Continuous forks of lightning raked the clouds and threw off peels of thunder. Sporadic gunfire filled the street, resounding from a dozen different directions.
Amid the confusion, one face loomed. Charging at Ricks, the gaunt, bearded leader of the orange robes brandished a sub-machine gun. Ricks traded bullets with the terrorist, with the robed leader pressing forward until a lucky shot tore through Ricks' shoulder. The force of the blow threw him to the ground.
Stunned and sprawled on his back, pain blooming from his shoulder in waves and bile stinging the back of his throat, Ricks could only look on as the orange-robed man approached the truck. The terrorist ignored him, intent only on what lay inside the door.
Shivering from shock and the relentless wind, Ricks looked past the terrorist at the scene inside the truck.
Four bald men dressed in black robes and holding small, cryptic objects in their hands sat on the bench seats. Their mouths moved in wordless prayers, some citation he could only imagine. Without so much as a glance at what was unfolding outside, they guarded a shackled fifth man, who was seated in the centre of the truck's cargo bay.
Their prisoner was dressed in a simple sackcloth robe. A hood was draped over his head. Long strands of grey hair trailed below the hood.
The air was abuzz with electricity.
The black robes continued to stare at the prisoner and mutter, although it was obvious they were itching to turn away, to react to the looming threat standing six feet away.
Something appeared in the orange-robed leader's hand. Something small, round, and dark. The man tossed the object inside. It clattered at the feet of the black-robed men. Noticing the grenade, only one of the men tore his eyes away, recognising his impending doom with a shocked expression. The others remained stoic, muttering their little prayers with grim determination.
The terrorist retreated a few steps and turned away, leaving Ricks lying on the road in pain, holding his breath at what was to come.
A brilliant white flash and a loud bang erupted from the grenade, followed by a terrible sizzling noise that caused Ricks to wince. It sounded like lightning gone wrong.
Blinking the blindness away, Ricks lay there stunned, unable to believe his eyes.
A huge, powerful man stood at the brink of the cargo bay. He stretched his arms wide as though testing long disused muscles. His simple sackcloth was a contradiction to the power that radiated from him in waves.
His wild mane of grey hair was matched by an impressive salt and pepper beard. One of his eyes was missing. In its place was an ugly gouged hole that only added to his air of authority. The man was the embodiment of grim.
Behind him, still seated in their places, the four black-robed men were charred, smouldering corpses. Their limbs had been randomly rearranged. Blackened arms were macabrely repositioned as legs and vice versa. The charcoal and flesh smell caused Ricks to gag.
The fighting had died again. The only sound to be heard was the storm and the whistling wind. The orange-robed men had lowered their weapons and formed a reverential half-circle around the truck and the man astride it—the man they'd just freed.
Ricks crawled away, struggling against pain with every movement. Blood trickled between his fingers as he fought to staunch his shoulder wound. He propped himself against the bullet-scarred shell of the nearest Humvee. Guilt knotted his gut.
The grey-haired man waved his arms in a flourish and addressed the gathered terrorists in orange robes. "I am Odin, the Skyfather, King of the Gods, Lord of Asgard. Too long have I been forced into servitude."
Bolts of lightning crackled and streamed from his body as he rose into the air.
"Loki and the men of Midgard will pay for their treachery, now and forever! Ragnarok shall be your reward." Odin rose ever higher into the air. The god vanished into clouds as dark as midnight. His passage was marked by a blazing circle of lightning that danced across the sky before it, too, faded from view.
The heavens snapped; rain saturated Ricks and the men gathered around the truck.
"Aw, shit." The terrorist leader's gaze was fixed skyward. "I thought they had Jehovah in there."
* * *
Genesis Six
"And the LORD said, I will destroy Man whom I have created from the face of the earth; both Man, and beast, and the creeping thing, and the fowls of the air; for it repenteth me that I hath made them." — Genesis 6:7
"I can hear the ocean, Mummy."
A roar shuddered across the city like waves pitched onto the shore at the height of summer.
