by Mark Romang
He wanted to get an early start tomorrow but needed some gear before setting off into the wild to hunt down Tucker Stiggs. Loomis walked inside the store, grabbed a cart and headed for the camping section.
A wall of tents greeted him. He didn’t want anything big, nothing that could sleep a large family and take an hour to set up. He wanted a tent that would roll up small and attach to a backpack somehow. Loomis spotted a backcountry tent designed to sleep only one person and dumped it into his cart.
He moved onto the sleeping bags and selected a mummy bag good to fifteen below. He also snagged a sleeping pad before moving on to the next aisle where he found the backpacking stoves and freeze-dried food packs. He selected a tiny stove and several replaceable propane cans. He also grabbed a mess kit, a lightweight cooking pot, and several packets of freeze-dried food.
Loomis looked at his watch. The store would close in seven minutes. He had to hustle. Loomis scanned his shopping list, a list he made on the plane. He shook his head when he saw he’d forgotten to get a backpack. He returned to the aisle with the tents and grabbed the most expensive backpack.
His bill would be a big one, but he didn’t care. His purchase would go through the company credit card. I might as well get the best stuff, he thought. He looked at his list and saw three more items. He needed a waterproof jacket, a GPS receiver in case his cellphone stopped working and something to start a fire with.
He brought a good pair of sturdy hiking boots with him from LA. He often went hiking in the nearby San Gabriel Mountains whenever he got a chance. So shoes weren’t a problem. Loomis headed for the jackets hanging on racks.
He selected a green, fleece-lined waterproof jacket in his size and headed for the checkout register. On the way to the register he saw a display of GPS receivers. He grabbed a Garmin without even looking at the price and pushed his cart up to the register.
Near the register he saw matches and magnesium fire starter sticks. He tossed a box of matches into his cart along with a large knife and sheath.
“Looks like you’re going on an adventure, Mister,” the young female clerk said.
“I am most definitely going on an adventure. And I need to be prepared for anything,” Loomis said with a forced smile as he loaded his purchases onto the belt leading to the register.
The young clerk quickly rang the items. “That will be eight-hundred and sixty-one dollars and seventy-nine cents. How would you wish to pay?”
Loomis handed her a credit card. The clerk swiped it and then held up a wand. “Forehead or wrist?”
“Um, neither.” Loomis pulled a chain necklace off his neck. A locket was attached to the silver chain. A tiny chip rested inside the locket. He laid the locket on the belt and carefully opened it. “You can scan this.”
The clerk looked mystified. “I’ve never done this before. Let me call my manager.” Loomis watched her grab a radio and talk into it. A fat man in a dress shirt and bow tie soon appeared from behind a glass wall and ambled up to the register.
The clerk explained to her boss what just transpired. The fat man shot Loomis an annoyed look. “I’m sorry, only chipped people can buy goods here.”
Loomis remained calm. He’d been through this very scenario hundreds of times. “But this is a genuine Skymolt marking chip.”
The manager looked inside the locket. “I can’t see anything in there.”
“Of course you can’t. It’s tiny. That’s why it’s called a micro-chip. Just wave the wand over the locket. Then you’ll see the chip is legit.”
“But all chips are supposed to be imbedded under the skin on the forehead or wrist,” the store manager pointed out smugly.
Nervous sweat trickled down Loomis’s back and under his clothes. He pulled out a worn business envelope from his sport jacket pocket. He removed a letter from the envelope and handed it to the fat store manager. “This is a certified letter from the office of the vice-president of the Unified World Council. It’s official and certifies this chip as my personal marking chip. I have a rare skin disorder called dermatographic urticaria that legally prohibits me from having an imbedded chip. Here I’ll show you what I mean.” Loomis looked at the clerk. “Do you have a pen on you?”
The clerk pulled a pen from her smock and handed it to Loomis. He then took off his jacket and rolled up one sleeve. He looked at the clerk and smiled. “What is your name?”
“Brittany.”
