by Mark Romang
She had God to thank for that. Her Father knew all her likes and talents and handpicked a perfect job for her.
When she was a mortal living on Earth she’d been an animal lover. It started when she was a kid. Growing up she once had four cats, three dogs, two hamsters, three turtles, and a parakeet. And as an adult she once lived on a sheep station in New Zealand with her husband Andrew. She had especially loved the lambing season. The little lambs had been impossibly cute and precious.
Now as a saint in heaven she’d been given the responsibility of taking care of fifty horses. And boy were they incredible horses. Tall and powerful and whiter than snow, Sara groomed and fed and exercised the horses. There were other identical white horses just like the ones she cared for. And there were other handlers just like her all over Heaven.
Sara had no idea how many horses there were in total. But the number had to be in the hundreds of millions, and maybe much higher. Because each horse would soon carry a saint down to Earth when Jesus returned to set up his earthly kingdom. Sara looked forward to that day with anticipation. And she knew the Christ followers still down on Earth also longed for that day. In fact, she knew all the earth and every creature on it groaned for the Second Coming to happen.
Sara stroked the horse’s nose. She wasn’t sure how the horses would transport their riders. She often puzzled over the possibilities, but to no avail. The horses didn’t have wings, so flying appeared out. Oh well, I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
Sara finished grooming the horse and moved on to another one grazing in the pasture. Somewhere on Earth and in the spirit realm, Andrew and Spencer waged war on demons. She wondered how they were getting along. Andrew and Spencer were traveling with an angel company. She usually didn’t worry too much for Andrew when he went on a mission. He was a true warrior, a holy soldier most likely anointed from the womb to battle evil.
She’d seen Andrew in action more than once. And it was frightening. He fought exceptionally well with everything he had, was fluent in all kinds of fighting techniques, and showed his enemies no mercy. But this time was different. This was the first time Spencer had gone along with his father.
Spencer was all grown up now, an immortal man gifted in archery. But she still thought of him as her baby, and always would.
A sudden commotion nearby grabbed her attention. She turned her head and saw a crowd of saints gesturing wildly and talking in excited tones. “The angel came from the temple of the tabernacle of testimony! And he is carrying a bowl!” one of them cried. “It’s the fifth bowl!” another shouted. “Only two more bowls to go!”
Sara looked up into the sky. Her heart quickened. She saw a brilliant white streak moving rapidly away from the city. Golden sparks fell from the angel’s contrail like sparks from a welder’s torch.
Awestruck by the wondrous sight, Sara kept her eyes trained on the angel until the dazzling streak of light disappeared completely. She felt like breaking into a halleluiah chorus. God always keeps his promises, she thought. If the angel leaving Heaven truly carried the fifth bowl, the kingdom of the Antichrist was about to go dark. And that would be so much fun to watch.
The horse she groomed nuzzled its head against her chest. She scratched the friendly horse’s ears. “I’ve to get you ready, boy. It won’t be long until you’re carrying a saint down to Earth. What a fantastic day that will be.”
****
Jehudiel flew fast and hot, glistening like a comet flying close to the sun. He rocketed through the third heaven, clutching the fifth bowl with his large hands, his fluttering wings creating a typhoon-force downdraft.
For thousands of years Jehudiel had been waiting for this moment, biding his time and visualizing the route he’d take over and over in his mind. He’d flown this trip a hundred-thousand times in his thoughts. He knew exactly where to go.
Jehudiel reached the vast reaches of God’s abode and entered the second heaven. He flew through galaxies and black holes, bypassed colorful gasses and the asteroid belt. He sped by planets and moons. Stars twinkled at him, bestowing him honor. But he paid them no mind.
Jehudiel exited the second heaven through a wormhole and penetrated the first heaven. He became as bright as a supernova and streaked through the exosphere. In just a few moments he flew through three more atmospheric layers and entered the troposphere—the lowest layer of earth’s atmospheres.
