by Len du Randt
‘I got separated from my parents and called out to them. They came back for me. It was my fault. They came back for me and were gunned down right in front of me.’ He shook once, then twice, and then collapsed into her arms. ‘It was my fault...’
A tear rolled down René’s cheek and she held him as he clutched her tightly. She wanted to say something, but didn’t. She just held him. He needed it. She needed it. Both cried.
- - -* * *- - -
‘Father, I think we need to talk.’
Malcolm didn’t have time for small talk. Rabbi Morris was dead, and the Jews were in uproar. Another Rabbi would have to be found for the ceremony as soon as possible. ‘Not now, Timothy,’ he said, then hesitated as he saw the disappointment in his son’s eyes. ‘Maybe later?’
Timothy shrugged his shoulders and then turned to leave. But something held him in his place, and he couldn’t move. A time for war. ‘No father,’ he said and turned back to face Malcolm. ‘We need to talk, now.’
Malcolm looked up and their eyes met. There was a sense of determination and authority in his son’s voice that he had never heard before. Rebellion? Perhaps. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘But make it quick.’
Timothy didn’t want to rush the discussion. He wanted his father’s undivided attention. ‘It’s okay, dad,’ he said, ‘we can talk some other time.’ He turned to leave.
Malcolm sensed that Timothy wanted to say something important. ‘No,’ he insisted. ‘We will talk about it now, as you said.’
‘No,’ Timothy said, wondering if his father was being sarcastic. ‘Just drop it.’
Malcolm’s calm exploded into a fit of rage. He grabbed Timothy by the shoulders and shook him violently. ‘Tell me, boy!’ he yelled, unable to control his emotions. ‘What did you want to say?’
Timothy tried to yank away. ‘No! Let me—’
He didn’t complete his sentence. A book flew from his hand and struck Malcolm on his shin. The man released his son from his ironclad grip and kneeled down to investigate the book. The title on the cover stared at him blankly, almost tauntingly. He picked up the Bible and stood up, towering his full length over his son as a form of intimidation.
‘What’s this?’ His voice thundered throughout the house.
Timothy tried to defend himself, but couldn’t find any words. He just remained quiet as his father flipped through the book.
‘Did you read this?’ Malcolm asked, hoping that his son was merely enquiring about the book, and that he had picked it up somewhere in a dumpster.
‘From cover to cover,’ Timothy replied calmly. ‘Four times.’
‘Four times,’ Malcolm repeated the words softly as he weighed the seriousness of his son’s words; his prior engagements not even a mere thought now. ‘And? What did you think about it?’
Timothy hesitated. He knew that the answer would make the world’s difference. He could back down now and keep his father at bay, or he could stand up for what he believed in, even at the risk of his own life. He took a deep breath. Now or never. The son’s eyes locked onto the father’s. ‘I believe it to be truth, father,’ Timothy said with a slight tremble in his voice. ‘I believe everything in it.’
Malcolm reacted out of instinct more than anything else. He would never in his rational mind do anything to harm his children, but the tone of Timothy’s voice snapped something inside him. He struck the boy across the face with the Bible as hard as he could, sending Timothy flying through the air for a short distance before coming to a crashing halt against a bookshelf.
Malcolm realized that he had overstepped his boundaries as a father, but it was too late. The damage had been done, and now he had to go the distance. There was no use in backing up now.
‘How dare you defy me?’ he thundered; anger and betrayal mingled in his voice. ‘How dare you go against everything that I have taught you?’
Timothy wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at the crimson smudge in disbelief. ‘I didn’t...’ he spat some blood out of his mouth. ‘I didn’t defy you, father,’ he said as he struggled to get back on his feet. ‘I merely made an educated decision for myself...’ he waited until he was able to stand up completely before continuing. ‘...instead of blindly following something because someone else told me to.’
Malcolm couldn’t control himself. He rushed over to Timothy and slammed the Bible into his chest, sending the boy sprawling backward and falling to the ground. He closed the gap and kicked Timothy in the side, and then pulled his leg back for another kick to the ribs. Had Timothy not managed to catch his foot in time, he might have succeeded in doing serious damage to the boy, but he did, and for a moment time stood still. Their eyes met briefly, and then Timothy twisted the foot as hard as he could. A time for war, and a time for peace. Malcolm crashed into the floor next to Timothy, and the boy instantly sprang to his feet. He grabbed the Bible and moved back to what he felt was a safe distance.
Malcolm was in pain. He lay there breathing heavily, slowly moving his foot to check if his ankle had not maybe been broken. It was only badly sprained. He turned his head and looked at Timothy. ‘You...’ he mustered, ‘you will pay for this.’
‘Pay for this?’ Timothy asked, his voice barely softer than a frantic scream. ‘How? Are you going to have me killed? I’m your son for crying out loud!’
‘Not anymore, you’re not,’ Malcolm said, still breathing heavily. His foot still didn’t allow him to stand up. ‘You have ten minutes to get your things and leave.’