Loomis clicked the pen so the tip disappeared into its body. And then he scratched on his forearm, spelling the clerk’s name. In seconds angry red welts appeared on his arm and formed puffy letters, spelling the name Brittany.”
The young clerk made a face. “Oh, that’s freaky and sick. Does it hurt?”
Loomis shook his head. “Not too bad. It stings, but I’m used to it. The reaction will last about an hour, and then the welts will fade away.”
The store manager studied the letter Loomis gave him for a few minutes. He handed it back. “I’ll need to see some ID before the transaction can go through.”
Loomis put his sport jacket back on and retrieved his wallet badge. He handed the badge to the store manager. An eyebrow raised on the man’s fleshy face. He quickly handed back the badge and turned to his worker. “Ring Agent Loomis up.”
The clerk nodded and scanned the locket. She looked at the register screen. “You’re approved,” she said, and handed Loomis’s credit card back and started bagging his purchases.
Loomis closed the locket and put his necklace back on. He tried to relax as he placed the wrung up items back into the cart. Although he experienced the same difficulty countless times while trying to buy goods, the encounters always left him paranoid and on edge. They also left him feeling guilty. He could buy things where other fellow believers couldn’t. They starved and struggled to stay alive, hiding in caves and abandoned buildings, while he frequented restaurants and ate steak and seafood and went about his business in the open. He hated being a closet Christian.
The clerk named Brittany handed him his receipt. “Here you go. Come back and see us.”
Loomis smiled back and pushed the loaded down shopping cart outside to his car. He opened the car’s trunk and packed everything he’d just bought inside. He then pushed the cart back inside the store’s sliding front doors. He was just about to climb inside the rental car when his phone rang.
He pulled the cellphone from his pocket. “Hello?”
“Hey, Nick, this is Agent Richards. Nick, I’m sorry but I won’t be able to meet up with you tomorrow. My wife is in labor and having serious complications. The docs are pretty concerned. I talked to my boss. Hopefully they can find a replacement for me. But I wouldn’t count on it. We’re pretty short-staffed around here.”
“Don’t worry about it, Dave. Go be with your wife. I hope everything works out for you and her and the baby.”
“Thanks, Nick. And be careful if you have to go it alone. Stiggs sounds mean and crazy.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Okay. Thanks again, Nick. I appreciate it. Bye.”
The call ended and Loomis climbed into his car. He said a short prayer for Dave Richards and his wife and unborn baby. And then he left the store parking lot and headed back to his hotel, determined to get a few hours of sleep before rising early to get a jump on Tucker Stiggs.
Chapter 18
Olympic Peninsula—that same moment
“You’re so good at living in the wild, Nathan,” Brooke said. “This shelter you made is dry and comfy. And it took you less than an hour to make it.”
They sat in a small lean-to. Hemlock boughs formed the roof and sides and kept the wind out. Banks poked at the fire crackling outside the shelter. Stacked rocks reflected the heat back into the shelter. “I’ve had lots of practice living out here. But anyone could make this shelter. The ability to survive is embedded in all of us. It’s one of our strongest instincts.”
“Maybe so, but I think you have a gift for it, Nathan.”
/> Banks shrugged off her compliment. “So what’s it like out there in the world?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been living underground for a long time. I have no idea what it’s like out in the civilized world right now,” Banks said.
“It’s bad, scary bad. Between wars and earthquakes, plagues and food shortages due to the worldwide drought, people are dying right and left. Take in the people who disappeared in the Rapture and the people who have died since, and the world population has dropped sharply. And those that are left are beset with paranoia. No one trusts anyone but themselves. Everyone is afraid of Skymolt, but they’re also mad at him. To pay for his ever expanding military arsenal and drone production, he’s imposed a flat income tax of forty-eight percent on every world citizen over eighteen.”
“Maybe I don’t have it so bad living out here after all,” Banks said.
Brooke stared into the fire, brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. “I feel bad for the Jews. Not since Adolph Hitler tried to exterminate them have they been so harassed. I think Henrik Skymolt hates the Jews even worse than Hitler. At first when he signed the peace deal with Israel he was all nice to the Jews. But now Skymolt wants to wipe them off the face of the earth. The same for Christians.”
