“Tell us, what do you know of the Nephilim?”
“Everything,” Merrill said.
Enki seemed miffed. “Perhaps you would like to summarize your knowledge.”
Merrill described the Nephilim’s dual parentage, their attempt at sabotaging the future savior of the human race, and their motivation for doing so: the Nephilim’s soulless eternal lives. He continued to put pieces of a puzzle together that he was still just seeing for the first time. He told them about the flood, how Noah had escaped in the ark, and how the Nephilim had escaped to Antarktos. The new portion of the story he’d only now just put together was that the Nephilim had returned, much fewer in number, to the land of men, in Canaan, but elsewhere as well. They became the basis for the world’s ancient myths and religions. As man advanced and shrugged off the old religions, many of the Nephilim, spread out around the world, returned to Antarktos and waited for the right moment to again reveal themselves and continue their corruption of humanity.
Not all the Nephilim had returned. Those who were smaller had remained and merged with humanity, disappearing into its growing population . . . and waiting. They became influential men, warriors of fame, and leaders of nations. Perhaps they still were. When the strike finally came, it would not only come from the pure-blooded Nephilim emerging from Antarktos, but also from those hidden within the human population and their half-breed children. How many there were he could only guess, but it would no doubt be an army. It was a conspiracy theory for the ages, but as Enki nodded in confirmation, Merrill bit his lip. If he was right, the human race was indeed in jeopardy.
Suddenly Merrill had a revelation. In an instant he knew just who he was dealing with . . . and what they were after. He spoke the verse aloud, slowly and concisely, as he recalled every word. “‘The locusts looked like horses prepared for battle. On their heads they wore something like crowns of gold, and their faces resembled human faces. Their hair was like women's hair, and their teeth were like lions' teeth. They had breastplates like breastplates of iron, and the sound of their wings was like the thundering of many horses and chariots rushing into battle. They had tails and stings like scorpions, and in their tails they had power to torment people for five months. They had as king over them the angel of the Abyss, whose name in Hebrew is Abaddon, and in Greek, Apollyon.’”
Merrill turned his head, eyes wide to Whitney. “Revelation 9:7-11.”
Whitney’s eyes widened. The verse described the Nephilim uncannily well. It was further confirmed when Enki stood and stepped toward them. His toothy grin revealed sharp teeth, like a lion’s. His long red hair flowed over his shoulders. The metal ring around his head reflected the light, gleaming yellow, like gold. “Now you know everything.”
“You are Apollyon?” Merrill asked, stunned.
“No,” Enki said. “Apollyon, is our father.”
Of course! Merrill thought. The sons of demons were returning to wage war on humanity. It seemed so clear, so obvious. But Merrill couldn’t accept it. It was all too strange. “But you have no wings! No tails with stingers to torment! You can’t be—”
Enki laughed and the deep roar of his voice echoed off the walls. Merrill covered his ears. With a quick yank, Enki was out of his robes, standing before them dressed for battle with an iron breastplate strapped to his chest. Then from behind, two wings peeled from his body like tearing flesh and spread, black and fleshy like a bat’s. A tail, tipped with a five-inch stinger, dropped down and twitched behind the giant, eager to strike, like a threatened scorpion.
Enki leaned in close. “Gifts”—His breath smelt of the rotting flesh stuck between his double rows of teeth—“from our father.”
Merrill backed away, hiding Mirabelle behind him. Her fingers gripped into his back as she clung to him. She was as petrified as he was. The enemy prophesied in the Bible so long ago had emerged to wage their war. This was worse than anything he’d ever imagined. He had always been a bit of an end-times pessimist. He’d hear others say, “We’re in the end times because things are so bad.” He’d always disagreed, thinking things would get much worse before Armageddon. But even his dire predictions paled in comparison to reality.
This was worse. Much worse.
“Take them away,” Enki said to the guards who had carried Mirabelle and Merrill into the room. Enki looked directly at Merrill, his eyes almost glowing like light bulbs, and said, “We will speak again, when the hopelessness of your situation has taken root in your feeble mind. Then you will tell us everything we want to know about your world, and how best to destroy it.”
