by Mark Romang
The tunnel took a gradual turn to the right. Mary slowed and performed a series of whistles, signals to assure any tunnel residents they meant no harm. A few more steps and the tunnel suddenly widened, forming a chamber. Mary’s headlamp exposed a half-dozen people sitting on the tunnel floor with their backs to the wall.
“Hey, it’s the preacher lady coming to visit us, and she brought company,” a twenty-something, male tunnel dweller said.
“Devin, I told you I would come back for another visit,” Mary said sweetly.
“Yes, you did. And I never doubted for a minute you wouldn’t. So who is this guy? Can we trust him?”
Before Mary could speak, Akkerman took a step forward. “My name is Jacob Akkerman. I mean you no harm.”
“Why are you here? You don’t look like us. You don’t look like a tunnel dweller.”
“I am bearing witness to Jesus Christ. He is coming to Earth at any moment to set up his kingdom and reward those who love him and call him Savior. I hope that you know Him.”
Devin snorted. “We are the least desirable of all people. We are outcasts. We are dirty and smelly and have nothing to offer. Why would Jesus want to have anything to do with us?”
Akkerman got down onto his knees to get eye-level with the young African-American man. “The devil has put these thoughts inside your mind, Devin. He wants you to feel like you are worthless and undesirable. But this is not the case. Jesus loves you and desires a relationship with you so much that he laid down his life for you.”
Devin sighed and shook his head. “Mary already told us that. So you aren’t telling us anything new, Jacob.”
“Devin, I wish I could convince you how special you are. There is no one else like you. Your genetic code is unlike anyone else’s. God created you for his pleasure and for you to serve him. He knit you together in your mother’s womb. I can’t begin to explain how much God loves you. His love for you is deeper and wider than all the oceans put together. To put it more simply, God’s adoration for you is limitless.” Akkerman paused for a moment. He looked at the young man’s forehead. In the dimness he couldn’t see very well. “Have you taken Henrik Skymolt’s marking chip?”
“Of course not. Do you think I’d be living down here in this dark tunnel like a sewer rat if I had the chip?”
“You were wise in not taking the chip, Devin. You still have a chance. There is still time, but not very much.”
“Time for what?” Devin asked.
“Time to confess your sins and receive the Holy Spirit. If you do that you can trade this perpetual misery for perpetual joy. You will never hunger or thirst again once Jesus returns to Earth. Sickness will never visit you. And tears will never streak your face. The Millennial Kingdom is about to start. You don’t want to miss it.”
A young woman sitting close to Devin piped up. “What makes you such an authority on God and Jesus?”
“I am a Jew. My lineage goes back to the tribe of Levi. I am one of the 144,000 witnesses anointed by an angel to spread the Good News during the Tribulation period. I am here to tell you that Jesus conquered death through his resurrection, and that he offers eternal life to everyone. There are witnesses just like me in every nation of the world.”
“If you’ve been anointed by an angel, perform a miracle for us.” The young woman held up a pair of moldy hamburger buns. “There are six of us, and this is all the food we have. If your God is truly real…multiply this food.”
“I wasn’t anointed to perform miracles, only to share the Gospel. But I will pray for you,” Akkerman said. He motioned for his eleven Jewish companions to join him. The men squeezed into the chamber-like room and laid hands on the tunnel dwellers.
Jacob Akkerman bowed his head and began to pray.
Right over his head, and separated only by forty-two inches of concrete, dirt, and grass, 119 angels and two saints struggled to fight off 3,000 demons. As Akkerman lifted his voice in prayer, the battle intensified.
One side began to retreat; the other side began to advance.
Chapter 15
Even though Vallen could grab a golden arrow from his quiver, place the arrow on the bow string, and aim and fire in less than a second, his unexplainable miss left an opening for Sablo. The repulsive demon took full advantage.
As quick as a lightning flash, Sablo leapt toward Vallen, steamrolling him before he could reload his bow. The two crashed to the ground. Vallen dropped his bow in the collision. He instantly reached for the weapon, but Sablo pinned his right arm with a knee.