He rocketed through towering cloud banks until he reached his appointed spot. Jehudiel hovered in the cloud cover, 30,000 feet above Babylon. He gripped his bowl and looked into its chamber. The bowl’s contents simmered like a boiling toxin.
“Woe to the people of Babylon,” Jehudiel said. He tipped the bowl, releasing its contents. The small amount of liquid trickled through the clouds. It dripped from the sky like raindrops, gaining velocity, and splashed onto the roof of Henrik Skymolt’s opulent palace.
Although it was midmorning, utter darkness settled over Babylon at once. The mighty city fell black and eerily silent. But the ultra-chic metropolis didn’t stay silent for long. Bloodcurdling screams soon erupted all over the city.
Agonizing sores broke out on every Babylonian who had taken the mark of the beast. The afflicted gnashed their teeth and prayed for death to come swiftly and without delay. But for these tormented people, mercy shied away from them.
They would never experience relief.
They were damned in their sins.
And sadly, they wished they had never been born.
Chapter 9
Rural Virginia
The horse farm looked deserted, long forgotten and abandoned. Not a single horse grazed behind the sagging wooden fence. A shame, for any horse with half a brain would love to graze behind the fence. The pasture grass stood knee-high and dearly needed someone to mow and bale its thatch.
The buildings on the property hadn’t fared much better than the neglected land.
Only a few slivers of red paint still clung stubbornly to the weathered wood covering the horse barn. And the barn’s corrugated roofing, loose and curling up in places, clattered in the breeze. The nearby farmhouse, small and dingy white and surrounded by towering elm trees, looked in worst shape than the barn. The tired old house seemed to list to one side, plywood covered the windows, and a hole in the porch floor provided an entry and exit point for a raccoon family.
But looks can be deceiving.
The horse farm belonged to what was once the U.S. Justice Department. The farm—coveted for its anonymity and isolated location—was and still is periodically used for secret high-level meetings. Important people with important sounding titles, some from other countries, occasionally visit the place. Tonight was such an occasion.
Inside the barn, three prime ministers, a chancellor, a president, a four-star Army general and a secretary of state sat solemnly on hay bales arranged in a circle. The dignitaries attending the meeting called themselves “The Seven.” The dignitaries represented Canada, France, Germany, the UK, and the United States. Officially, these nations no longer went by those names. The former superpowers were now divided into sectors under Henrik Skymolt’s one world government. For instance, the United States was now Sector 12. Canada was Sector 11. France was Sector 5, Germany was Sector 4, and so on.
Great care had been taken to make sure the top secret meeting remained clandestine. Those attending were given hand-delivered invitations written in code. Attendees arrived at the farm in the dead of night, driving themselves in unmarked cars. A chauffeur was a liability, a potential rat, so they were not used.
United States/Sector 12 President Nathaniel Dixon led the meeting. Of all the type-A personalities jostling for dominance in the barn, he unequivocally assumed the lead dog position and framed the meeting’s topics to his liking. Dixon turned to Trina Davis, his secretary of state. “What do you mean, Babylon has gone dark?”
Davis nodded. “The city is as black as the queen of spades.”
A frown appeared on Dixon’s angular face. “How c
an that be, Trina? Babylon is roughly seven hours ahead of us? It should be midday there. The time of day in Babylon rules out any possibility of a blackout.”
“I can’t explain the mysterious absence of daylight, Mr. President. All I know to go by is what satellite photos have revealed and what human intelligence on the ground have told us. Babylon has lost all sources of illumination.”
UK Prime Minister Brett Loring interrupted their conversation. “The spy we have planted in Skymolt’s inner circle has informed us that Skymolt has flown his upper management staff to Tel Aviv, where he intends to establish his headquarters from now on.”
Deidrick Braun, Germany’s chancellor, turned to General Bradley Morris and asked, “Is the bomb ready, General?”
Morris nodded slowly. He had the baggy, bloodshot eyes of an insomniac. “We have a C-130 hidden at the Incirlik Air Base in Turkey. The C-130 is carrying the MOAB—Mother of All Bombs, in its payload. The plane is fueled and ready to put wings in the air.”
