by Mark Romang
Loomis laughed. A nervous chuckle. “I haven’t heard them called that lately. Which Dakota? There are two of them, you know. A north one and a south one.”
“South Dakota.”
“Ah, I like South Dakota. Pretty country. Lots to see and do.” Loomis looked through the flames. The rifle muzzle pointed right at him. The situation wasn’t what he wanted or planned for. He shared a fire with a serial killer. Nothing could be more bizarre. “I was thinking you were from Texas, maybe.”
“Why did you think that?”
Because you brutally murdered a family from there, that’s why. “Oh, I don’t know. Your Stetson hat, maybe. You look like a cowboy, Tucker.”
“There are cowboys in the Dakotas. Plenty of them.”
“You’re right, there are. That was just a dumb stereotype on my part.” Loomis allowed a few quiet seconds to tick by. “I’m from L.A.”
“I hate L.A., Nick. And I hate city boys.”
“I don’t much like Los Angeles either. And I don’t consider myself a city boy. I like to get out in the woods as often as I can. I like to trail run. I also like guns. I like to shoot. That comes in handy in my profession.”
“You’re accurate, huh?”
“Accurate enough to get the job done. Whatever the job is.” Loomis slowly moved his hand to within a couple of inches from his holster.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stiggs said. “Nathan Banks might give us trouble,” he added.
“Do you have any ideas as to why the UWC wants Banks so badly?” Loomis asked.
“Not a clue. And I don’t care either. He’s a rebel. There’s a bounty on his head. That’s all I know.”
“He sure must be someone special. The UWC is running low on manpower. To send two of us after Banks says something.”
“To me it only shows how inept the typical UWC officer is,” Stiggs muttered.
Loomis racked his brain for things to talk about. Conversing with a killer has a way of stifling words, and Stiggs wasn’t much of talker to begin with. He mostly grunted in monotone. “So, Tucker, I was just wondering, when you catch up with the rebels—do they put up much of a fight?”
“Some do. But I have a way of making them submit. Eventually they all end up begging for mercy. Some just take longer to ask for it.”
“Bounty hunting must be an exciting way to make a living.”
“I’m tracking down bad guys, just like you, Nick. I just don’t carry around a badge and call myself a special agent.”
We are nothing alike, Loomis thought. I don’t kill humans for sport. Loomis yawned a fake yawn. “I’ve been up since four this morning, Tucker. I think I’ll crawl into my tent and call it a night,” Loomis said. He rose slowly to his feet.
“It’s not even five pm, Nick.”
“You’re right. I guess the sun setting early messed me up. But I still think I can sleep. What time are you leaving in the morning?”
“First light.”
“I’ll be up long before then.” Loomis glanced briefly at Stiggs’s rifle. The muzzle followed him. “I take it you don’t like to sleep in tents.”
“Not tonight. I want to make a fast exit in the morning. Banks is within striking distance.”
“Sounds like a plan. See you at first light, Tucker. Hopefully the sun will still rise at its normal time.”
“Good night, Nick. Sleep tight.”
Loomis turned his back and headed for his tent a few feet away. He felt like he was walking away from a firing squad. But he made it to his tent in one piece. He knelt down and unzipped the door, and then crawled in and zipped up only the screen. He immediately withdrew his .45 pistol and pushed the safety off. Loomis turned and flopped down onto his stomach. He aimed the Springfield Armory pistol. But Stiggs had already moved, shifting somewhere out of sight.
Stiggs hadn’t left the campsite though. Loomis could hear him whistling. Stiggs whistled I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy.
Loomis harbored no elaborate plan other than to wait out Stiggs. Somebody as large as Tucker Stiggs likely snored. Loomis would wait until he heard snoring sounds, and then he would leave his tent with his gun drawn and arrest Stiggs.
A simple plan.
What could possibly go wrong?
Everything.