Vallen plunged his left hand into the golden sash around his waist. He produced a dagger and stabbed Sablo in the ear, rotating the dagger to inflict maximum destruction.
Sablo screamed, his anguished voice reaching more than 100 decibels. He instinctively grabbed his ear as he rolled off Vallen. But he grabbed more than just his ear as he rolled. He snatched Vallen’s bow and flew up into the graying sky. Vallen rocketed after Sablo. A thousand feet above the battlefield they reunited, colliding into their own personal melee, a ferocious scrum in the sky.
Sablo struck Vallen repeatedly with his Egyptian mace, bludgeoning Vallen’s side and ribs. Vallen absorbed the bone-rattling blows and grabbed Sablo by the throat and squeezed his windpipe. Though deprived of oxygen, Sablo continued the onslaught with his mace. He pounded Vallen’s side like a carpenter pounding nails. Sensing he was in trouble, Vallen performed a barrel roll maneuver to try and disorient his opponent. But the defensive maneuver still didn’t stop Sablo from clubbing him with his mace.
Vallen had never felt so much pain. He rarely engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Usually no one ever got close enough to fight him this way. He typically did all his damage from a distance with his huge golden arrows. Today I must adapt, he thought.
Yet he only needed to adapt long enough to reacquire his bow. Still clutching Sablo’s throat, Vallen pulled out his dagger from Sablo’s ear and plunged it into the demon’s left hand, the hand holding Vallen’s bow. Sablo’s hand opened reflexively, his grip on the bow compromised.
The bow dropped, but Vallen caught it before it could tumble to Earth. Leaning back and lifting both his knees up, Vallen kicked Sablo in the chest. The demon flipped backwards end over end in the air. Using his wings to hover in place, Vallen loaded his bow and took quick aim.
I will not miss again, Vallen promised himself just before he loosed the arrow. The big arrow flew straight and true, a golden blur painting the sky. The arrow homed in on Sablo and penetrated his collarbone, just above his armor breastplate. Sablo screamed once more, and then plummeted to the battlefield, crashing in a heap onto the grass.
Vallen continued to hover in his lofty position, shooting demons far below on the battlefield. Ten demons fell, then twenty, and then thirty and forty toppled from his arrows. Besides having golden arrows as big as harpoons, Vallen also used his quiver to his advantage. His infinite quiver never emptied, providing him limitless ammunition.
In between arrow shots Vallen noticed Sablo beginning to stir. Vallen left his sniping position and flew back down to the battlefield, landing near the vanquished demon’s feet. The arrow had nearly exited the demon’s body, but not quite. The arrow tip had wedged into the ground and propped Sablo upright. Vallen swiveled his head, looking for more threats. But there were none. Samson fended off a crowd of demons to his right, and to his left Eleazar kept another demon horde at bay with his slashing sword.
Vallen de-plumed his wings and squatted down by Sablo. Silvery-black blood oozed around the golden arrow and smeared Sablo’s breastplate. More blood gushed from his mangled ear. “Why are you attacking the guardians with half the Legion? What is your motive?” Vallen asked.
Sablo blinked open his reddish-orange orbs, eyes that were once as blue as the Mediterranean Sea. “I’m simply following General Zarkien’s orders, nothing else.” Sablo wheezed.
Vallen considered his foe’s answer. Zarkien was Lucifer’s top general. Although Zarkien was a formidable warrior, h
e was essentially nothing more than a puppet. He did whatever Lucifer asked him to do. “Although you don’t deserve mercy, I can give it to you if you answer my queries truthfully.”
A violent spasm shook Sablo’s chest. He coughed up blood. After he stopped hacking he looked up at Vallen expectantly.
“What is the other half of the Legion up to? The Legion always stays together. This is unprecedented behavior,” Vallen said.
“They are the injured ones. They are too weak to travel. So I left them behind to recuperate,” Sablo sputtered.
“I don’t believe you, Sablo. Your tongue is always full of lies.”
“I am telling the truth this time.”
