If God Doesn't Show

by R. Thomas Riley

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Blount said. “We’ve all had to do some things we’ll regret.”

  “You can say that again.” The man’s laugh held no mirth. “I’m friendly enough, though. And I don’t mind saying it’s nice to see some people with no shadows tagging along.”

  Blount nodded at Palmer and he lowered his weapon. He kept it ready at his side.

  “Thank you,” Tubule said. “I ain’t got much, but you’re welcome to what I have, Mr…”

  “Gibson Blount. This is Palmer and Veleska.”

  “Glad to make your acquaintances.”

  Blount tensed as he heard voices drift from the building’s doorway, behind Tubule. Tubule noticed the tension and said, “Nothing to worry about. That’s just my ham radio. Seems to be the only line of communication left now. There’s been a lot of chatter. People been reaching out just to make sure they’re not the only ones left alive.”

  Palmer perked up at this, and moved closer. “We haven’t heard any news for awhile now.”

  “I’m feeling pretty exposed,” Blount said. “How ‘bout we secure the chopper and get inside?”

  Sam nodded and started for the chopper. Casey held a hand over her eyes to shield them from the late afternoon sun. She smiled as she saw Sam approaching. Sam waved and returned the smile. Casey was a good kid. It was amazing to see how fast she’d bounced back from being kidnapped by a psychotic cult and possessed by an ancient god. Sam wasn’t sure if she would’ve been able to cope as well. She’d nearly been driven mad by that dreadful chattering. At the time she hadn’t been aware just how close she’d come to cracking. Sam’s smile slipped as her thoughts darkened.

  “What’s wrong?” Casey asked.

  Sam forced another smile and shook her head. Kid was observant. “Nothing.” She began to secure the chopper. “We’re heading inside. That guy over there has some news, and Blount wants to stay and chat for a bit.”

  “Samantha,” Archer called as he stepped from the chopper.

  It took Sam a few moments to recover her poise. “Archer.”

  Archer encircled his daughter in his arms and Sam saw that Casey tensed, but allowed her father to hug her from behind. Archer leaned his head down and kissed the top of her head. He must’ve noticed his daughter’s rigidness, because a frown creased his face. He looked over at Sam. “What?”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired.” He sighed. “Drained.” Frowning, he released his daughter. “To be honest, I’m missing some time, I think.”

  Casey turned and looked at her father. Sam’s heart clutched as she saw the concern and fear on the girl’s features. “Dad, you’ve been out of it for almost four days. W-w-we…I was so worried about you.”

  “Oh, baby.” Archer choked as he pulled her into a hug once more. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I was so worried about you.”

  Sam walked over and placed a hand on Archer’s shoulder. “Good to have you back.”

  As Archer and Casey walked away, Sam crossed her arms and frowned. Archer’s recovery felt too convenient. She’d noticed the haunted glaze come over his eyes when he claimed to be missing time. He was hiding something—she could feel it deep in her bones. What he was hiding she wasn’t sure, but she made a mental note to discuss her suspicions with Blount as soon as the two could be alone.

  On the subject of Blount, her mind was a battlefield of emotions. Blount was an enigma and that troubled her too.

  * * *

  Paul Tubule led Blount and Palmer into the building and over to a spot hidden behind some crates and boxes. With a groan, he bent down and pulled up a trap door notched in the floor. A light flickered on as the door was raised, and Blount could see a set of stairs leading down. Tubule led the way, while Palmer cleared his throat uncomfortably. He muttered something under his breath, and Blount looked back.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” Palmer said. “Just didn’t think we’d be heading back underground so soon.”

  Tubule laughed loudly and called over his shoulder. “It isn’t much, but it’s safe. There’s a front coming, and we’re going to appreciate this cellar when that fallout shows up.”

  As they approached the bottom of the stairs, Blount heard the voices coming from the ham radio much more clearly. He had very little experience with this type of communication, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. “Wouldn’t the EMP’s from the blasts have knocked out radio communications?”

  “Yes and no,” Paul said. “Call me paranoid, but I put my ham in a lead-lined safe before the launches.”

  He pushed open a steel door and waved them through.

  Blount was impressed with the room. It was about the size of a spacious bedroom, and the entire far wall was stacked floor to ceiling with supplies of can goods and other dry goods. He saw five assorted firearms against another wall and boxes of ammo as well.

  A well-worn couch was against another wall and a small refrigerator hummed next to it. A side table was stacked high with books. On the opposite wall, the ham radio rested on a table.

  “I’m impressed,” Blount said as he surveyed the room. “Where’s the electricity coming from?”

  “Generator up top.”

  Palmer glanced around, appearing satisfied there were no surprises waiting for them, and that Tubule was on the up and up. “I’ll go and check on the girls.” He headed back up the stairs.

  “What have you been hearing on the radio?”

  “Lots.” Paul grunted. “It isn’t pretty out there, Mr. Blount. Whatever happened was very, very bad. I talked to a guy in Canada who told me he saw fires burning so hot that the asphalt in the streets melted and burst into flames. He was in a secure, clean room at a traffic control building and watched it all on the security monitors, safe from the airbursts and initial nuclear blasts. People were trying to run, but they were literally melting into the pavement as they ran. There was a guy, on fire, that jumped into a fountain, only to catch fire again when he surfaced for air.”