Loomis focused his hearing. His ears canceled out extraneous noise. Stiggs had stopped whistling. But Loomis didn’t hear snoring. It would likely be a long wait, he knew.
I should text my boss and give him this location. Maybe Trestman can get me some backup, Loomis thought. He took his left hand off the pistol grip and reached underneath his stomach and into his pant pocket. He pulled out his phone. But one look at the phone’s screen told him he’d lost service.
And in his haste to get out here he’d forgotten to bring along a satellite phone. It was the only thing he’d forgotten. But it was perhaps the most valuable item he could have right now. Cellphone coverage in the mountains is spotty at best. Some kind of special agent you are, he told himself.
As seconds ticked slowly into minutes, and then into an hour, Loomis fought against drowsiness. He’d been too keyed up to sleep much last night. And then he’d gotten up early and pushed himself hard to catch up with Stiggs. His body and mind demanded rest.
Somewhere at the two hour mark of waiting, Loomis drifted off. Vivid dreams came at once. And in the dreams—nightmares really—he dreamt of Tucker Stiggs attacking him.
Chapter 33
Heaven
Spencer Maddix and his 10,000 archers were still practicing atop the wall when they heard the trumpets sound the warning.
It seemed improbable, and even ridiculous.
And yet the trumpets blasting meant it was for real.
This was no drill.
Heaven was under attack!
Spencer rushed to the edge and peered all around. It would take someone with gall to lead an attack on Heaven. And right away he knew exactly who would be giving the marching orders.
It would be someone intimate with every detail about Heaven, someone who once lived and served here, a fallen angel who answered to a beautiful name before committing his treasonous act. But now this wicked angel went by a different moniker. And his ugly name conjured up fear and loathing throughout the universe.
Spencer muttered the hated name under his breath. And then he went into action mode.
“Archers, move into place!” he shouted. Instantly the saintly archers under his command formed staggered rows.
All along Heaven’s wall more divisions of archers took similar firing positions. Between each division an open spot remained on the wall. These open spots were reserved for the slings of the giant trebuchets to fling their projectiles over the wall and at the invaders.
Spencer focused his eyes. His vision increased dramatically when he became a citizen in Heaven. He could see small objects from far away and with remarkable clarity. But his gaze could also penetrate beyond the surface. He could see intents and purposes, and the natural progression of things. It was all part of his transformation. More and more he was thinking and seeing and behaving like Jesus.
On the far horizon miles away he saw an enormous black cloud. The cloud roiled and fluttered like a giant flock of birds or locust swarms. And as the black cloud seethed and billowed it reached toward the ground like a tornado.
Spencer tried to gauge the cloud’s size. The cloud’s width spanned for miles, the same for its height. Simply put the cloud was enormous.
As the sinister cloud sped toward the heavenly city, Spencer began to make out the demons in front. They were dressed for war, arrayed in battle armor from head to foot, and they carried swords and crossbows. The demons advancing on the ground pushed and pulled ballistae—ancient war engines similar to crossbows that could hurl large missiles or heavy spears with amazing accuracy.
“Archers, nock your arrows!” Spencer cried. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and placed it onto his bowstring. “Almighty Jehovah, if it is your will, guide t
he flight of my arrows, and make the arrows of all your archers fly straight and true.”
Spencer remained where he stood, near the wall’s edge and amongst the front row of his archers. Trumpets continued to blast warnings. Surely everyone in Heaven knows we’re under siege by now, he thought.
The black cloud hurtled ever closer toward the wall. “Do not fire until I fire!” Spencer shouted to his archers. Behind him and on the ground he could hear angels and saints placing five-hundred-pound stones into the trebuchet slings.
When the demons advanced to within two-hundred yards, Spencer aimed his bow. “Take aim, archers!” Archers all along the wall— not just his division—raised their bows in perfect synchronization and took careful aim, picking out an enemy to fire upon.
There was no shortage of targets.
