Tribulation r-2

by Philip W Simpson

  2 Thessalonians 2:3

  He spent much of the day in their safe house, meditating, cleaning his weapons but mostly just watching. He had to hand it to them — they were certainly industrious. Even without much energy, on the verge of starvation, disease ridden, they moved with a purpose. Everybody in the small community seemed to have a job which they approached with as much enthusiasm as Sam had seen anywhere.

  All told, there were just over twenty people living in the building, mostly teenagers or in their early twenties. One girl looked around twelve and there was a man who was probably in his thirties or forties. It was so hard to tell though. The layer of grime and ash on their skin was so ingrained it looked painted on.

  The antibiotics had done their job. The few that had seemed to be on death’s brink had now been brought back from the edge and had improved considerably. Most even joined the others at their assigned tasks.

  Sam ventured downstairs and viewed their hydroponic operation. He understood why the generators only operated during the day. They created quite a bit of noise — noise that could be heard from almost a block away. Even if demons didn’t seem to be a problem, if stumbled upon by demon worshippers or those that just preyed on the weak, the results could potentially be devastating. Demon worshippers, especially, seemed to be more active at night so he understood their caution.

  Not only that, they also went through a fair amount of gasoline. While gasoline didn’t appear to be in drastically short supply, one of the men told him that they’d almost exhausted local supplies and now had to search further afield. This took time, effort and man-power — all things which the small community lacked.

  Of course this created its own problems. The plants they were growing — lettuce and tomatoes mostly — were suffering from lack of sunlight, and most looked sickly and limp. Sam even saw signs of disease on the plants. Even here, away from the surface and the deadly, Hell-like environment, they still suffered, a reflection of the conditions above.

  This food couldn’t possibly feed everyone here. Sure, it was probably enough to ward off complete starvation, but only just. Thankfully, the water supplied by the well was relatively fresh so at least that wasn’t a problem. For meat, like most other survivor living outside army bases, they caught and ate rats. Sam didn’t blame them. He saw the amount of traps set and was surprised they weren’t catching more than they were. One of the survivors told him that rats were in short supply lately. It seemed that even rats were beginning to starve but that wasn’t surprising. What on Earth were the rats eating in the first place? Most plants were dead, pretty much every animal. Sam hadn’t thought about it before and asked some of the workers around the hydroponic plant.

  Insects, they replied. Accustomed to gutting these animals, they’d seen exactly what was in their stomachs. Ah, yes. Of course. The rats were eating insects, and why not? Since the Rapture, insects like cockroaches and locusts had thrived in the hot conditions. And plagues came in other forms, too.

  Their openness surprised him. He knew that they now trusted him because he’d given them antibiotics but that usually wasn’t enough these days. How did they not know he wasn’t a wolf in sheep’s clothing, here to gain their trust before betraying them? The answer was, they didn’t. They couldn’t. They were just good, trusting people despite what they’d been though. They seemed to accept him at face value. Not one of them questioned the hood that was constantly on his head. They even offered him what small amounts of food they had. It was a humbling gesture and one that brought a surge of protective anger. Even though he had to move on, he would keep an eye on these people, making sure they came to no harm.

  The house itself, surprisingly, was in fairly good condition. It had escaped unscathed from the earthquakes and other natural disasters — just better than most structures. The fairly common subsidence cracks were evident and some scorch and burn marks here and there, but other than that, it was mostly intact. It hadn’t been just pure luck him picking that house out of every one in Bedford. It was also one of the few that were even in slightly habitable condition. The rest of the houses in the town had suffered the worst that the Tribulation could throw at them: many had been completely destroyed by earthquakes; others had been gutted by fire, victims of the increasingly regular fire-storms.

  These poor examples of humanity had survived more by good luck than anything else. And Sam discovered that this luck ran deeper than he expected.