“I still don’t feel good about using a bomb of this magnitude in a civilian area,” Canadian Prime Minister George Anderson said. “The collateral damage will be unthinkable.”
“We can’t worry about civilian casualties, George. I will gladly trade 10,000 innocent lives for Henrik Skymolt’s. To me it’s worth it. The world can then go back to the way it was before Henrik arrived on the scene,” President Dixon said.
“At least the bomb isn’t nuclear. We can feel good about that. No one will get radiation sickness. Granted, there will be some infrastructure issues we’ll have to deal with. But we’ll manage somehow,” General Morris added.
“I don’t think the world can ever go back to the way it was before,” President of France Estelle Duvall murmured sadly. “Too much has happened. And not just to the people. The planet has sustained irreparable damage. The oceans and rivers are all polluted with blood. And the sun is scorching the land. Food crops no longer grow. It’s all so tragic.”
“We can’t just sit on our hands, Estelle. The fate of the world rests in our hands. It’s up to us to stop Skymolt,” Brett Loring said, his British accent thick with urgency. “This plan can work. I trust the man we’ve planted inside Skymolt’s staff. He’s experienced in the espionage arena.”
Despite their moniker, “The Seven,” there was an eighth person in the barn. Dr. Liam Kelvoy, professor of Old Testament and Revelation prophecy sat on a hay bale away from the others. Kelvoy was invited to these secretive meetings because of his biblical expertise and knowledge of end times events.
Kelvoy clutched a worn Bible in his hands. The professor had been silent throughout the meeting, but could no longer hold his tongue. “You cannot stop Henrik Skymolt. The devil lives inside him. Only the Lord can topple his evil regime. And Yahweh will do just that in less than a week’s time. The great day of the Lord is almost upon us. And it is the Lord who will renew this planet back to an ideal, livable state. We cannot do it in our own power.”
President Dixon looked at Kelvoy and sighed. “You sure know how to darken my mood, Liam. Do you ever have anything helpful to say?”
“I only speak the truth, Mr. President. The truth is sometimes hard to swallow.”
“Especially when it sounds so far-fetched,” Dixon said tartly.
Kelvoy held up his Bible. “There are no falsehoods in this book, Mr. President. Over 2,000 prophecies have already been fulfilled.” Kelvoy shifted his gaze to Secretary of State Trina Davis. “Miss Davis, you just said that Babylon has gone dark. That is a prophecy fulfilled. And that prophecy can be found in Revelation.” Kelvoy opened his Bible and flipped to the last book.
Kelvoy cleared his throat. “In the sixteenth chapter of Revelation, the tenth verse says, the fifth angel poured out his bowl on the throne of the beast, and its kingdom was plunged into darkness. People gnawed at their tongues in anguish and cursed the God of heaven for their pain and sores.” Kelvoy looked around at the others. The dignitaries all wore long faces. “Soon another angel will pour out the sixth bowl into the Euphrates River. And the river will dry up, allowing the armies of the world quicker access to the Megiddo valley.”
General Morris chimed in. “And all the troop movements will give us our opening. The C-130 will look like just another cargo plane delivering troops and equipment. But instead it will deliver Henrik Skymolt’s explosive demise.”
Kelvoy snorted. “Why am I here? None of you have heard a word I’ve said.” Kelvoy stood up and headed for the large, sliding barn door.
President Dixon said, “Where are you going, Liam?”
Kelvoy turned to face them. “These meetings are a waste of time. All this plotting and scheming is for nothing. We are all doomed. Skymolt duped every one of us. We’ve all taken his marking chip. Hell awaits us now.”
Kelvoy cracked open the door and walked outside. The seven others watched him go in stunned silence. Deidrick Braun broke the awkward silence first. “Should we just let Liam walk away? He’s somewhat of a liability. He might blab about our meetings here.”