Chapter 61
Waking slowly, Cruz felt a comfortable pressure hugging his body. It felt like a freezing sixty degree day in Pasadena when he’d wake up for school and stay wrapped tightly in his blankets. He tried rolling over, but his body was stuck. He moved the other direction. Still nothing.
Then he noticed a dull ache in his shoulders, which were raised above his head. He opened his eyes, but saw only pitch black. He craned his head up to get a different view and cracked it on something hard . . . rock hard.
His situation returned to the forefront of his mind. He was trapped, still, under a mountain of rock. As hopelessness reasserted itself in his mind and tears began to form as he reverted back to a child-like state, a voice cut through his despair.
“Cruz, can you hear me?” It was al-Aziz. He hadn’t left him.
Though he could only look down at the floor, Cruz could see light. Al-Aziz had come back! “I’m here,” Cruz said, doing his best impression of a fearless military man. “Now get me the hell out of here.”
“I’m sorry I took so long,” al-Aziz said. Cruz had no idea how long it had actually been. “But the backpack got stuck and I had to unpack it from my side to get it through.”
That was all he’d done? Crawled through and unpacked the backpack? That couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes. Wait, Cruz thought, how did he unpack the gear? He had the pack behind him; unless . . . “Al-Aziz, where are you?”
Cruz felt a tap on his fingers. “I am here,” al-Aziz said. “In a cave.” The man laughed. “Your fear is misguided, my friend. Your hands are only inches from the cave entrance.”
Cruz wished he could look up and see it for himself. Freedom was only inches away, though he was still stuck.
“Any ideas?” Cruz asked.
He felt al-Aziz take his hands. “You need to lock wrists with me. I will brace my feet on the wall and try to pull you free.”
Cruz knew how stuck he was. Al-Aziz wouldn’t have the strength to pull him free, not without stripping some flesh off in the attempt.
“Take several deep breaths then push all the air from your lungs. It will make you smaller.”
Or maybe it would work.
Cruz did as al-Aziz said, taking four deep breaths and then blowing out all the air. He felt a stab of pain in his wrists as al-Aziz put his whole body into pulling Cruz free. Then the pain was overshadowed by another sensation—movement. Cruz slid forward, slowly, but he was making progress.
Al-Aziz could be heard grunting with exertion, but the pulling never eased. For a man who once had vowed to kill as many Americans as possible, he was sure doing his damnedest to save one now.
As the inches passed, the tunnel shrank, squeezing Cruz tighter and tighter. He felt his ribs bending inward. If one were to break, a lung could be punctured. He opened his mouth to tell al-Aziz to stop as the pain grew intense, but there was no air to form words.
Then the tunnel gave birth to a man; Cruz’s barrel chest slipped from the confined space and his body spilled out into the small cave. Al-Aziz fell backwards and slid across the floor. Sucking in breaths was hard for Cruz at first. His chest had been so compressed that every breath brought a fit of pain as his ribs flexed back to their natural position.
When his lungs were full again and the pain had subsided, Cruz began to laugh. “Man, I thought you left.”
Al-Aziz sat up. “I do not leave friends behin
d.” Then he motioned around the cave with his flashlight. “Besides, there is nowhere to go.”
He was right. A few holes in the wall allowed the air to continue moving, but they weren’t human-sized. Not that Cruz cared. He’d rather starve to death in this cave than crawl through another tunnel. As the light played off the wall and floor, Cruz noticed the floor was unusually reflective. He clicked on his own flashlight and shined it at the floor. It glistened like dirty glass. “More mica.”
In fact the whole floor was mica.
Cruz took a whack at the floor with his flashlight and chipped off a slab of the clear mineral. But it wasn’t the slab that caught his attention; it was the hollow clunk the floor made when Cruz struck it. He hit it again. Clunk. Definitely hollow.
Moving quickly, Cruz took out a detonator cap and a tiny ball of C4. The explosion would be enough to put a small hole in the floor without blowing them to bits. If there was a space below, they still might find a way out. He arranged the C4 on the far side of the cave so that the energy of the explosion would shoot straight down.