  Tubule settled himself on the couch and sighed with relief. Blount walked over and looked at the books on the table. He scanned the titles and realized they were all about nuclear radiation, fallout, and survival. There were a few zombie novels as well. Blount glanced at a few of the titles and grimaced. Elements of the Apocalypse, Valley of the Dead, The Undead, The Rising, Dead Sea, Entombed.

  Tubule must have noticed his reaction to the books. “I grabbed those from the library.”

  “And the zombie novels?”

  “Those are for research as well…” Paul grinned.

  “Did you hear which cities were hit?”

  “All the major ones…for the most part.”

  “What about D.C.? The government?”

  “Ain’t no leadership left. The evacuation was a disaster. Streets were gridlocked, and nobody knew what the heck was happening. Think Katrina times twenty.” Paul gave a disgusted sigh. “Ain’t no government to put anything back together, but then, did you really expect them to know their elbows from their asses? A few days ago, I came across some chatter on the ham. A group of militia guys were claiming to have found the president in some helicopter wreck. Said he shot himself. Tell you the truth, I don’t blame the guy if that’s what he did.”

  “Where?”

  “What?”

  “Where did they find the wreck?”

  “They didn’t say, but it sounded pretty legit, if you ask me.” Paul shrugged.

  He glanced up as Sam, Casey, and Archer entered the room. Blount stared at Archer with raised eyebrows. Archer crossed the room and clasped Blount’s hands in his own.

  “I want to thank you for all you’ve done.”

  Blount took his hand from the other man’s crushing grip and recovered from the shock of seeing Archer healed and coherent. He glanced down at his hand and was sure he’d see it encased in ice, as cold as it was. Blount stared hard at Archer. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. He gl
anced over at Sam and she shrugged. So she’d felt it too, Blount realized.

  Paul spoke up, “Agent?”

  Blount turned and faced the man and nodded. “I work…worked…for a branch of the NSA.”

  “I see.” Silence hung heavily in the room for a while, and it appeared Paul expected Blount would elaborate. When he didn’t, Paul continued. “How much of what’s happened did you know about?”

  Blount fixed the man with a cold stare. “I know a bit.”

  “Look, I’ve opened my home to you. Offered you what I have. The least you can do is tell me what the hell happened these past few days.”

  “Fine.” Blount sighed. “A cult kidnapped this man’s daughter.” He pointed to Casey. “And used her to call forth an ancient god. An island that’s been buried beneath the sea for millennia rose, and its displacement of the ocean flooded most of the west coasts of the Americas, and pretty much every other island across the globe. In this process, the cult accidentally opened a portal to a void and those creatures came out.

  “Nukes were launched at us, either under the control of the shadow creatures or panicked nations like North Korea and China, and we responded by launching our own nukes.”

  Paul looked at Blount for a long moment. “You serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ll be. I ain’t much of a spiritual man, but I’m pretty sure I came face to face with evil the past few days.”

  * * *

  Blount decided to forgo a watch, since they were all well past the brink of exhaustion. None of them would’ve been much use even if they’d tried to keep a lookout. They all bedded down for the night in Paul’s cellar and slept the sleep of the dead.

  Blount should’ve fallen right to sleep. He’d been up for nearly six days now, but he found sleep elusive. He ran the last few days’ events over and over in his mind, and he couldn’t help but feel that he was missing something—something vital. He was sure of it. No matter how he shifted the pieces in his mind, nothing seemed to fit, or produce that flash bulb of recognition.

  Archer’s speedy recovery was the main thing troubling him. What had snapped him out of his stupor? And why? When Archer had shaken his hand, Blount had felt a deep coldness coming off the man. He’d made a pretense to get next to the guy earlier and brushed his hand on Archer’s arm, but there was nothing there to glean. He should’ve been able to read something off the man, but it was as if there was nothing there—a void of nothingness. Blount tried to dismiss it as the after effects of what Archer had been through, but still, it didn’t sit entirely right with him.

  He slipped from his sleeping bag as quietly as he could and eased out of the room. After trudging up the stairs, he pulled a rumpled pack of stale cigarettes from his flight suit. He hadn’t smoked in years, but when he’d discovered Paul had cartons upon cartons stashed away, the urge was back.

  He stood just inside the doorway of the building and lit his cigarette. The smoke hung about his head in the still, night air. He scanned the outskirts for any movement or threat, but all appeared to be calm.

  “Got another one?” a voice asked behind him.

  Blount whirled and pulled his weapon. The act was so fast and fluid it caught the new arrival by complete surprise. Archer stumbled back and swallowed with difficulty as he stared down the barrel of Blount’s pistol. He raised his hands in placation.

  “You just about got shot yourself, friggin’ idiot.” Blount eased up on the trigger and lowered his weapon. He was pissed at himself. How could he have not heard Archer coming up from behind him?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Blount grunted and shook another cigarette from the pack, then offered it to Archer. The man took it and leaned in while Blount flicked the lighter. Archer inhaled deeply and sighed smoke out his mouth and nostrils.

