Acts of God

by James Beauseigneur

  Lying there flat on his face, Milner remained motionless until the sun began to drop behind the horizon. Rising then to his feet, Milner thrust out his open hands and called out to the sun.

  "Oh great Sol, giver of light and life to this planet, I stand before you in your ancient temple and call upon you to break free and resist the will of the villain, Yahweh, who torments us by your rays." Closing his eyes, Milner seemed to wait for a response. Apparently he received the answer he wanted, for a smile slowly creased his face. Spinning around to the east, he clenched his open hands into defiant fists, and again shouted as loudly as he could, proclaiming his purpose and his commission. "In the name of the Light Bearer, and of his son, Christopher, and in the name of myself and all of Humankind, I declare my independence and my defiance of Yahweh, the god of sickness and disease and oppression! We will not yield to you! We will not submit to you! We will not bow to you! We declare our freedom from you! We spit upon you and upon your name!"

  Immediately a cool breeze radiated outward from where Milner stood.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Darkness

  11:00 a.m., Saturday, July 4, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.) — Derwood, Maryland

  By Saturday morning, the heat was gone and the electricity was back on. Decker took a long-needed shower and moved back into his bedroom. He had a few things to do to prepare for the next plague — the darkness — but for the most part, Decker planned to just take it easy and recuperate from the heat. He'd worry later about the disorder in the laundry room and put everything back in its proper place.

  He wondered again why no one from the U.N. had called. He assumed that even though he couldn't make a long distance call out, they could probably still call him as long as he had local service. For the first time Decker began to wonder if the call would ever come. As for the police, Decker had decided that they must not know he was there. But just in case his attempt to call out a few days earlier had been logged and passed on to the police, he decided to continue to wear his bandages at all times except when bathing, just to be safe.

  6:38 a.m., Sunday, July 5, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.)

  Decker opened his eyes halfway and saw the morning. It seemed like any other summer morning: the air was clear and the first rays of dawn began to illuminate his room. Perhaps the darkness would not begin today. Decker rolled over to look at the night table beside the bed. There were the flashlights and extra batteries, just where he'd left them. He closed his eyes again. For right now he just wanted to sleep.

  9:30 a.m.

  Decker slept soundly, peacefully, dreaming of nothing in particular, when he suddenly realized something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and it wasn't just in his dream. Even in his sleep he could sense it.

  Decker opened his eyes and looked around his bedroom. A cold sweat began to form on his brow. Everything seemed all right, but the dread that filled him did not go away.

  Outside his window the sun shone brightly, casting warm beams of light into his room. Still he could not shake the feeling that something was terribly amiss.

  Drawn by the light, Decker rose from his bed to open the window. But as he looked out from his second floor bedroom, the faceless terror that had awakened him took on a loathsome and ghastly form. Seeping upward out of the ground below his window and everywhere he could see, a hideous evil oozed like black puss, obscuring everything it covered. In only seconds it grew from simple puddling in the low-lying areas to a depth that obscured the ground completely. Decker's curiosity, normally one of his strongest drives, was utterly silenced by the stark panic that consumed him. He did not want to know what the darkness was; he did not need to know. He knew already. It was evil — the sum total of all the evil that had been done upon the earth — every murder, every lie, every rape, every torture, every act of cannibalism, every beating of an innocent, every human sacrifice, every destructive act upon the earth itself, every brutal mutilation of a child, every gulag, every pogrom, every death camp of every war, every slaughter of the blameless, every cruelty to a helpless animal. All of it had been absorbed and held in by the earth until now it could be held no longer, and it gushed forth like nefarious vomit.

  Neither did Decker wonder how high it would rise. There was no question: it would cover and consume everything. Already it had covered the gravestones of Elizabeth, Hope and Louisa. Only at this did another emotion — rage at the indignity to his family's grave — briefly exceed his trepidation.

  Decker pulled the window shut.

  It did not matter. He knew it did not matter.

  He ran out of the room to the landing at the top of the stairs. The darkness was in his house. It had filled most of the bottom floor of the split level and was two or three feet deep in the second level, rising quickly up the stairs toward him.

  Hurrying back to his bedroom, Decker slammed the door shut and tore the sheets from his bed and shoved them into the gap at the base of the door. With strength born of fright, he effortlessly pulled the dresser away from the opposite wall and thrust it against the door.

  It was hopeless.

  Somehow he knew it, even as he did all that he could to prevent the malevolent shadow from entering the room. Nothing on earth could stop it. Still, he had to try.

  Soon the bedroom floor was covered and Decker screamed like a frightened child as he pranced atop his bed, trying hopelessly to climb the wall.

  All reason had left him. There was only fear.

  In scant seconds the ooze rose to the level of the bed and rolled over onto the mattress, running quickly into the depression at Decker's feet. From the second it touched his bare skin, he was paralyzed with more terror than he had ever before imagined. Not even in Vietnam, with bullets flying all around him, had he felt terror like this.

  Throughout the world, everywhere, everyone, the entire planet, was covered with the evil darkness — everywhere except Petra ... and a single office in the United Nations' Secretariat Building in Babylon.