Al-Aziz must have quickly realized Cruz’s plan, because he was crouched on the far side of the cave, hands over head. Cruz joined him and pushed the detonator button. There was a loud pop and a cloud of dust. Breathing through his arm, Cruz looked back and saw a five-inch hole in the floor. It had worked!
Cruz got to his feet and walked toward the hole.
“Wait!” al-Aziz shouted as Cruz reached the cave’s center. “Listen!”
Cruz held his breath. Then he heard it. Like cracking ice, a sharp crunch came from the floor. Cruz shone his flashlight down and saw the floor crumble beneath his weight. He attempted to dive to the side, but before he could push off, the entire floor of the cave collapsed beneath him.
Both men fell, arms flailing, into open space.
Chapter 62
Merrill paced furiously in the oversized jail cell. He’d been muttering thus since they had been brought back an hour ago. He was driving Whitney crazy. “Dad, you need to slow down. You’re not going to think clearly all worked up like this.”
Merrill jolted to a stop, eyes wide, and looked at her. “I’ve never thought so clearly in my life.”
She couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or if he’d lost his mind when confronted by the Nephilim’s true form. She could barely stomach thinking about them herself. They were monsters, straight out of folklore: tailed, winged monsters. But her confusion was twofold. Not only were the Nephilim real, but it seemed there might be some credence to her father’s beliefs. This lent her some hope that maybe a higher power was looking out for them. The state of her father’s mind, however, did not.
“They’re real,” Merrill said. “And they’re being led by the Destroyer, Apollyon. And there is nothing we can do to stop them. They have come to prepare earth for the final battle, for Armageddon.”
“Dad . . .”
“Some people thought there would be actual locusts. Some said Apache helicopters spraying nerve gas, but they were all wrong. It is going to be so much worse.”
“Dad.”
The man was on an unstoppable tirade. “I just can’t believe—”
“Dad!” Whitney grabbed Merrill by the shoulders and shook him. She had tears in her eyes. “The world doesn’t need you right now. I do! We need to find a way out of here. Nothing else matters. The demons. The angels. The end of the world. It can all wait!”
Merrill finally looked Whitney in the eyes.
“All that matters is you, me, and Mom. We have to escape. We—”
“What did you just say?” Merrill’s face grew pale. His clenched jaw grew slack. His taut muscles fell loose.
Whitney’s mind rewound her last sentence and replayed it internally. Damn. All attempts to come up with some reason for the slip would not be believed. She’d have to come clean . . .
“Merrill,” a sweet voice from the cell door said.
Merrill spun around so fast that he tripped and fell. His lips quivered. He still recognized his wife’s voice. “Aimee.” He clambered to his feet and stepped forward on shaking legs. “Aimee . . .”
Aimee, standing by the now-open door, draped in shadow, stepped forward. Her eyes were already wet. Merrill’s legs gave out again and he fell to his knees. Aimee ran to him. Their tear-coated faces were only inches apart. Merrill’s hands were on her face, touching her cheeks, her ears, her hair. “It’s really you.” His face became a wash of horror. “Had I known . . . I would have searched . . . I would have—”
“Merrill, there was no way you could have known.” Aimee pushed his scraggly gray hair away from his wrinkled forehead and kissed him gently. “You have nothing to feel guilty for. What matters is that we’re together now.”
Merrill embraced his wife and kissed her long and hard. She collapsed in his arms and wept as he kissed her face and forehead, sobbing lightly like he had the hiccups.
Whitney joined them on the floor and wrapped her arms around her parents. They were together again, a family! The closeness Whitney felt with her parents now far outweighed any experience she’d had as a child when they were together. They’d been given a merciful gift. Whitney had no other way to describe the events surrounding her family’s reunion. The world was in chaos. Mankind’s greatest enemy had just resurfaced. They were jailed in a giant fortress surrounded by enemies, and yet it was the happiest moment of all their lives.