"Are we going to the beach?" Jessica asked, excited by the abrupt change of routine. She shifted in her seat and fidgeted with the white veil covering her head.
"No, honey," Libby's voice was taut. "We're just going for a drive."
Libby scanned for signs of traffic as she gunned the car along the freeway, pushing it beyond the limits of safety. Barely a soul could be seen in either direction. An aura of abandonment hung in the air.
The people were ignorant as they toiled at work.
A stale, dusty breeze forced its way through the dashboard vents. The tiniest flecks of grey settled on Libby's sleeve as she jammed the vents closed. The cabin became a mausoleum, entombing them with stagnant air.
"Mummy, I wanna take this off." Jessica fiddled with the veil.
"No, sweetie. Leave it on for now. I'll tell you when you can take it off." Libby strained to keep the sharpness from her tone.
She threw the car into a loping turn as she banked up the off-ramp. Skidding onto the adjunct highway, she blew clear of the slip-lane and weaved through the narrow lanes. The traffic was minimal.
The roar grew louder as each second passed.
"We are going to the beach!" Jessica wriggled against her seatbelt. "I wanna see the ocean."
"No, Jess," Libby snapped, "leave the cloth on."
As she glanced back at Jess, the car wavered for an instant and threatened to fishtail out of control.
Libby tugged the steering wheel back to centre and regained control. A more cautious glance confirmed Jess was still wearing the veil, much to her relief. At least she'd be spared the worst. Hopefully no one would notice her face when push came to shove.
A tense silence engulfed them as Libby braved the narrow highway at speed. The road snaked upward, climbing steadily into the city's suburban foothills.
Knots of confused people gathered by parked cars, many more clumped into crowds by the side of the road. All eyes were fixed on the cityscape and the coast beyond.
Chancing a look in the mirror, Libby's stomach clenched tight. Her view, like the crowd's, was uninterrupted.
Dozens of cars from the nearby suburbs scrambled onto the serpentine double lane, ignoring the dazed crowds in their desperation. More and more vehicles joined Libby's flight from the city, forming slow-moving obstacles ahead. She weaved through the erratic traffic as best she could.
"Where are we going?" Jess's voice was tiny and distant, smothered by the roar as it gathered strength
"We're going to see your dad."
"Daddy Sean?"
"No honey. Your real dad." Her voice cracked. "Not Sean. He's at work."
Libby's eyes drifted to the revolver on the passenger seat. An expedient death within easy reach. She searched the rear-view mirror; her eyes drifted between her veiled daughter and the horizon behind.
The rumble reverberated through her skull and rattled the windows.
Her thoughts lingered on Sean, his gentle touch, his reassuring embrace. With tearful eyes, she ran the car through a flashing orange traffic light, oblivious to the chorus of car horns.
A glimmer of light beckoned from the hill's summit.
Her chest tightened at the sight.
She floored the accelerator, throwing the car around plodding vehicles, mounting the curb in her flight.
The sky ahead was cloudless. The corona of white light that capped the hill bled into the azure horizon. The blue sky behind her had darkened t
o black.
"Who's my real daddy?" Jess asked, ignorant of the people swarming the streets and their panic-stricken faces.
Libby closed her eyes for a heartbeat, struggling against the weight of Jess' question. The memories lurked behind her eyes. The painful light. Her skin afire under his touch. The cycle of mistreatment, and finally, the abandonment. In so many ways, Jess' true father was a pale shadow compared to the love and support provided by Sean.
The growing roar ate the sounds of crunched metal and screeching rubber as vehicles splayed across the road and crashed into one another.
"Hold on, Jess."
Every fibre of Libby's being was invested into negotiating the road ahead.
Within sight of the huge sphere of brilliant light, a jumble of cars choked the road to a standstill. Libby screeched to an ungainly halt, nudging into the rear of a stranded sedan. People crawled and clambered across the vehicles, a swarm of ants desperately fleeing a doomed colony.
The wind carried screams from afar. Agonized screams.