‘Fine,’ Timothy said. They had serious fallouts like this before. He knew that his father only needed time to cool off. This had been the first time that he actually dared fight back, and adrenaline rushed through his body. ‘I’ll book myself into a hotel.’
‘No,’ Malcolm said sternly. ‘You will leave Jerusalem.’
The seriousness of Malcolm’s voice struck Timothy as if it were a physical blow. ‘But where...where will I go?’
‘I don’t care,’ Malcolm said, ‘but you will leave Jerusalem, and you will never come back.’
- - -* * *- - -
Trevor stood on a street corner, waiting for the light to turn green so that he could walk. He looked around him and noticed that the streets appeared deserted; almost abandoned.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to a man standing in front of him. ‘Do you have the time?’
‘Twelve thirty,’ came the answer.
‘Thanks.’
The light turned green and Trevor started walking. A black van skid to a halt in front of him and the side door slid open.
‘Mister Elliot?’ a man dressed in a suit, and wearing sunglasses asked him.
‘Yes...?’ Trevor said as he tried to figure out who they were and how they knew him.
‘Could you please get in the van?’
‘Why?’ Trevor asked. ‘Who are you?’
‘Please get in the van,’ the man repeated. It wasn’t a request. It was a command; one asked merely out of politeness. Two men joined Trevor on each side and shoved him into the van. The door closed and everything went black. When he could see again, he was standing in a queue. His clothes had been replaced with a grey overall, and he followed a man in front of him; without knowing where to, or why. At the front, he noticed that the women and children were led down a path to the left, while the men followed a path to the right. As he walked, he realized that he was in some sort of concentration camp.
How did I get here? He thought. What is this place? The place was an old abandoned school building that had been remodelled into the concentration camp. They passed a series of workshops where children between the ages of eleven and seventeen were hard at work on something.
I will rescue them, a voice spoke in his mind as he looked at the boys. I will be their saviour.
Trevor woke from his dream breathing heavily, drenched with perspiration. It took a few seconds before he realized that he was still in his room, and that it had only been a bad dream. He crash
ed his head back into his pillow and closed his eyes. It was a matter of seconds before he was asleep again.
- - -* * *- - -
The desert sun scorched Timothy, and he struggled to keep himself moving. He had nothing on him other than his Bible, the clothes on his back, and a flask of water that was just about empty. He took one big gulp of the remaining water and looked around.
There was nothing but sand in all directions. Your own will turn against you soon. He didn’t know where he was going, and he didn’t care. He trusted the Lord’s guidance and moved further. An hour later he fell to his knees. He couldn’t force his aching muscles to move another inch. You must not fear them, for the Most High will protect you.
Timothy took one last look at the surrounding wilderness before he passed out. He was still unconscious when the three men towered over him.
- - -* * *- - -
South Africa: Two Years and Two Months Later
Dear Trevor,
Three and a half years have now passed since the disappearances. What I too once believed to be alien attacks have turned out to be the Rapture that the Christians were always talking about. We missed it, Trev. You and I both missed it. But you know what? It’s not too late. The Rapture is God’s way of saying, ‘Wake up, people! I’m coming! Get your act together.’
You still have a chance to turn, my friend. As the world enters the last three and a half years of its existence as we know it, people will become increasingly evil. Parents and children will kill each other. Good people will become bad, and bad people will become worse as Satan launches his final onslaught against humanity.
He will do it through one man: Victor Yoshe.
Trevor, I urge you to look at the things happening around you in context of what Norman has been talking about all these years. At the time of writing this, you will still be blinded and unable to see the truth, but by the time you receive it, you might be capable of realizing the truth again. I am writing this now, because at that time, I might also be dead.
Have you noticed the steady increase in road rage, child rape, natural disasters, and murder? The statistics to these and many other terrible things have escalated at over 500% the past three years only. Apparently they’re now creating a new television channel dedicated to child pornography. And the terrible truth is that these things are not even a drop in the bucket of things that are still to come.
I know that you do not believe in God; but soon, a time is coming when you will be forced to choose. You will have no say in the matter. Which will you choose? Whose forces will you join? Jesus or Victor?
It is almost time for a terrible darkness to cover the Earth. A spiritual darkness unlike any other the world has ever seen. I pray that you and René will be saved, for my parents had already joined the ranks of Victor’s Legion a long time ago.
Please, as a friend I beg of you: do not take the Shield!
Thanks for being there!
Your friend in Christ,
Andrew
<><
- - -* * *- - -
Victor was sitting in his overly expensive chair, watching twelve television screens as they displayed the weather, news, sports, and other world events. He didn’t take his eyes off the television screens when Ryan walked in.
‘Ah, Ryan my good man. How are you today?’
‘I’m fine, my Lord,’ Ryan replied. He wasn’t properly awake yet, and wondered if Victor had slept at all. In fact, Ryan had never seen him sleep before. Until Victor’s revelation, Ryan could never understand how Victor managed to watch—and keep track—of all the monitors at once. He wondered why Victor needed the television screens at all. His master appeared uneasy about something.
‘Are you all right, my Lord?’