  “Ahhhh, now that is nice. It’s been awhile since I quit, but don’t see no point in stopping now, uh?”

  “What do you remember?” Blount asked.

  “What?”

  “What do you remember?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you touched Casey on the altar…something happened. What was it?”

  Archer took a deep breath and dragged deeply on his cigarette. The glow played tricks with his face. He locked eyes with Blount and shrugged. “I don’t remember a whole hell of a lot, actually.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t remember.”

  “Something’s been bothering me about you, and I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t like that feeling.”

  “Look, I appreciate what you’ve done for my daughter…she’d be dead right now if weren’t for you…but I think it might be best if we part ways.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” Blount still had the gun down by his side, but he brandished it to show his seriousness.

  “Look, man…”

  “What’s going on?” Sam said as she came up the stairs. “Something wrong?”

  The two men started as if they’d been caught doing something untoward. Archer flicked his cigarette out into the night and shoved past Sam as he headed back down the stairs. She watched him go and frowned back up at Blount. “What’d I just walk into?”

  Blount’s brooding gaze was his only response.

  Chapter Two

  The twins came to him in a dream. He found himself standing at the edge of a precipice. There was darkness all around and it writhed and cavorted. The darkness possessed a tangible presence that pressed against his face and body with a changeableness that felt wet and squirmy. A childhood memory welled up, and he recalled playing with night crawlers—the way they’d felt as they’d slid through his fingers. What pressed against his body and face now felt the same. He felt his disgust rise and he quickly swallowed.

  The twins stood on either side of him. Nina held his right hand and Maya his left. They gripped him tightly as an unseen wind welled up from below and buffeted him. His shirt flapped in the gusts, sounding like mini-gun shots in the silence. He looked at the twins on either side of him and they offered smiles of reassurance—though the smiles didn’t reach their eyes, where concern and fear was clearly evident.

  You’re not finished, Maya whispered in his ear.

  There’s still work to be done, Nina said.

  Blount pondered what they were telling him. He felt it too. Something else was coming. “Tell me what to do, girls.” His words seemed to be ripped from his mouth then flung out over the chasm in front of them. The twins began to fade, and he clutched at their hands as they became less corporeal. Then they were gone.

  Blount stepped back from the edge and strained to see in the darkness. He found he could see vague shapes and a scarred landscape, as if it were a cloudy night. He began to walk. The act of placing one foot in front of the next was made purely on faith and hope, because he couldn’t see the ground. His next step could be off the other side of the cliff for all he knew. Yet, he felt compelled to keep walking. On an intellectual level, Blount understood this was a dream, but he was filled with doubt, believing it was completely of this world.

  He gradually became aware of a hammering coming from directly in front of him. It sounded like something or someone was smashing two rocks together. Eventually he saw the vague outline of a figure hunched over. Rhythmically, the figure raised a fist-size rock and brought it crashing against the side and top of its head. Smack, smack, smack.

  “Hey!” Blount called out as he approached.

  The figure paused, but didn’t turn to see who had called out. Once more, it continued to smash its head with the rock. Blount circled, keeping his distance, until he realized it was Simon Baxter. The man’s eyes were blood-filled holes, and specks of skull flashed in the darkness as he raised his head to peer at Blount. The man offered a gore-stained smile.

  “Blount,” he said as he hit his head with the rock. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Baxter. What are you doing?
”

  “Oh, this?” The man chuckled and hit himself in the mouth with the rock. He spat teeth onto the ground and swallowed, then groaned with pleasure. “You’re not finished. You left us all there to die.”

  “I’m sorry.” Blount sighed.

  “Sorry? Sorry!” Blood spattered from his mouth and dripped onto his chest and arms. “I had a premonition that day, but I ignored it because I believed you would keep us safe.”

  “I did what I could.”

  Baxter hit himself with the rock and laughed. “But it wasn’t enough.”

  “No!” Blount cried and moved to stop the man as he raised the rock once more, gripping it with both hands.

  He brought his head forward as he brought the rock up. The blow was strong, and Baxter’s head caved in like an eggshell. The man slumped over and sighed one last time.

  Blount dropped to his knees and sobbed as he watched the body begin to liquefy, decomposing before his eyes. In a matter of minutes, nothing was left but slivers of bones and a few scraps of clothing.

  Sounds of smashing drifted towards Blount. He rose to his feet and turned to walk back the way he’d come. He knew what he would find if he continued and he had no stomach for it.

  “Yeah, keep walking,” a voice called out. “Leave us like you did the last time!”

  Blount ducked his head and trudged on. He was back at the precipice a few minutes later. He could see farther now, and he saw the island in the distance. A mass of water was between him and the island, and the surface was a churning mess. Abruptly, someone grabbed his hand and he whirled to face them. Max Anders, the theologian, his face a study of anguish and horror, stared back at him.

  “It’s all wrong, Blount,” he cried. “It’s all wrong.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything. There is no heaven, no hell, only this place.”

  Blount hugged the shivering man to his chest. “You’re absolutely right.”