Merrill was the first to leave the comfort of the embrace. His eyes seemed hard, resolved to some course of action at which Whitney could only guess. But the mania that had overtaken him before was gone. His mind was at work. He was a father and husband again. She could see that was something he’d fight for.
As though the embrace had supplied him with clarity, Merrill looked at them and said, “My two favorite girls . . . I think it is time to leave.”
Aimee brushed her hand against his cheek. “I have freedom to move about here, but there is no escape. The exits are well guarded.”
Merrill looked at the pile of rotting soldiers across the hall. “Their weapons. Where are they?”
Aimee let out a sob. “Merrill, you cannot kill them.”
Merrill stood, his face a mask of determination. “A champion named Goliath, who was from Gath, came out of the Philistine camp. He was over nine feet tall. He had a bronze helmet on his head . . .”
Whitney watched her mother’s eyes widen with recognition. This was truly a David and Goliath story if there ever had been one . . . The gears of Whitney’s mind clicked forward and everything became clear. She could see the correlation. The helmet. The gold bands around the Nephilim heads. They weren’t decorative. They were protection. Goliath had been a Nephilim!
Merrill added a second verse. “‘Reaching into his bag and taking out a stone, he slung it and struck the Philistine on the forehead. The stone sank into his forehead, and he fell facedown on the ground.’” He took Aimee’s hands again and kissed her hard on the lips. “We’ve got better slingshots,” he said. “And I will not let this family be separated. Not again.”
Aimee nodded. “Follow me.” She headed for the open cell door.
“We’re just going to walk out of here?” Whitney asked.
Aimee gave a slight smile. “As a girl, you caught some beetles and kept them in a jar. One day you left the jar open and they escaped. Do you remember?”
Whitney nodded.
“Were we worried about the beetles? Was it hard to catch them again? And the ones we never found, did we give them a second thought? We are nothing more than grasshoppers in their sight. We are as insignificant to them as your beetles were to us. When they discover us missing, they will have little trouble hunting us down.”
With that, Aimee stepped into the hallway and motioned for them to follow.
Chapter 63
Images flashed across Wright’s vision. Katherine on their wedding night, a quick affair in Vegas. His father behind the steering wheel of the family boat, cruis
ing along the Florida coast. Harris, an old drill sergeant, cussing him out. Jaws, biting and snapping at his face.
He couldn’t place the memory. Sharp canines and a black snout, pushing through water, bubbles rising. A bark. Then the jaws returned with pressure on Wright’s shoulder. The visions seemed to be taking physical form.
Then, nothing.
The world grew black for untold hours.
Wright sat up with a gasp and promptly coughed up several cups of water. He heard nothing but his own retching and felt nothing but his lungs begging for more air. The sound created by his desperate breathing was like a deranged animal call, sure to attract attention.
“Stephen,” a voice said gently. “Stephen, you’re all right. Try to slow your breathing. We’ll be heard.”
Wright looked up. Ferrell was above him. Vesuvius, looking like a wet rat, panted next to her with a look of concern on his playful face. Wright quickly remembered where they were, what was happening, and who might be alerted by his ragged breaths. He coughed into his sleeve and finally caught his breath.
He tried to sit up but a lance of pain, like a hot iron stuck between his ribs, sent him back down. “What the hell did you do to me?”
“CPR, dear,” Ferrell said. She smiled. “Broke your ribs. Sorry.”
Wright sat up again, more slowly this time and with Ferrell’s help. He grunted.
“Don’t be such a wimp. I’ve done worse to you in bed.”
Wright laughed then grimaced with pain. Ferrell knew he dealt with pain better if things were kept humorous. Otherwise he could get downright snippy. Vesuvius wagged his tail quickly, spraying water with every swoosh. “And what happened to him?”
Ferrell pet the dog’s head. “He pulled you out. Jumped right in after seeing you floating away.”
Wright couldn’t help but smile. Vesuvius had proven to be one of the team’s most valuable members. A pang of guilt struck. The dog would never see its family again. “Bandage me up quick. We need to keep moving.”
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