Vallen stood up. “Very well, Sablo. I will call upon the Spirit of the Lord, and my troops will annihilate your troops. It will be a slaughter.” Vallen loaded his bow. He drew back the string and aimed his arrow. “And I will start with you.”
Sablo’s ugly eyes grew large with fright. “Wait! I will tell you what you want to hear. But we must agree to terms first.”
Still aiming his arrow at Sablo’s head, Vallen said, “There will be no negotiating. Answer my question. I will not wait any longer.”
“Very well. We divided in half to force you to divide your troops. We hoped to weaken you. Lucifer wants us to possess Tanner Mason, and if not Tanner, we are to possess his brother.”
Vallen felt his anger rise. This assault on the guardians was only a ruse, a clever decoy. But he was hardly surprised at Sablo’s treachery. He was, after all, a follower of Lucifer. “When will your troops on the Peninsula attempt the possession?”
“This morning. It may have already happened.”
Vallen lowered his bow. “Gather your troops and tell them to stand down. I will do the same with mine.”
“You’re calling for a truce?” gasped Sablo. Incredulity overshadowed the pain masking his once beautiful face.
Vallen nodded his head. Letting Sablo go rankled him. But if Sablo left peacefully and no longer waged war against the guardians and Jacob Akkerman, Vallen could take his 100 troops back to the Olympic Peninsula to assist Andrew Maddix. “You and your troops will depart at once for the desert region in California known as Death Valley. There you will stay and roam the dunes and salt pans aimlessly until Christ returns.”
“You are showing us mercy. This is something I’m not used to.”
Vallen shrugged. “Your reckoning is almost here, Sablo. You will soon burn forever in the Lake of Fire with the rest of the fallen angels. Why do I need to punish you even more?”
“What about my three thousand troops still on the Olympic Peninsula?”
“That is up to Andrew Maddix.”
Sablo shuddered. “Maddix is cruel. He will not show them any mercy.”
“Once more you speak the truth, Sablo. Count yourself lucky that you are here and not there.”
Chapter 16
Olympic Peninsula
Wearing forest-pattern camouflage from head to foot, C.J. Mason stifled a yawn and scanned the nearby timber one more time through his riflescope. He sat high atop a pile of fallen Douglas fir trees, and straddled a sawed-off branch that he used as a monopod for his Remington 700 rifle. First light cast much of the sub-alpine forest in shadows, including him.
A mile from the bunker, C.J. had arrived at this spot while the stars still glistened. He hoped to kill a mule deer or a Blacktail deer before it bedded down for the day. The food pantry at the bunker was just about empty. Only four or five cans of food remained on the shelves. Granted, they didn’t have much longer to go before Jesus rode the clouds to Earth. But a few cans of vegetables weren’t nearly enough to sustain three people until then.
We need protein, he thought. More than anything a fresh deer kill would give them plenty of venison, which in turn would fuel them with energy. And he knew there was a big mule buck that recently entered the area. The buck had walked right by a hidden trail camera C.J. had placed in the draw below. Best of all the buck looked healthy. Animals were becoming increasingly scarce on the peninsula. Lack of clean water decimated most indigenous species living here. What few remained were weak and dying. But somehow this large buck had not died from the poisoned water. And it made C.J. wonder if the buck hadn’t somehow found a spring not affected by the bowl judgement.
The third bowl judgment had turned all the world’s freshwater lakes and rivers and streams into blood. Fortunately, their Dad had stashed a massive amount of bottled water inside the bunker. Had he not they would’ve expired long ago.
Another reason C.J. chose to go hunting this morning was because he suffered from cabin fever. Hunting gave him purpose, and also a sense of freedom he couldn’t get while hiding in the abandoned goldmine. Sure, there was always a chance a stray person might stumble upon him and later turn him in. But he would diminish the odds of that happening by returning to the bunker before the sun rose fully around mid-morning. Ever since the fourth trumpet judgement commenced, the sun, moon and stars shone a third less each day.
C.J. would also do his best to erase his tracks. He’d taken every precaution thus far to stay at large. He wasn’t going to become lax now.
