Gerhardt was frightened, too. Not of the changes - he had resigned himself to that after the first exhibition. He was frightened now because it was too much, too fast. The naked bodies, expanding, glowing, flaming. He began to fear for his very life.
He stood, stepped behind the chair, holding it for balance, stepping backwards. The heat, the heat was smothering. He looked at the back of his hands, holding the chair. Blisters were already rising. He covered his face, which he could feel blistering as well. Looking around him, the stage was emptying, men screaming, covering their faces. One man, the oriental sitting two seats to his left had collapsed where he sat. His clothes, first smoldering, now burst into flames, the man never waking as he burned to death.
Cameras were focused, but the pictures were warped, static filled, flashing in and out, and the sound alternated between roars of sounds and screams, and silence as the signal fluctuated. Crowds everywhere were staring fixedly at their screens. What had happened? The two men appeared to have increased in size, taller, wider, more muscular, and glowing. How much energy could they take? Static electricity was snapping off each of them, striking nearby objects - a microphone stand, the podium. The podium burst into flames. One bolt snaked out in its jagged path and struck one of the twelve behind them. With a scream, he went down, burning in place. Not dead, the screams continued. Mercifully, not long. The picture snapped on and off, getting worse and worse.
Now the bolts surrounded the two of them, looking like a science project, or those glowing balls one buys that generates plasma inside, controlled by the touch of a hand.
The screaming had grown louder, but was drowned out by the buzzing and snapping of the electrical charges up front. People were climbing over one another as they struggled for the door.
Hans saw this, but registered little. He was becoming a god! This was his legacy! He turned toward his father. He saw him grab his face, turning and running. Hans reached toward him, to call to him, but all that came out was another unearthly roar, and a bolt of energy, leaving his hands. In what seemed slow motion, the bolt snaked toward his father, sending little shoots left and right, but heading inexorably toward his father, striking him in the center of his back. The elder Richter arched his back to scream, but the superheated air and moisture in his lungs caused his chest to explode first, dropping a burning corpse on the ground.
It was all falling apart. People were running away. Leaving him. Anger, pain, fear. His job, his legacy - The Proclaimer - it was wrong, all wrong. Within the pain, confusion, deep within, still, more anger, feeding on the energy already pouring from him. As he looked at one running away, a single bolt of electricity shot from his hand, not just a few feet, but the length of the room, striking the man. Other bolts fired off, some intentionally, some not. Some aimed at people, others random strikes.
The noise had become deafening, people were running, and still the changes occurred. It was starting to get painful. Very painful. And getting worse. Hans let out a scream. People were leaving him! Leaving him! It reverberated across the room. As he did, the high voltage began burning him, burning Zarin.
It was too much, too much, stop it, stop it, stop it....
He was losing control. Zarin had lost all focus already. He was stumbling on the stage, flames and electricity shooting from his body. Areas of his body could be seen turning black, charred. He, too, began having pain, pain as never before, pain as no mortal had ever endured. He also screamed, a deep, throaty roar of a scream, deeper from his increased size, louder and more terrifying from his own fear. The arc between the two had turned to a solid, buzzing white-blue river of energy, connecting, drawing from each, toward each.
The two were drawn toward each other and the chest. Not being able to see any more, both stumbled from the stage, merging as one fireball, landing onto the table next to the chest.
The two glowing men stood. Joined at the chest, where the energy arcs had emanated, the connection began running both up and down, glowing being completely absorbed, one within the other. Screams of fear, pain, and terror emanated.
The cameramen had since vacated their posts. It made no difference - the huge voltage and power bursts coming of their bodies had created induction currents in their equipment, burning them out. Viewers were treated to black screens, and within a few moments, the sound was lost as well.
And the missiles rose higher, beginning to arc away from Tehran.
The two men, now merged, tried to stand. The screaming would have chilled the strongest man, but all were running for their very lives. This angered the creature even more.
The energy began to rise above them/it, swirling, forming an electronic vortex, an electric tornado. With a blast, this expanded energy blew through the roof of the convention center. Chunks fell, killing some instantly, other more slowly.
Then, with what seemed to be a final blast, like a lightning burst that explodes in a burst of light, energy, and sound, the Hans-Zarin were turned to pure energy, blasting out in a full circle, in a power far and above that of any nuclear weapon. From a distance, the blast could be seen radiating outward from the center, out mile after mile, destroying every building, igniting them momentarily before releasing every object into the atoms and molecules of its design, and then, even those atoms having the very electrons ripped from them, leaving nothing but ions, and then, -nothing.
The blast shot outward and upward, not in the traditional mushroom cloud shape, but in a rounded, concentric hemisphere, focused at the convention center, shooting up and out, changing shape as it expanded, slowing near the surface, speeding through the air, turning into more of a rounded, bulging cone. From hundreds of miles away people would see what looked like a bright, white hot, electric tornado, miles high, miles wide at the top, churning for a few moments, as if deciding what to do, then exploding in a final blast.