General Morris nodded. “Chancellor Braun is right. We can’t afford the risk. If Skymolt gets wind of what we’re doing he’ll kill us. And if not that, he’ll cut off our sector’s food and water rations. And then the people will riot.”
“What do you suggest we do then?” President Dixon said.
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs looked over at his boss sitting on a hay bale. The one-time most powerful man on earth suddenly appeared vulnerable. “It’s all rather simple, Mr. President. We kill him.”
“Has it really come down to this? Have we sunk this far?” Dixon asked, his shoulders slumping.
Morris sighed wearily. He looked at his hands. They appeared clean, but felt so dirty. “I’m afraid so.”
Chapter 10
Seattle—the next evening
It wasn’t much to look at.
In fact, it was a civic eyesore. A shantytown appropriately called Tent City.
Situated on a soccer field belonging to a vacated Methodist church, 100 hard luck residents lived in the tent encampment and called it their home.
Twilight cast a gloomy pall over the brightly colored tents pitched in uneven rows. And in the semi-darkness, twelve men moved like wraiths through the encampment, moving silently but quickly in four groups of three.
Their senses fully alert, the twelve men searched for signs of life. Tent to tent they went. A few steps. Stop and listen. Lift up a tent flap and peer inside. And then move again.
They hunted for unchipped people. Individuals who refused to follow Henrik Skymolt’s mandate to allow a microchip to be placed under the skin on their forehead or wrist.
The twelve men were keenly aware that the residents often kept to themselves and didn’t like visitors. The residents were especially wary of UWC officers and may have posted watchmen to give them fair warning. Or they might be staying put in a hidden spot, stifling their tongues and trying desperately not to sneeze or cough.
Then again, maybe the residents simply left their tents to scavenge for food.
One thing is for sure, the place seems abandoned, Jacob Akkerman thought.
One of the eleven other men came up to Akkerman. “Jacob, every tent I’ve looked in has been empty. No sleeping bags, blankets or personal items. The place has been abandoned,” the Jewish man whispered.
Akkerman glanced around at Tent City, his eyes roving up and down the lines of tents, and then to the thin line of forest to the south of the property. He was just sure the Holy Spirit had led him here to talk to the people. But Akkerman knew that sometimes the Holy Spirit leads in mysterious ways. His ways are higher than ours, Akkerman reasoned to himself. “Maybe they are hiding in the trees,” he said.
“Do you wish I go check, Jacob?”
“No, Benjamin, we’ll all search the forest together. Just go round up the others and meet me at the edge of the forest.” Akkerman briefly watched Benjamin gather the others before he headed for the trees. He hadn�
��t made it very far when a figure suddenly appeared before him.
Even in the dim twilight, Akkerman recognized the person. It was a homeless woman named Mary. He had known her for a while, had talked to her at length about surrendering her life to Christ. And ultimately she did just that. “Where are your neighbors, Mary? Are you the only one here? It is as if Tent City is deserted.”
Mary shook her head. “There are some people hiding in the trees. Others are still scavenging for food. Each day we leave the encampment a little before dawn with all our possessions, and typically don’t come back until after midnight. UWC policemen make several patrols each day on this street. We have to be careful.”
“The people hiding in the forest, will they listen to me speak?” Akkerman asked.
“They will listen, but I don’t know if they will respond the way you want, Jacob. I have already spoken to them about their need to be saved. But they’ve allowed their hearts to harden toward God.”
Akkerman nodded solemnly. “After the Rapture, I and 144,000 other Jewish men were anointed by an angel to preach the Good News. Millions all over the world responded to the gospel we preached and were saved. But now the converts are few and far between.”
“A tragedy since Jesus will return soon. They’re running out of time,” Mary said.
Akkerman and Mary entered the small forest. Undergrowth latched onto their clothing and clawed at their exposed skin. Mary pursed her lips and performed a bird whistle. And then she called out, “We are friendlies, and we mean you no harm.”
Several people immediately stepped forward from the undergrowth and formed a ragged line. One woman called out. “I recognize your voice, Mary, but who is the man with you?”