  According to the survivors, Bedford and the surrounding area of Bedford County had several churches representing various denominations. Not that it mattered. Demons didn’t differentiate between Christian biblical interpretation. One church was as good as any other to them.

  He couldn’t really spare the time, but he needed to find out for himself. Even though his gut told him they were good people, he needed to make sure. As dusk fell and the others starting settling down for the night, he got the directions to a few neighboring churches and set off in search of them. What he found surprised him.

  Every single one had been completely destroyed. Not only that, but Sam suspected that the ground had been blessed and purified with Holy water. As far as he knew, it was the only sure fire way of ensuring that demons couldn’t use it as a portal. He’d encountered a few like these in his travels but not several altogether. Whoever had done this had been thorough and discreet. The survivors weren’t even aware of their good fortune. No wonder there were no demons around. There were simply no portals for them to use.

  Something Grace had said back at the base came back to him. She’d said that many were just paying lip service in order to avoid going to Hell. But it didn’t work like that. People needed to believe, to have faith and to welcome Jesus into their hearts. It was the only way they were going to avoid the pit for eternity.

  Sam understood that — probably better than most, not that it was going to do him any good. But fear, hope and belief all had parts to play in this drama. People could change. Sometimes all they needed was a catalyst. And what better catalyst than the Tribulation and possibly eternal damnation? If that wasn’t a reason to change your opinions, Sam didn’t know what was. Of course, it would be better if people altered because of love and a willingness to be better, but those were emotions and thoughts in short supply at present.

  What the purified church grounds taught him was that at least one person wandering around in this post-apocalyptic landscape had belief and faith. True belief, strong enough to work miracles. Clearly, this person had lacked this faith prior to the Rapture, otherwise they would’ve been taken. They didn’t now though. It must have been strong to undertake such works.

  The thought that someone was out there performing good works for the benefit of others made Sam feel good. In fact, he felt the best he’d felt for a long time. First the hug, now this. His faith in humanity, for the moment, was restored. He didn’t expect it to last for very long though. Humanity had a way of disappointing him.

  Reassured, he continued on, finding the interstate easily enough. A battered sign told him that he was on the Pennsylvania turnpike. He knew from his map that he was about eighty miles from Harrisburg, the next major population center. Or former population center. To find a group of survivors like this in Bedford was unusual. Most had retreated to the mountains where caves could provide them with reasonably secure shelter, far from churches. Also the mountains were still a more likely source of food and water. He’d be very lucky indeed to encounter a similar group in Harrisburg. More likely, he’d find the place deserted, a veritable ghost town like most he traveled through these days, with the only inhabitants being demons from Hell.

  He traveled through the night, jogging at a constant pace that literally ate up the miles. He didn’t stop, didn’t need to. Several times though, he sensed a niggling presence and turned even as he moved. Nothing. He knew they were out there though. The Devil’s Hand. Tracking him. They were out of his mind-reach but some other instinct told him they weren’t that far away, following hi
s tracks that were impossible to disguise in the ash.

  He would have to face them eventually and even had a plan. Of sorts. It wasn’t much but it was all he had at this point. He’d deal with it when the time came. And the time would come — his father would make sure of that. It was inevitable.

  Rather than obsess over something he had no control over, he concentrated on his progress. He knew from experience that he averaged about five miles per hour. It didn’t seem like much and it certainly wasn’t a strenuous pace but it added up. He could jog for ten hours per night without resting. That was fifty miles if everything went to plan and he wasn’t waylaid by demons or forced to detour because of some road blockage or destruction. At this rate and with a bit of luck, he’d be in New York within days.

  Some hours into his journey, he ran through a woodland, or what had once been a woodland. A sign told him it had been known as Buchanan State Forest. Now it was just a graveyard of skeletal trunks and spiked branches, standing in rows of silent vigil. Nothing moved within it. All the animals that had once used it as their habitat and source of food and shelter had disappeared.