Brooke looked at Banks. Fear shone in her eyes. “The worst part is the drones. They fill the sky. Sometimes you can see them, other times they fly so high you can’t. But they’re always there, stalking people who haven’t taken the mark.”
“I’ve had a few run-ins with drones recently,” Banks said quietly. He laid his fire poker stick down. “Have you ever been chased by drones?”
Brooke shook her head. “I’ve been lucky so far. After the Rapture I took a nursing job at a small clinic in rural Nevada. I guess Skymolt targeted the urban areas first. Things were fairly normal for me at first. But then recently a chipping kiosk and a statue of Skymolt showed up in town. I knew it would get bad fast, so I packed up my car and headed here. I made it to Oregon before I ran out of gas. I’ve been hiking and camping since.”
“You’re a remarkable woman, Brooke.”
She looked at him curiously. “How so?”
“You survived this long without taking the chip, and you made it all the way up here. You’re much tougher than you look.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess. I’m just so tired of looking over my shoulder. All I want to do is find my father’s bunker and curl up with my Bible. I’ve been trying to read the book of Revelation to see what happens next. But it isn’t easy making any sense of it. From what I’m able to gather, the next thing to happen is Henrik Skymolt will desecrate the newly rebuilt temple in Jerusalem. And then I think the sixth trumpet judgment is about to start. Don’t hold me to it though. Bible prophecy can be confusing.”
“That’s why I don’t even bother,” Banks said.
“Nathan, I don’t want to make you mad, but I pray you will reconsider what I said earlier about surrendering your life to Christ. You’re a survivor, but you need to be more than that. You need to be an overcomer. And the only way to truly overcome the Antichrist and the devil is to confess your sins to Jesus and ask Him to be Lord of your life.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t know if I can do that.”
Brooke reached over and gently touched his shoulder. “Nathan, if Jesus isn’t the king of your life, your kingdom will eventually crumble and fall.”
“Well, living the way I do, I won’t have far to fall.”
“Don’t you want to see Jenny again?”
“What’s the point? There’s no marriage in Heaven.”
“You’re right, but you can still have a relationship with her. And think of all the loved ones you can reunite with. And in the Millennial Reign you can marry and have children. You’ll rarely get sick and age very slowly. It’s going to be an amazing time on Earth, a golden age with Jesus living here with us. And you’ll miss it all if you’re not saved.”
Banks sighed. This beautiful young woman was relentless with her evangelism. She made some good points, but not good enough to persuade him to bow his head and beg Jesus for forgiveness. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
Brooke smiled and nodded. She removed her hand from his shoulder and yawned. “I’m exhausted, Nathan. I think I’ll curl up in my sleeping bag and go to sleep.”
“I think you’re on to something there. I’m going to do the same. If we get up early we can make your father’s bunker by midday.”
“I thought you said mid-morning earlier.”
“I did, but we need to be extra careful about leaving a trail behind. We don’t want to lead someone straight to the bunker. In the morning we’ll dismantle this shelter and erase any evidence we were ever here. And then I want to follow a stream I know about to the bunker. We’ll have to wade the stream at times and walk on the rocks along the shoreline. This will slow us down, but I feel it’s in our best interests.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan. Goodnight, Nathan.”
“Goodnight, Brooke.”
****
Fifteen miles to the southwest, Tucker Stiggs tossed and turned in his sleeping bag. He was relatively comfortable in his small tent, neither hot nor cold, yet sleep avoided him. He couldn’t get his unsettled mind to shut down long enough for drowsiness to visit him. He kept thinking of Nathan Banks and the waterfall.
Stiggs had a feeling Banks would prove difficult to track down, perhaps even his most difficult retrieval ever. But Stiggs didn’t mind a challenge. A long and difficult hunt looking for cagy prey made the capture that much more rewarding.