‘I am troubled, Ryan,’ Victor said, his eyes fixated on one specific screen, ‘by these two mongrels in Jerusalem.’
‘The two prophets?’
‘Ha!’ Victor exclaimed. ‘They’re not prophets! They’re spawn of Satan!’
‘They have been an annoyance to everyone over the last few years, sir, especially to N-Force.’
‘They’re making me look bad, Ryan.’
‘How so, my Lord?’
‘By making it appear that I cannot control my own territory. They’re trying to show the people that they’re better than me. No one is better than me!’
‘I agree, my Lord,’
‘No one!’
Ryan had never seen Victor lose his calm. Something told him that the two prophets were about to see a side of Victor that they didn’t know existed. ‘But what are you going to do about them, my Lord? Entire units of armed forces have been wiped out by these two.’
‘I think that Pascale and I will pay those two a visit.’ A sly smile formed on his face. These men have plagued the Empire for long enough now. I cannot just stand by idly and watch how these two crazy people kill everyone that doesn’t submit to their phoney ‘God.’
‘It is time that these two are taught a lesson. It’s time that they are stopped before they wipe out everyone on the planet.’
‘Excellent plan, my Lord,’
Victor glared at the screen intently. ‘Get me GMN on the line,’
‘My Lord?’
‘Tell them to send two live camera crews to the Temple in Jerusalem. And then get the plane ready.’
‘Consider it done,’ Ryan said. He clicked his heels and spun around, leaving Victor to the madness of the multiple sounds and voices coming from the various television screens.
- - -* * *- - -
‘Is it time already?’ Malcolm asked his guest.
‘It is time,’ Kassim confirmed. ‘The new city is finally completed, and my family and I are finally out of your way.’
‘Nonsense,’ Mary interrupted. ‘You were never in our way to begin with.’
‘She’s right,’ Malcolm said. ‘You and your family were a blessing to Mary and me at a time we needed it most.’
‘Thank you for the kind words,’ Kassim said, unable to hide the emotion in his voice. ‘But I assure you that we will meet again. If not in this life, then perhaps in the next.’
‘I really hope so, Kassim,’ Malcolm said and embraced his friend. He wiped at his cheeks with his sleeve. A minute later, Malcolm and Mary waved as the Muslim family drove away in their modest car.
‘I heard that it’s a spectacular city,’ Mary said, her voice still had a slight quiver to it.
‘I saw some of it on GMN,’ Malcolm said, his thoughts not entirely on the conversation. They had lost another Rabbi; the fourth in only three years, and Malcolm was sure that those two false prophets were behind it. ‘It was breathtaking.’
‘Nasreen invited us for a weekend once they’ve settled. I really think that we should go,’ she said as they both entered the house again and closed the door.
‘I agree,’ Malcolm said and stopped to eye the totally empty house. From now on it would just be the two of them. The Patel family had become a part of theirs, and there was going to be a definite gap in their lives from now on. Malcolm’s thoughts returned to his daughter. He could hear her cheerful laughter and felt his neck muscles constrict as tears welled in his eyes.
‘Good bye, my friend,’ he said softly. ‘Until we meet again.’
- - -* * *- - -
‘President Yoshe,’ a reporter called out to Victor as he was walking along the road towards the Temple. ‘Could you please explain to our viewers why you have contacted GMN to join you and Pope Alexander here at the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem?’
‘The reason I have contacted you, Miss Jacobs,’ Victor said and stopped. He looked directly at the camera before continuing, ‘is that I have become severely grieved by the two men here that have been plaguing the world. I have heard the cries of my people, and I am now taking personal control of the situation.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous, Mister Yoshe?’ she asked. ‘Considering what they have done to countless of men before you?’
‘Ye of little f
aith should watch and learn,’ Victor said and finally came to a halt a short distance from the men. The reporters, cameramen, and the gathering crowd all took a step back as the two approached Victor and Antonio.
‘Your hour has come, Beast,’ the older prophet yelled out to Victor as they approached. ‘Do what it is that you came here to do.’
Clouds swirled high above them and a strong wind kicked up sand and ripped at the trees.
‘I have come to stop you,’ Victor shouted above the wailing of the wind.
The two men remained silent.
‘People claim that you two are prophets,’ Victor scoffed out loud. He looked toward the camera and smirked, then turned back at the two men. ‘Some say that you are Moses and Elijah or whatever. So...who’s who?’
The two men remained silent.
‘Elijah,’ Victor said and rubbed his chin. ‘Now didn’t that fella fly up to Heaven as a huge fireball or something?’
Before the crowd could react, Antonio raised his left hand and the younger prophet burst into flames. The crowd gasped in unison and one of the cameramen dropped his camera. He picked it up as quickly as he could and refocused his lens on the burning man. Antonio then raised his right hand and the burning prophet shot into the air like a bullet from a gun. He shot up so fast and so high that soon he was a mere dot against the clouds high above.
Victor sighed while checking his watch. ‘Going up to Heaven is one thing...’ he said to the remaining prophet, ‘...but coming back down is a killer.’