Spencer pulled back his bowstring and aimed at a demon transporting a ballista. “Fire!” he shouted. Bowstrings snapped back all along the wall. Arrows showered down upon the demons with the same pelting intensity as rain during a monsoon.
Spencer carefully watched the flight of his arrow as it joined all the other arrows. He smiled briefly when he saw his arrow pierce the head of the demon helping to pull a ballista. The demon fell to the ground, and the ballista rolled over him.
Other arrows did similar damage, but many bounced harmlessly off the heavy breastplates worn by the demons.
“Use your armor-piercing arrows, or aim for their heads!” Spencer commanded as he stepped back and allowed the next line of archers to advance.
Spencer noticed then that the trebuchets had joined the battle. Their slings whipped overhead and flung their five-hundred pound stones into the black cloud. Not far behind the hurtling stones, angels flew over the wall in great numbers to join the fray. Spencer gawked in amazement.
Only God knew how many angels resided in Heaven. But Spencer guessed the number to be in the billions because the angels poured over the wall continuously like shifts in an ice hockey game.
The kinetic force of the angels crashing into the kinetic force of the advancing demons resulted in a brutal collision of supernatural proportions. The sickening sound of the two armies smashing together almost drowned out the trumpets blaring the alarm.
Spencer pulled another arrow from his quiver and placed it onto his bowstring. He couldn’t wait to fire his bow again, but would have to anyway. There were eight more rows of archers ahead of him. As he waited his turn he couldn’t help but wonder where his dad was. He’s the greatest warrior I know. He needs to be here for this. And so does Coleton Webb.
Chapter 34
Heaven
“They’ve started without us, Mad-Dog,” Coleton Webb said as he gazed at the war raging outside Heaven’s walls.
“How thoughtless of them. But we knew they would do so,” Maddix answered.
They stood on a high butte situated near the outskirts of Heaven, now forty-one members strong with Mithellius added to their ranks.
Michael strode into a position in front of them. “I’m dividing our numbers in half. I will lead one team to the temple to make sure Satan doesn’t succeed with his plan to steal the seventh bowl. The other team will join our angel brethren in the main battle below us.” Michael looked at Maddix. “I’m placing you in charge of this team, Andrew.”
“I consider it a privilege, Michael. We will fight like we have never fought before.”
Michael nodded solemnly. His cerulean eyes blazed. “Let us say a short prayer before we go to war.”
They all circled up and bowed their heads. Maddix enjoyed listening to Michael pray. The archangel’s prayers always caused goosebumps to well up on his skin.
“God our Father, and Jesus our champion. We have rescued Mithellius and are ready to join the battle. Strengthen our bodies for this task. Protect us from the devil’s schemes and help us thwart his wicked plans. We long to give you a great victory and squash this rebellion. I ask that you fill us with your Spirit, and bring about glory to your name by fighting through us. I pray not one demon will make it over the wall. In your magnificent son’s name I humbly ask these things, amen.”
They opened their eyes and raised their swords skyward. The double-edged blades clinked together. “For the King and his saints,” Eleazar said.
“And the Christ followers still living on Earth,” Webb added.
Michael and his team disappeared in an eye blink. Maddix looked at the remaining angels and saints under his command. He was their appointed leader now, and felt like he needed to say something profound to motivate them. “The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemies.’ Napoleon Bonaparte once said these words.”
Maddix waggled his Eden sword. It erupted into tall flames. “Now, you know what to do. You know what’s at stake. Do whatever it takes to repel the invaders. Show no mercy.” Maddix gave his troops a hand signal to attack. And without another word spoken, they left the butte and teleported into the heart of the battle.
****
Maddix knew the battlefield would be a scene of bedlam, but the savagery was much worse than he expected. The sky and ground were literally filled with angels and demons locked in brutal combat.
So much was at stake for both sides, but much more for Satan’s army. Eternal punishment awaited them.
And so the demons fought desperately like berserkers.