Yet a foul mood darkened his already twisted mindset, coloring his thoughts. Stiggs cursed aloud as he thought of the restriction placed upon him. What was so important about Nathan Banks that he had to be brought in alive?
Stiggs listened to the night sounds outside his tent as he pondered the conundrum. An owl hooted not far away, while coyotes yipped and yapped in the distance. There must be something about Banks that makes him a valuable asset to Henrik Skymolt, Stiggs thought. I wonder what it could be.
Still wide awake, Stiggs rolled to his left and raised up onto an elbow. He fumbled around for the flashlight next to his sleeping bag. His large fingers, thick as frankfurters, wrapped around the flashlight and turned it on. He shined the LED beam onto his backpack resting next to his Stetson. Perhaps if he read for a while he might become drowsy.
Stiggs pulled his backpack closer and opened the main compartment. He felt around inside and pulled out a thick book. This particular book always calmed him down. The scriptures soothed his torment when nothing else could.
Stiggs opened The Satanic Bible to where he last left off and began to read. For as long as he could remember, dating all the way back to his childhood, Stiggs harbored an unhealthy attraction to the dark side of the spirit realm. Twelve years ago he relented to an invisible tug and became a full-fledged Satanist, a devout follower of the late Anton LaVey, the author of The Satanic Bible.
Stiggs read intently for a several minutes until the words blurred together. His eyelids soon became heavy and he found himself yawning, and then before he knew it, he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 19
Teredel
Having left the dry riverbed and the massacred flying creatures far behind them, Michael led his heavenly troops through a burned-up forest. Scorched cedar trees stood as silent testaments to a land that once supported vibrant life. The land supported nothing of worth now. Only banished demons sentenced to one day swim in a lake of fire, subsisted here.
Andrew Maddix strained his supernaturally enhanced eyes. The putrid fog shrouding Teredel had become so thick now that it obscured everything. It was like they traveled through a smelly cloud bank. And it took Maddix by surprise when he realized he stalked through a mostly incinerated forest.
The sooty trees stood like ugly monuments, their fire-twisted trunks and amputated limbs strippe
d of all greenery. Maybe the fog isn’t fog at all. Maybe it’s smoke from an enormous crematorium that never stops burning, he thought.
As Maddix worked his way through the dead trees, Coleton Webb by his side, he felt a little like Frodo Baggins on his way to Mordor with his sidekick friend Samwise Gamgee. And just like the hobbits, they approached a hotbed of evil, a region where doom reigned, but instead of facing a vast army of Orcs, legions of visually impaired demons awaited them.
Maddix wished he could somehow advance the mission to its completion. And like the worn-down Frodo and Sam desiring to head back to the bucolic safety of the Shire, Maddix wished he could return home to Heaven, where evil didn’t exist, only holiness and blessed contentment.
Maddix dropped his right hand down to rest on his sword’s hilt, taking pleasure in its familiar presence. The big sword was sheathed in a bronze scabbard affixed to his hip.
The sword had once defended the Garden of Eden, protecting the garden’s entrance and forbidding anyone from entering. Back then the sword flamed continuously and flashed back and forth like a pendulum. But now the sword only blazed to life when Maddix needed it to.
Why God chose him to battle Heaven’s foes with it still amazed Maddix. And yet for whatever reason known only to Him, God considered him worthy to carry such a sacred weapon.
Thinking of the privilege made Maddix break into prayer. With his eyes open he prayed silently, Lord God, thank you for protecting us when we engaged the flying creatures. Send your spirit on ahead to battle for us and provide us with a covering. Vanquish our foes, confuse them and make them fall into our swords. Take for your glory a mighty victory. Help us find Mithellius, your servant whom you love. In your name, Jesus, I humbly pray. Amen.
When he was a mortal living on Earth, and serving America as a member of SEAL Team 8 alongside Coleton Webb, Maddix had gone on many clandestine missions. Usually long before going on a mission, his SEAL team rehearsed the mission umpteen times. Mock-up buildings and villages and boats were often constructed to make the rehearsals as close to the real thing as possible.