Libby kicked the door open and dived from the car. The pistol tucked into the back of her jeans was clearly visible. She raced around to Jess, wrenched the door wide and pulled her from the vehicle.
"Don't look, honey." She thrust a hand over Jessica's veiled face.
Libby looked up and paused, surveying the cityscape one last time.
The darkness swallowing the sea had struck the coast.
The horizon was unravelling as far as the eye could see. The spires of the city shook apart as the darkness surged forth on an endless front.
The mounting rumble shook the earth, reverberating through her until it threatened to shake her apart before the darkness arrived.
A black void now existed where once the ocean swelled. The sky too had soured to black, sucked into the insatiable void. Strands of the city—buildings, trees, streets, and people—broke apart, trailing long lines of chaos into the void as an immeasurable cosmic force ripped the world asunder. As the line of oblivion advanced, more of the physical world unravelled like innumerable threads pulled taut.
Libby's heart tore in sympathy as she watched the city sunder beneath the darkness. "Sean," she whispered.
Somewhere in that swirl of carnage, her husband was lost. The attempted phone call, an anguished effort to warn him, was dashed by a busy signal and an insane compulsion to get Jess away. She rued the compulsion and her impatience. Sean was forever beyond her help and her love.
The darkness pressed on in a relentless tide. Cries of terror merged with the roar and keening screams as flesh and bone were ripped apart. Like the earth around them, man and woman alike were shredded by the void as it engulfed all.
Libby snatched Jess' hand and yanked her up the hill. Scrambling over the jumble of vehicles congesting the road, they struggled toward the light—and hope.
Dozens of others, from every class and culture, merged together in their escape. The elderly, the young, and the infirm were pushed aside, left to fend for themselves as the crowd surged forward.
Libby and Jess were suffocated by the throng as they battled through the maze of car wrecks and elbows.
"You've gotta run, Jess! Run hard!"
"I can't, Mummy. I can't see."
Their escape slowed to a crawl. Hundreds of people clogged the street, clambered over cars, and poured from nearby houses. The rank odour of fear and sweat filled their noses.
With their escape slipping away, Libby pulled the gun free and fired into the air.
Two loud booms, piercing enough to penetrate the encroaching rumble, rocked the crowd. On instinct, most paused or ducked for cover. Libby bolted forward, dragging Jess with her to the forefront of the mob.
She snatched a fevered glance behind. The line of darkness had swallowed most of the city and was unravelling the first suburbs of the foothills.
Few people, if any, behind her would beat the advancing void.
The immense curtain of light scythed across streets and houses. It loomed just a short sprint ahead.
Knots of people ran, screamed, and clumped together, some running from the darkness, some running from the light. Many more stood agape, staring vacant-eyed as the world crumbled around them. Screams, shouts, and the overwhelming roar of oblivion echoed in Libby's ears.
A few steps ahead, a line elderly men and women stumbled forward—delaying their escape into the light.
The shrieks from behind intensified. The void swallowed the hill's base, wrenching the crowds into jigsaws of mist and pulp.
No time left. Libby checked Jess. Her veil was slipping off.
Libby levelled the gun and blasted away. An old couple, hand in hand, collapsed to the ground in front of her. Others hesitated at the fallen, but continued their frantic escape regardless.
Libby dragged Jess over the gunned-down bodies. They scrambled clear and dived through the radiant wall.
The terrible rumble peaked into an all-consuming shriek, only to vanish in an instant.
Silence.
The white light plunged Libby into blindness. The sting in her eyes contrasted with the pleasant warmth on her skin.
Tall, intensely bright figures loomed in her hampered vision—their cores brighter than the brilliant white background. Libby struggled to define them as they approached.
As her eyes adjusted to the intensity of the light, she noticed others—scores of wandering, lost people, perhaps even a few hundred.
The last remnant of the city.
The last remnant of humanity.
She fumbled for Jess. Her veil had slipped free. Luminous spheres of light shone from her daughter's face in place of her once enchanting green eyes. In this sanctuary of light, her glowing eyes seemed to belong.
