown still existed, after all. No sense being paranoid. But events were happening too quickly for the unexplained. An instinctive part of him knew that nothing was happening by chance now. Damn Vanguard give me facts!
The Prime looked at the wall clock, saw that 18 hours remained until a demonstration of power would be dropped on the southern army. The Prime made fists of his hands, punched them whistling into the swirling red water then: Ka-boom! A surprising tingle and heaviness returned to his groin. He looked at the woman’s body.
Something nudged his knee. Over the pale hump of his belly he saw that a jet of water had pushed her hand into him—he imagined making a circle of the lifeless fingers and… The Prime casually kicked her away.
He remembered the scene: at first her terror—screaming. That got both of him harder. Down she went into the tub and he was on her. Then she was screaming in pain. The Prime knew that since he had joined the Demon in Union, that something vital had changed about him. Not only had he been altered physically, something changed inside. Because the Union had added a second penis, it was easy to overlook the mental changes. But where he liked dominating people before he loved killing them now.
Before the woman died he discovered that the second penis behaved like a prehensile limb—impossible to control as his dark passions were released. It tore at her insides like an iron rake until something broke—answering his sexual grunts with a fount of dark blood. Amazed at first, but sated, the Prime had allowed her to slowly sink beneath the water, before resuming his bath.
It was unfortunate because she was pretty. And yet, who knew, after Blacktime she might be more open to his desires? If he truly believed he could become a god, he had to dismiss the sentimentality of ethics—he shouldn’t worry about loss or beauty. As he watched his secretary’s body a weight throbbed that needed release. He gasped—I’m a monster—tearing at his lower lip with his teeth. The Prime reached for the corpse. Perfect!
54 – The Doctor’s Office
The doctor had a round head with very little hair on it and an oval body. He wore a soiled tie and yellowed dress shirt. His short thick legs protruded from black pants and stained lab coat. He wore scuffed leather shoes. They stuck out to the side of his desk at an uncomfortable angle. A tarnished watchband played at the edge of his sleeve. He was lost in thought, looking over a pile of papers as Dawn was shown in. He tapped a pencil on the desk with thick dirty fingers.
“Scruples,” he whispered. “Scruples.”
The floor squeaked and he snapped out of his personal reflection, turned his face to the door.
Dawn was terrified. Her experience with the Principal left her wits scattered. Her new childcare worker, a tall dead man named Tony, was a nice fellow but she was afraid to even look at him. She didn’t want to accidentally involve him in anything horrible like poor Frances. The dead man seemed unaware of her feelings or any events surrounding her visit to the Principal and simply announced her arrival in a lifeless voice. He handed her a file and left.
She barely remembered the day, with her mind still caught up with Frances. Dawn was not yet allowed into lessons with the other kids, so she spent the time answering questionnaires that were set out at a little desk by the Dormitory doors. Just as the other kids were lining up for supper, Tony had walked up and…
The Doctor took some time composing himself, spending a good five minutes shuffling and then re-piling the stack of papers and files on the desk in front of him. Throughout, his eyes kept flicking over at her, enormous, blinking through thick glasses. He wore a stethoscope around his neck that he played with after pushing the files untidily away from him.
The walls behind him were covered with charts and dark wooden bookcases. The paint that showed at intervals was a murky cream color. Cracks ran from the corners of the room outward, weaving their way behind furniture and displays.
Great sheets of painted plaster bulged, ready to collapse onto the floor. There were other things on other shelves, beakers and bottles, medical instruments of brass and metal. Other things too, containers with pickled organs or animals floating in each. And plastic things too, models of bones and skeletons. File folders were piled and crumpled one atop the other. Dawn saw that a good number had fallen in heaps on the floor.
Finally, the Doctor reached out, eyes staring at the folder in her hands, and he snapped his fingers peevishly until Dawn handed it to him. He took it, flipped it open on the desk and hung his chin over it, his chair sideways to the forever girl. The note from the Principal was paper clipped on the inside of the folder. The Doctor took an unusually long time to read it.
“Dawn,” he said finally, and then asked: “Do you have a last name?”
The forever girl just shook her head solemnly. Mr. Jay had always told her to say as little as possible if something like this ever happened. He also said that he’d come running at such a time, but she couldn’t imagine how he could help her now.
The Doctor sighed, threw the file away from him. “Nobody does any more.” He cleared his throat. “Nobody admits it. A tie to the past—that has passed.” Then he looked the forever girl up and down.
“Well, Dawn, we have rules here,” he said and then cleared his throat until his eyes turned red. “Forgive me, yes.” He coughed. “Rules, that are simple.”
Dawn stood by a chair beside the Doctor’s desk. She kept her hands folded behind her back and her chin pointed to the floor. She had not been told to si
t, and she wouldn’t.
“Follow the rules,” he murmured, nodded, and then slapped around on the desk for her file. He dragged it onto his lap. “If you know what’s good for you you’ll do exactly as Nursie says. She’s my—medical assistant—and I don’t suppose it would hurt you to know that she’s not right up here.”
He shook his head and pointed at it. “Not at all, but she assists with you children and answers only to the Prime. And for that matter, you’d do well to obey the Principal. He’s been known to lose his temper.” The Doctor threw the file back on the desk. “And I’ve had to treat the results of such displays of emotion.” He stood up then, and walked behind his desk.
Dawn felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. The Doctor’s eyes flashed and his chin dipped. “Don’t—don’t be, or rather you’d be wise to do as I say also. Because, I’ll, I’ll give you an operation or something—hmm? How would you like that?” He tapped his knuckles on the desk and smiled when Dawn shivered. “I didn’t think you would.”
The Doctor chuckled to himself, but the humor sounded strained and broken. He looked at her over the top of his glasses. “Now, why…why would I say that? I shouldn’t say that!” He held his hands in front of his face—mystified.
“I wasn’t always like this.” He looked up. “He…” The Doctor lowered his voice. “He made me this way. To die—with, by the Prime’s friends—worse, much worse than these cankers on my soul.”
Then he flipped the file open and snatched his pencil off the desk. He started writing as he spoke, “I will schedule a physical examination for you.” He flipped the file folder closed, and then wrote something on a small pad of white paper before tearing a sheet off and handing it to her.
“Come on now!” he said, when he saw her hesitate. “I don’t bite.”
Dawn hurried nimbly forward, snatched the note and jumped away.
The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two Page 29