This blast and expanding semicircle of light caught the still ascending missiles, vaporizing them as the light passed through, unimpeded. No secondary blasts; they were simply gone, as if they'd never existed The flash continued upward and outward, perhaps two dozen miles in radius, every direction, completely encompassing the city, and rising upward towards the upper reaches of the atmosphere before slowing, dimming, wavering...
The light went out.
The sudden loss of heat and explosive power left a vacuum, and the air rushed back in to fill it. The sudden drop of pressure, as any student in basic physics knows, also caused a rapid drop in temperature, suddenly condensing what little moisture existed in the desert air, This freezing condensation began to - - -
- - - snow.
- - - and it snowed- - -
"And I don't mean a couple of flurries. I mean a foot of snow, two in the drifts."
- - - and more. Much more.
* * *
Between the blast, the returning cyclonic winds, and the snow, the landscape had completely changed. The initial blast had left a crater miles across. The returning winds had filled it with the desert sand.
The city no longer existed.
Chapter 40
Aftermath
On the ground in Israel, people were climbing out of shelters, looking up, covering their eyes from the bright sun. They found their buildings above all intact. They were all still there.
Israel was still there.
Another shelter opened, and more people climbed out. Everyone was quiet as they contemplated what had just happened, how close they had come to a different outcome. Looking up, they shielded their eyes looking at the clear blue sky, much as everyone else was also doing, almost out of reflex. Up above, the sun flashed off a metallic object flying far above them.
The AWACS was still in the air, untouched. A collective sigh of relief could be felt, if not heard, across the country.
At first stunned by the flash, expecting to be vaporized in the next instant, the crew slowly realized the missiles were gone. In fact, there was nothing in the airspace of the entire region over the city and surrounding a
rea. Rather than cheers, tears began to flow with the realization that they were all alive, and well. There were hugs and handshakes, but very subdued. No high-fives or cheers; just a gratefulness for the privilege of another day and the opportunity to again see and speak with the ones they loved.
Monitors went unwatched momentarily as those sentinels of the sky pulled photos from wallets and off monitors, holding them close. Poor Colonel Rothstein was besieged by not only hugs, handshakes, and salutes, but by numerous requests for leave. Crew members wanted time with family, which he understood, though with the volume, he would be limited in his ability to grant.
* * *
There was no direct coverage of the actual final event. The cameras had lost their signal when Hans began his change - the electromagnetic radiation was causing too much surging in the lines. Other than the early changes seen by the world, nothing else was known.
It was as if it had never happened. No one present at the time still existed - no bodies, no documents, no photos. The center and all those in attendance no longer existed. No buildings, no bodies, no bones. Nothing present at the time existed.
Most of what happened disappeared within the event itself, leaving the entire event open to speculation and interpretation, providing endless sources for discussions and arguments, political and religious arguments.
There were few firm answers, but opinions were everywhere. Mankind would continue to have the opportunity to argue. One thing was certain: the city was clearly gone, and all the names closely associated and in attendance were likewise gone.
* * *
Tim Biazzi and Officer Roberts had been watching the event together until the signal was lost. She left him to the screen long enough to fire up the grill so they could get something to eat. When she returned, coverage had just started again on the aftermath. After the grill warmed up, she put a pair of steaks on, and put some potatoes in the microwave. She had just returned to watch the news again, when his cell phone rang. There was a short conversation, and Tim looked like he'd been hit by a brick. He hung up, sat down, and stared at the corner of the wall. She looked at him questioningly.
"This is incredible," he started. "Unbelievable. It seems Father Sartini, my boss, my boss- was involved somehow on this whole mess. He knew about it all along. That missing chest? The star-stuff? He actually had it. He had it! It really existed. I don't know how long, but he had it!
"Your grandfather had it right all along. Not sure how he, Father Sartini, got it. Don't know yet how, but that material, still in the original chest, was sent with him to Tehran. Didn't even try to hide it. Incredible.
"Must have thought it didn't matter, if you can believe that. The message he left was unbelievable. Left his collar on his desk with a note - 'I serve a greater God than yours' or something like that. Quite a thing to tell the Holy Father.
"I don't know much else, but I've been recalled. Seems they need a new Superintendent of Records. I've been given some time off to take for vacation, a week or so, anyway, and then I report to the Vatican."
He shook his head, looking at the now silent phone.
"It's almost too much to believe," he added softly.
"Almost?" she asked incredulously. "Almost too much to believe?"
They stood silently together, looking at the television screen, but really seeing nothing for several minutes.
Finally, he looked back at her. "If you ever make it over, I owe you so much. Please stop in - there's much to see, and I would love to show you around. Really, I'd love to have you come over."
She reached over and hugged him. "I have some time of my own coming. Maybe this would be a good time to take it. Just how long is a flight from here?"
Chapter 41
Prophecy Fulfilled
Far across the plain, a young man looked out from the mountains.
His father would not be returning.