Besides using his eyes to hunt, C.J. also used his ears. The rustle of foliage, twigs snapping and leaves crunching underfoot were always the best warning signs that something approached. C.J. also studied the birds perched in nearby trees. Birds were skittish creatures that took flight whenever they felt fear or sensed an approaching threat. He trusted the birds more than he trusted himself. They were like a natural alarm system.
C.J. trained his eyes toward his left and the beginning of the draw. Mule deer like to position themselves above any possible threats. So the buck would likely enter the ravine here and keep climbing, hopefully right past him. C.J. didn’t worry at all that he would be shooting a deer out of season. This was the end of the age. What did it matter? The Tribulation period forced people to make difficult decisions, to break laws they normally wouldn’t. So he didn’t feel any guilt. What he was about to do was better than stealing someone else’s food. And he had to eat. So did Tanner and Brooke.
A half hour slowly passed. Dawn finally relented to morning. C.J. was about to give up and call it a day when he heard a rustling sound. He traced the rustling sound to a certain area about sixty yards below his position. And then he looked through his riflescope at this area. He saw a splotch of grayish-brown contrast with the vivid green of the Douglas firs. The incongruous splotch moved behind a juniper outgrowth near the edge of the draw and disappeared.
C.J. kept his scope trained on the junipers. His heart sped up. Perhaps the buck was paying him a visit after all. C.J. wiped his sweaty shooting hand on his pants. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and to regulate his breathing. One shot was likely all he’d get.
A full minute later his hopes came true. A mule deer buck left the junipers and began to ascend the draw, using a game trail. C.J. recognized the deer as the same one his trail camera captured. At one time the buck must’ve been a powerful animal. But now he was a bit on the skinny side. Still, the buck would provide them a nice supply of fresh meat, provided he didn’t miss the shot.
C.J. settled behind his riflescope. He put crosshairs on the buck. All he needed the buck to do was to stop moving and start grazing. Several seconds later C.J. received his wish. The buck paused and dropped his head to the ground. C.J. readied himself to take the shot. Lord, forgive me for killing one of your creations, he prayed.
He squeezed the trigger, felt the powerful gun recoil against his shoulder, and watched the buck bound off in a full sprint.
C.J. exhaled slowly. Disappointment burned in his gut. The buck had presented him a perfect broadside shot. And he missed.
Grumbling under his breath, C.J. chambered another round, applied the rifle’s safety, and climbed down from his makeshift stand. He descended the ravine toward where the buck had stood and grazed. He needed to find out for sure whether he’d truly missed the sh
ot. More than likely he had. But there was no harm in checking the ground for blood spatter. A few moments later he reached the spot and squatted down to examine the ground.
He was bent over and studying the grass when a shadow crept up on him. Goosebumps raced up his spine. I’m not alone, he thought with a shudder. C.J. looked up. He swallowed hard.
An old man wearing a tattered flannel shirt and dirty jeans stared down at him with fierce gray eyes. “You didn’t miss,” he said, his voice gruff and commanding. “I saw it stumble.”
Chapter 17
C.J. stood up and leveled his rifle at the old man’s midsection. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”
“My name is Silas Bramley. And I live over the ridge.”
“It’s strange that I’ve never seen you around these parts before,” C.J. said cautiously.
“I try to stay hidden most of the time. Today I made an exception and ventured out to hunt for food. I’m starving.”
“I know how you feel. I’m starving too.”
The old man’s fierce gray eyes softened. “I could help you find the deer. I saw where it went. If I help you track it down can I have a haunch?”
C.J. studied his new companion closely. The old man’s matted gray beard started just below his eyes and hung down past his chest. He certainly didn’t look like a chipped person. He looked like a mountain man down on his luck, a fur trapper with no furs, or a miner without gold-bearing ore. “I’m not so sure I hit the deer.”
“Oh, you hit it alright. I saw its hide spasm.”
C.J. lowered his Remington. The old man possessed a piercing gaze, but otherwise seemed harmless. “I guess I could spare you some meat.”