  There would be no news coverage of this plague.

  No speeches.

  Only terror.

  Decker stood, unable to help himself, as the blackness crawled up his legs, his undefined fear so great he dared not even blink. The darkness was not just around him, it was on him — all over him, like a cold, dark, wet blanket of gaseous slime that no light could penetrate. He feared for his life, and yet he wanted nothing so much as to yield and die, to be done with it.

  The darkness was filled with razors and acid and sharp venomous teeth; Decker was sure of it. And yet there was no pain, not yet anyway, only the certainty that those injurious things and even worse were poised only inches away, ready to cut and burn and rip his flesh from his bones at his slightest move.

  The blackness now reached his genitals and despite his fear of movement, involuntarily his eyes closed and his jaw locked tight in clenched anguish. With every centimeter more that it swallowed him, the terror grew. Finally, it reached his chin and the last bit of light was about to be eclipsed.

  Some years before, after finding his wife and children dead, Decker had teetered on the brink of insanity and chosen to come back; he realized now that had been a mistake. He had many times taken risks that taunted death and survived; now he wished he hadn't. It was not death that he feared. Had he been offered poison at this moment, he would have drunk it eagerly. Had he a gun, he would not have hesitated to take the barrel into his mouth and quickly fire a bullet into his brain. Had he a knife, he would have joyously driven it into his chest.

  It was not death he feared, but the life that would allow him to feel the torment that he knew would begin before his next breath. Finally, he could bear it no more. With his head tilted back and every vertebrae in his neck stretched to keep his mouth and nose above the darkness as it rose above his chin, he collapsed into unconsciousness in a heap on the bed.

  The veil of stupor provided no relief, for even in his unconscious state his mind filled with the images of what he could not see. It was only moments bef
ore his eyes opened, though he quickly shut them again. On either side of his head, two huge crows perched, waiting anxiously for him to open them again so they could pluck his eyes from their sockets. He could not see them in the blackness but he knew they were there, just as he knew also that the floor beside his bed crawled with snakes. Even closer, on the bed all around him, teemed rats, starving for their next meal. And though his body had fallen in a crumpled contorted mass when he passed out, he dared not move an inch, for any motion at all was sure to rouse the rats and make them aware of his location.

  There was something else in the room, too. He could not see it but he knew it was there. Perhaps there were many of them: bloodthirsty creatures which defied description and would no doubt tear the living flesh from his frail human form as they devoured him. His only hope — though he certainly would not have used so positive a word as hope — was that the darkness was equally as impenetrable to the eyes of the beasts as it was to him.

  Decker became aware of his nervous perspiration as it formed and pooled before running off his body. Could they smell his sweat? If so — and he felt certain that they could — their claws were already extended, ready to sink deep into his flesh to hold him still as they drove their fangs into his squirming body.

  He wanted to scream. He needed to scream, but he dared not. Even as they sank their teeth into him and slurped up his blood and tore the raw meat from his bones, he was determined that he would not cry out, for by his scream he would only draw others to the feeding frenzy.

  He longed to sink into his bed, the one direction from which nothing seemed to threaten, but then saw the folly of his desire, as he realized that only inches below him a pool of piranha waited anxiously.

  As all the horrors filled his mind, suddenly it became clear that he had been a fool, for it was not a bed below him at all. All that he had dreaded — the crows, the rats, the snakes, the razor sharp knives, the claws, and fangs, the teeth — all were supremely preferable compared to his true fate. For that which he had believed to be his own sweat was in fact saliva dripping down upon him, and what he had thought was his bed was in fact the tongue of some hideous leviathan which even now savored the pre-chewed flavor of its meal and would, with Decker's first twitch, begin to slowly crush and chew, perhaps sucking the blood from his body, allowing a warm pool to collect in its mouth before swallowing.

  Decker listened closely and thought he could hear the grinding of the beast's teeth. It was half an hour before the pain in Decker's jaw brought him to realize that it was his own teeth, clenched in terror, that he had heard grinding. He tried to stop, fearing that the sound would alert the predators to his location, but no sooner had he resolved himself to this intent than his attention was diverted by some new apprehension and he again began grinding and gnashing his teeth.

  The terror went on, unceasing. With time it actually grew worse, as Decker weakened and became susceptible to sensory delusions which fed and were fed by his hysteria. He lost all perception of time. Had he been there days or years? Had he ever been anywhere else? He had no memory of anything before this. Indeed, even to call him 'Decker' serves merely as a convenience, for in his state, a name — even his own name — was a meaningless concept. He was simply the prey, shaking with fear, and about to meet his grisly doom.

  For three days and nights Decker endured this state, barely moving, imagining ever-worsening scenarios of his situation and environment, fearing even the sound and movement of his own breathing lest it should betray him. Sleep, real sleep, was impossible, and though there were periods of unconsciousness, they were filled with apparitions no less horrible than when he was fully awake. The only way he knew he had been asleep at all was that from time to time he became aware that he had changed position, and he was certain he had not moved intentionally. He wondered why the predators had not seized the opportunity to strike. He was certain of only one thing: death would come and any delay would only extend his suffering.