He had been warned that this might be the case. He felt the loss, but it was tempered by the knowledge that the cataclysm that had occurred had been long foretold. It had always been a possibility. This had been the plan, literally written in the stars, all along. One day, one of his family's line would be the last to pass the message. His father turned out to be the one.
He, the son, was now free, no longer bound by the ancient writings that his father, and fathers before him had been bound by. He was free to find his own way in the world.
It would not be easy - everything was new to him. He had always thought that it would be him, not is father, delivering the message. Yet, here he was, alone. He had an uncle, his father's brother. He would go there, taking what very few belongings he had, along with a small pouch with some gold coins saved and collected, one at a time over many years. Coins saved by his father and grandfather for this day. He hefted the bag in his hand. Not much. Maybe twenty, twenty-five pounds worth. Coins of various denominations, but all gold, from many years. He wondered what they would be worth, if it would be enough to help him get started.
He sat on an outcropping of rock. The blast of winds had already passed, as did the wave of searing heat. All was calm now. Dust was still settling, but there was plenty still in the air, giving a deep red color to the setting sun, changing it from the normal reds to a deep blood color.
At first, the waves of heat across the desert had created mirages as far as the eye could see. He had wondered, is this the water in the prophecy? As he had watched, he realized the reflections and mirages did indeed appear to be pools, but with the colored sky, they became pools of blood. Could it be more appropriate? Then, in a matter of moments, it had again changed.
The red began to fade as the sky filled with the clouds from the event. He had sat, mesmerized, as he watched the clouds initiate the snow fall, turning the bloody pools white. Again, could there have been a more appropriate sign?
He had listened to the events unfolding, as well as the immediate aftermath on a tiny old-fashioned transistor radio, one his father had purchased many years before. He had seen much of it first hand, and told of much more by his father, though of course he wasn't present at the end.
He heard and saw that the city was destroyed, Israel was intact, and knew the U.S. was still working with them, and in fact, was still flying the AWACS above them even now.
He reflected on the prophecy's fulfillment:
"The star of five will rise above the one of six. The thousand points of the first star will each become a star of its own, with untold power, and the brightness of a thousand stars will rise from that land of conflict. As it settles, peace will reign throughout, and the hot desert shall bring forth cool streams."
Someday he would explain it to his own son. He would tell him of the message his father had given to Zarin, and his father before him.
He would tell him of the US AWACS, with its five pointed star flying above Israel's Star of David.
He would tell him of the history of the first star, the shattered Demon Star, with its thousands of sharp points and fragments, or at least as much as he knew of it, and the power it contained, and how it led to the flash, as bright as a thousand stars over this land which had seen so many thousands of years of conflict.
He would tell him of the snow, melting, providing the cool, refreshing, cleansing water throughout the area, even if only temporarily.
And finally, with the radical voices silenced, he would tell them of the peace, at least for now, did indeed reign.
Chapter 42
The Beginning
The dust from the explosion was dispersed and launched deep into space.
* * *
Yet slowly, inexorably, over the course of hundreds of years, gravity would once again slowly begin to bring those fragments together.
* * *
A new prophecy would emerge.
The End
NOTE: SUMMATION is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, alive or dead, is strictly coincidental.
Look for another book released in 2015 by author D
aniel Syverson:
COVENANT of the ARK
Chapter 1
She had never seen so much blood.
A man and a woman were seated, facing each other, some ten, maybe twelve, feet apart in the library of a once tastefully decorated home. The wall behind her had blood sprayed in a fan starting near the floor, perhaps four or five feet wide, three or four feet high. A stream of thick blood was still running down the wall from a spot some three or four feet above the floor, puddling at the base of the wall. Some of the blood had dried where it ran down, dark and brown, but near the bottom, where it was thicker, the blood was still moist, and a brighter red.
The small river of blood had been launched when an artery had been hit, sending a crimson burst upward and behind her. That puddle, long and narrow as it kept neatly on the wooden floor, corralled by the edge of the expensive Persian carpet that started about a foot from the wall, was joined tangentially by the much larger, more symmetric puddle that centered under her chair. Centered on her right leg, she corrected herself as she looked at it more critically. The bullet had entered the upper edge of her knee, shattering the knee in what had to be the most painful possible target, before ripping its way through the upper thigh, likely slicing the femoral artery, which explained both the explosion of blood upward and the puddle below. At least she couldn't have lasted long she said to herself. Probably passed out from the shock or pain, and was dead in a matter of minutes at most.
Detective Kate Ruger looked more closely at the puddle toward the back of the chair, where several lumps, looking like small, misshapen meatballs covered in reddish-brown sauce, caught her eye. "Oh, dear God," she half whispered, stepping closer to the chair, taking care to avoid the sodden carpet, now beginning to soak up the liquid life that had flowed out of the poor woman less than an hour ago. She twisted her head to look behind the chair where the woman's hands were tied without touching or moving it, as all the crime scene photos had not yet been taken. "Jesus," she gasped, "they cut off two of her fingers before they shot her."
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