"It doesn't matter what you see now or who sees you. The worst is over." Libby ran trembling fingers through her daughter's hair. Gunshots and death played through her mind.
Jess looked up at her but said nothing.
An impossibly tall figure appeared in front of them. Perhaps humanoid, parts of it merged with the light, others shimmered into random shapes. Its core was brighter than all else in this menagerie of light. Meeting its gaze stung Libby's eyes.
"Sammael," Libby said.
Closing her eyes, the memory fragments played through her mind. The visitations, the burning inside her, the fleeting euphoria and the lingering sense of exploitation.
Sammael declared in ultra-sonic tones that were more understood than heard, "You have brought my daughter."
Libby cradled Jess, unsure what to say or do. The desperate compulsion which had summoned her here burned away under the scrutiny of Sammael's glare.
Jess stared up at her father with intense nova eyes, evenly meeting his alien gaze. Their eyes locked for long seconds, burning brighter for the briefest of moments.
Dozens of other children stood apart from the frightened crowd. All possessed the fey lines and glowing eyes of their fathers.
"Come," Sammael motioned.
A shimmering, multi-hued portal appeared, framed by the formless light.
Stunned, Libby held Jess tight. Angels ushered children through the rainbow gate.
Jess disentangled herself from her mother's arms and drifted towards the glowing aura of her father.
"Jess, come here, baby," Libby said.
Her daughter looked over her shoulder. Jess wavered, Sammael crept closer.
"Jess." Libby extended her arms.
Sammael's eyes flared, matched by Jess' a moment later.
Jess turned from her mother a second time and wandered toward the portal.
Tears trickled down Libby's face, warm and unpleasant in the light. Her despair focussed into a ball of rage as Jess, the final shred of meaning in her life, began to slip away.
Aware of the weight in her trembling hand, Libby instinctively raised the gun.
"No!" she screamed, and fired at Sammael's luminous form.
Jess stopped. All eyes turned to face Libby. Every
thing stilled as she stood mute, not daring to move or breathe.
Sammael's aura blazed an intense white-red, imprinting flare stains on her eyes. Pain and heat seared her fingers, forcing her to drop the gun. It fell to the ground, the sound echoless and distant.
Libby's scream caught in her throat, escaping as a choked sob. Her legs, hollow, numb, failed her at the last. She collapsed to her knees.
Other people hovered around her. Grief-stricken mothers, having lost everything, abandoned and left to wander. Exiled by the darkness, forsaken by the light.
Jess and the other half-angels were guided through the portal by angelic hands.
"A second time the tyrant, Yahweh, has sought to destroy our offspring, the Nephilim," intoned Sammael. "This unmaking of creation has proven futile."
The angel's words echoed across the pocket of light and into the empty void beyond. "Our children shall take up arms against the tyrant-lord and walk the fields of Heaven once more."
* * *
About the author:
Shane Jiraiya Cummings lives in Perth, Western Australia. He has been acknowledged as "one of Australia's leading voices in dark fantasy", had more than sixty short stories published in Australia, USA, and Europe, and his work has been translated in Spanish, French, and Polish. Shane has won two Ditmar Awards, and he has been nominated for more than twenty other major awards including Spain's Premios Ignotus.
Shane is an Active Member of the Horror Writers Association and former Vice President of the Australian Horror Writers Association. When he is not writing, Shane is an editor and journalist by day and sword fighting instructor by night.
In his youth, Shane was trained in the deadly arts of the ninja, and the name Jiraiya (lit. "Young Thunder", after the legendary ninja Jiraiya) was bestowed upon him by his sensei.
More information on Shane (including his free fiction) can be found online at http://www.jiraiya.com.au.
Interact with Shane on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Shane-Jiraiya-Cummings/401910315831) or rate and review his books on Goodreads (http://www.goodreads.com/jiraiyac).
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Apocrypha Sequence: Divinity Page 4