  9:47 a.m., Wednesday, July 8, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.)

  When the darkness subsided after three days, its black murkiness seeping back into the earth just as it had arrived, Decker found himself lying on his bed unharmed. Dried feces lay smeared on the bed around him and caked on his hips and back. The room stank from the feces, urine, and sweat, but having been in the room with it for so long, he did not smell it.

  There was no thought of getting up to wash. Now that he no longer feared to move, he did not have the strength to do so. His jaws and teeth and head ached so badly from three days and nights of clenching and grinding that he was not certain he would survive the pain. Gently he moved his tongue along the inside of his cheeks trying to assess the damage. Loose flaps of flesh and deep ulcers revealed the pieces he had unknowingly bitten off in his torment. His tongue, too, was badly gnawed and he could only assume the missing bits had been swallowed, washed down by the warm blood which still seeped from the wounds.

  11:00 p.m., Thursday, July 9, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.)

  Decker opened his eyes and saw black. His heart raced in panic that the darkness had returned, until a point of light, a star outside his window, caught his eye. It was night. Decker had no idea how long he had been asleep, but his thirst was unbearable and the simple disgust he had felt earlier at his condition had now turned to burning discomfort: for four and a half days he had lain in his own excrement and its saline and acidic qualities had eaten away at his flesh, leaving raw sores on his buttocks, thighs and back. His head and jaws still hurt, but he managed to get to the bathroom to clean up.

  After a long warm shower, Decker found some gauze and antibiotic cream to tend his wounds. Returning to his room, he determined his mattress to be a total loss. He'd have to do something with it later but for now he decided to sleep the rest of the night in the guest room.

  11:17 a.m., Friday, July 10,4 N.A. (2026 A.D.)

  When Decker awoke the next morning, having slept most of the more than forty-eight hours since the darkness ceased, he got up and slowly made his way to the kitchen. He was weak not only from surviving the darkness but from hunger and thirst as well. He did not know how long it had been since he had eaten but he was not surprised to find mold growing on the bread and the milk in the refrigerator soured. He had not fully restocked after the heat, which was just as well since most of the perishable items were turning bad. Apparently the power had gone out again.

  After looking around the kitchen, he finally settled on scraping the mold from the bread and heating up a years-old can of cream of chicken soup. He had eaten worse, far worse. Besides, his jaws and teeth still ached and his tongue and the inside of his cheeks felt like raw hamburger. For the next few days, at least, soup and soft bread were as close to solid food as he wanted to get. Still, he would need to call Tolinson soon to restock . . . if indeed, Tolison had survived this last plague.

  As he ate, Decker turned on the television to determine the effect the darkness had had on the rest of the world. He got an immediate sense of the impact as he flipped through channel after channel of 'dead air'. Only a few of the stations had resumed broadcasting. It was only now that he learned that, unlike the three previous plagues, the plague of darkness had lasted only three days, half as long as the others. Living through it, it had felt to Decker like an eternity. It seemed to him that if it had lasted six days like the other plagues, no one on earth would have survived.

  Even so, many had not fared so well as he. No one was certain of the count, but the most conservative estimates of the dead were in the tens of millions. Most of the deaths resulted from heart failure. The toll was especially hard on the elderly. Many others had been killed in motor vehicle accidents. Forty-eight hours after the darkness had lifted, the streets and highways were still littered with the dead. Some had died instantly, others bled to death over the three days of darkness. Babies died in their cribs. Hospitals had become morgues. Planes, trains, subways, and buses — all means of mass transit — had become mass sepulchers.

  For m
ore than three full days every human activity on the planet had come to a complete halt. Even now, two days after the darkness, most of those who survived were just beginning to recover enough to start to move about. Decker supposed that this plague, like the others, had somehow been ended by Milner, but from what little news there was so far, no one really seemed to care.

  4:30 p.m.

  After eating, Decker fell asleep on the couch for several more hours. When he awoke, he had another bowl of soup and turned the news back on. In the interim, the networks had been hard at work gathering information. With all that had happened, it was no surprise that the insta-polls found a significant drop in Christopher's approval rating. What was surprising was just how big the drop was.

  "The lead story this half hour," the anchor said, "is Secretary-General Christopher Goodman's meteoric fall in the polls. With a special report on our poll and the impact it will have on the Secretary-General," the anchor continued, "here's Ree Anthony."

  "Betty," the reporter began, addressing the news anchor, "according to our exclusive CTN Worldwide Insta-Poll, taken within the last twenty minutes, the Secretary-General's approval rating has fallen to a new low — only 11% overall — with even lower ratings among some segments of the population." Decker listened in disbelief. An insta-poll graphic appeared on the screen showing Christopher's continuous dramatic decline in approval ratings from 97% to 85% in the first week after the onset on the sores, to 71% after the second plague, to 55% after the fresh water turned to blood, to 35% after the heat, and now to his current rating of only 11%. As the reporter pointed out, the graph showed valleys and peaks corresponding to each of the plagues and their conclusions. But with each additional plague there came an overall trend that was steadily and rapidly downward. That the polling company could count on sufficient audience response despite what the world had just been through was sad testimony to the power of interactive media.