  It was eerily quiet as he ran. Even the breeze had disappeared, the dead trees sheltering him from the constant warm flow of air. He picked up the pace. A feeling of disquiet filled him and he knew that he wanted to be gone from this place as soon as possible. He thought — not for the first time — that he certainly hadn’t encountered everything that Hell had to offer. There were other surprises in store for him, some that he would not be able to prepare for, including demons he had never seen before. A sense of certainty came over him that here, within this dead forest, lurked one of those demons. Something he hadn’t seen before. Something terrifying, even to him.

  He was almost sprinting by the time he reached the outskirts of it and relief filled him, glad to be leaving the dreaded place behind. Sam reduced his speed and jogged on. The interstate wound through the featureless dead terrain. He couldn’t help thinking about how this had once looked. He’d seen pictures of states beyond Utah before — before the Rapture — and nothing would have given him greater pleasure than to have seen them for himself. To see lush, green fields and verdant forests overflowing with animals and birds. To wander through them at his leisure. That wouldn’t happen now. Couldn’t. Even when Jesus returned, he wouldn’t be around to see his new Earthly paradise. Wouldn’t get to see these lands and forests returned to their former glory and then some. That pleasure would be forever denied him. Instead, he’d spend the rest of eternity staring at rocks and fire and probably fighting for his life and soul. Not a pleasant thought.

  He stopped when he reached the outskirts of another forest. He didn’t fancy spending his resting hours inside it and besides, it was almost dawn anyway. Finding a thick clump of bushes that were still partially alive but comprised mostly of ash, he slipped under them. After getting himself comfortable, he ate a tiny piece of beef jerky from his pack and had a sip of water to moisten his mouth. It was all he needed. Then, he settled himself into his meditation position. He stayed like that for the next three hours or so.

  Finally, he stood and stretched, poking his head above the top of the bush. It was probably around midday. Nothing stirred. It was eerily quiet. Unnaturally so. Even the semi-constant sulfur-tainted breeze was stilled.

  Pulling out worn leather gloves from one pocket, he sat down again and carefully put them on. Only then did he dig into his pack. His rummaging produced a clothed wrapped bundle. Gently, he unwrapped it. It was an old, leather bound bible. The bible had once belonged to his master, Hikari, and other than his swords and the silver cross he wore around his neck, it was his most treasured possession. The gloves made reading it difficult and clumsy but he really didn’t have an option. It was either that or be subjected to constant burning pain. His naked flesh against a bible always had that effect.

  He started reading, picking a page at random, lost in the words and comforted by messages contained within. So absorbed he was, that he failed to notice that he was no longer alone. Abruptly, he became aware of the presence. He was about to react with his normal physical intensity when he realized who it was. With trembling hands, trying not to rush and ruin the moment, he gently closed his bible and re-wrapped it, placing it carefully back in his pack.

  Standing, he moved out of the bushes and scanned around eagerly. She was standing about ten feet away. He rushed towards her and she opened her arms to him. They embraced and despite his enthusiasm, he was careful not to crush her to him too tightly, mostly for fear of damaging her wings. They kissed quickly, passionately, but all at once she was pushing him away.

  “Don’t,” she said, moving a step backwards and looking at her feet.

  He closed the gap between them and attempted to draw her to him again. She pushed his hands away. Frustration and panic filled him in equal measure.

  “What’s wrong?” he pleaded. “What is it?”

  “I had to see you one more time,” she was whispering now. “I couldn’t stay away, even though I know I should.”

  “What do you mean?” he was almost shouting, his mind whirling in confusion.

  Her eyes met his. “I’m not allowed to see you anymore,” she said, so quietly he wasn’t sure that he’d heard correctly. Tears were streaming out of the corners of her eyes, running down her perfect cheeks.

  “What?” he roared, much more loudly than he’d intended. Aimi took a step backwards, her eyes suddenly wide with fear. With a physical effort, he restrained himself. “I don’t understand,” he said, sounding calmer than he felt.