Wars over the ages had usually been fought over land or water rights. Millions of soldiers had died trying to defend or take hilltops and defend or take shipping lanes and ports. The ground and sea was filled with their bones.
But this battle in Heaven wasn’t about controlling land or sea.
The motives behind this war concerned the future, and who would control it for eternity. Oddly enough, the outcome was already known, the winner already proclaimed.
But this war still needs to be fought to fulfill prophecy, Maddix thought.
“Napoleon was right. The battlefield is a chaotic place,” Coleton Webb said.
“And a brutal one,” Maddix answered, watching an angel slam a demon to the ground nearby. Maddix swiveled his head, looking in all directions and taking in the gruesome carnage.
Giant stones periodically fell from the sky, punching holes in the struggle between combatants. The giant stones hit the ground and rolled, knocking over demonic warriors like they were bowling pins.
Maddix was struck by the sheer lunacy of it all. This war in Heaven was unquestionably the ultimate battle between good and evil. The war of all wars, pitting angels and saints versus demons, Heaven’s immortals against hell’s immortals. The strangest part of this grotesquely violent confrontation was that no participant on either side would lose their life. Not one.
An observer could then say that there would be no winners, and no losers.
Maddix would have to disagree. This moment and this war was one more nail in Satan’s figurative coffin.
Maddix’s gaze came to rest on a ballista being loaded by two demons. The missile—a giant spear the size of a redwood sapling—had already been settled into the slider, and now the demons were ratcheting down the bowstring to its firing position with winches. It was obvious the demons intended to fire the missile over the wall.
Maddix pointed toward the war engine. “Come on, C-Dub. Let’s take out that ballista emplacement.”
The ballista sat about twenty-five yards away. Maddix waved the flaming Eden sword back and forth as he advanced toward the war engine. Webb walked with his back to Maddix and protected against attacks from behind.
Amazingly, they encountered little resistance.
That soon changed.
The two demons stopped what they were doing and grabbed up their swords. They didn’t hesitate, and launched themselves at Maddix and Webb, pouncing quickly like jungle cats, and swinging their swords like samurais.
Maddix slid a step to his left, and whipped his sword upwards similar to a golf swing. The Eden sword c
langed harmlessly off the demon’s breastplate but managed to graze the demon’s throat and chin. The demon screamed out, but landed lightly on his feet. Silvery-black blood trickled from his chin onto his body armor.
The big demon advanced toward Maddix, more cautious this time. Respect glimmered briefly in his black eyes. “I know who you are, Andrew. Your legend precedes you. Only one saint carries around a sword like yours.”
Maddix had to look up to lock eyes with the demon. “Then you won’t feel shame when I best you.”
The demon circled to his right, cutting off Maddix’s footwork to his left. “Your mouth is also legendary. Stories are often told how you insult your adversaries with an insolent tongue.”
“The tongue is the hardest part of the body to control. Everyone knows that,” Maddix said, holding his sword out in front of his body, his elbow at a forty-five degree angle.
“Then I’ll cut yours out to silence you once and for all. And then I’ll take your sword.”
“You wouldn’t be the first to try. Other have attempted but failed.” Maddix lunged and fainted a quick strike to the demon’s midsection, but then rolled his wrist and slashed at the demon’s right ankle. He wanted, if possible, to slow the demon, and also bring him down in size.
The demon reacted quickly to parry, but not quickly enough. The flaming blade connected with the demon’s ankle. The dark warrior stumbled, falling momentarily to the ground before popping back up. And he came up swinging. As he arose he slashed at Maddix’s head—a vicious and blindingly fast swipe that connected with Maddix’s shoulder blade.
The ferocious strike and follow-through should’ve severed Maddix’s head. But the powerful blow had little effect, and didn’t even hurt. Maddix took one small step backward, and nothing more. The covering is still with me, he thought, thrilled to still have it. “You’re going to have to strike harder than that to take my sword,” Maddix said.