  “It’s because of what we did,” she said, mournfully. The look of sadness on her face was killing him. He wanted to make it go away. He would do anything to make her smile again.

  “You mean, because of our night together?” he asked.

  “Exactly,” she said. “Demons and angels were never meant to… mate. It’s forbidden. When they sent me to you, I don’t think they imagined for one second we’d do what we did.”

  “But… but it was so right,” he spluttered. “How can something like our love be forbidden? How can it be wrong?”

  “It doesn’t get any worse than this. It’s probably the worst crime there is. It was bad enough when the Grigori started having physical relationships with mortal women, let alone this.”

  “But I’m not even a full demon,” Sam protested. He didn’t get it. He really didn’t get it. Why would they do this to him? It wasn’t fair. It was never fair.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “They’ve made their decision. I can’t see you ever again. They consider this a huge favor just allowing me to say my goodbyes in person. In fact, I’m lucky apparently that I’m still an angel, lucky that I wasn’t cast down into the pit.”

  “I wish you would’ve been,” said Sam hotly. “At least that way, I could see you when I liked.”

  “Don’t say that, Sam. I know you’re angry but we have to face up to what we’ve done. I hate it just as much as you but I can’t do anything else.” She began to sob in misery.

  He couldn’t resist. He pulled her to him. They stayed like that for a long time, until she stopped crying.

  “We’ll find a way out of this,” he said. “I’ll talk to Gabriel. She’ll understand. She’ll help.”

  Aimi broke his embrace immediately. “Who do you think told me I couldn’t see you anymore? It was Gabriel and the other archangels who made this decision.”

  Sam was so shocked, his legs suddenly felt weak, almost giving way on him. He stumbled, the betrayal falling heavily upon him. Gabriel. She was meant to be his ally. Why had she done this to him? Suddenly, everything his father said was starting to make sense. Could he really trust those in Heaven?

  Aimi put her tiny arms around him again. “Goodbye, my love. I’ll watch over you. I’ll never stop watching you or loving you. We’ll always be together that way.”

  “No!” he said, pleading with her, desperate. He put his arms around her and squee
zed, imagining in his desperation that if he hugged her tightly, she would never be able to leave him — never be able to escape. Somehow, she still slipped out of his grasp. Even when she was human, she’d been hard to hold on to. Before he could move, she was airborne, her beautiful wings outstretched.

  “I love you, Sam. I will always love you.”

  “No!” he screamed at her. “Don’t leave me. I’ve only just got you back. You can’t leave. It’s not fair!” But it was too late. She was gone, lost in the clouds.

  For a moment, he stood completely still, frozen in grief and despair. Then with anger so intense it made him feel cold, he drew his swords. He attacked the bush with more fury than he thought he was capable of, reducing it to scattered twigs. As he hacked at it, a low keening sound emerged from his throat. There were dead trees in the distance, the beginnings of the forest he had avoided. He sprinted towards them, chopping at the first one he reached with strokes so powerful they almost severed the thick trunks with one blow. The tree toppled. He ignored it and moved onto the next one and the next and the next, more effective than the most efficient lumberjack. As he hewed, he began to sob, the first time he had truly cried. He’d only cried once before, when Aimi had first been taken by the Rapture, but this was worse, much worse. Hikari had told him that demons didn’t possess tear ducts and it was true. As then, he cried tears of blood, the scarlet liquid once again streaming down his face.

  They ran down his sweatshirt and jeans, staining them. He didn’t care. He kept hacking away at the trees. Blisters formed on his hands. The blisters tore and bled. The blood ran down his hands and on to his blades so that every time he struck a tree, crimson would splatter over the dead wood.

  His rage was undiminished, his swords unblunted. It would take more punishment than this to wreck the edge of his blades. He chopped on, tireless, fueled by his anger. Hours passed… not that Sam was aware of the passage of time. Later, much later, he realized that he must have temporarily lost his mind.