Upon This Rock

by David Marusek

  “I read it every year.”

  “Then you know that devils are a touchy lot and you don’t want to be on their bad side. God has granted Satan and his cohort the special privilege of testing men’s faith. This is a concession that Satan has won in battles past. If I were a devil, which I’m not, I would have God’s own blessing to torment you in this life until I broke you into pieces. Think about it. Is that the fate you desire?”

  But Poppy took another step forward and bellowed, “Begone, devil. I rebuke thee in Christ Jesus name!”

  “Silence!” the angel roared back at him. “Or suffer the consequences.” She pointed at Poppy’s children behind him. “The Prince of Darkness will claim the lives of all your children. You will cry out to God for relief, just as Job did, but He will not hear you. That is, if I were a devil, which I am not.”

  “Eat shit, Satan, and begone.” Poppy gestured for his reluctant sons and daughters to join in: “We rebuke thee in Christ Jesus name.”

  “We rebuke thee in Christ Jesus name.”

  “Cease this. I’m warning you.”

  In a tremulous chorus, the prayer warriors exhorted Martha to depart. Again and again they rebuked her in the Savior’s name, and with each repetition their courage rebounded and her heavenly facade splintered and fell away. Her skin became the scaly skin of a serpent. The sandals on her feet became cloven hooves, and her legs the haunches of an ass. Horns protruded from her forehead, and her handsome face grew hideous with hooked nose, iron nails for teeth, and beady little pig eyes full of hate, hate, hate. And, because all angels, fallen or otherwise, were male, from between her legs sprouted a cock as long as a man is tall and capped with a shiny crimson head.

  “We rebuke thee in Christ Jesus name.”

  And still the devil withstood the authority of their faith, though it plainly caused him misery. With each repetition, the Prophecy siblings became more strident in their courage.

  “Begone, devil, in Christ Jesus name.”

  Finally, the devil lifted a leg and, with a sharp cry that echoed up and down the length of the tunnel, stomped his hoof on the floor, striking sparks and opening a fissure. A curtain of flames sprang up from the depths of Hell, along with the ceaseless screams and howls of the damned. The stench of sulfur and of searing flesh befouled the air of the tunnel.

  “Begone, devil, in Christ Jesus name.”

  “Marvin Johnson,” the devil declared, “you will curse this day, for you have sorely displeased me. Therefore, I shall prepare a trial of faith for you to test your devotion to the Creator. We shall see how true you remain while standing on the bloated bodies of your family, with your house on fire, and your wealth trampled into the mud. We shall listen for your hosannahs when your health and dignity are broken and your reputation is stripped from you. You imagine you are stalwart, but you are weak. You imagine you are righteous, but you are a hypocrite. Let us see how faithful you remain when God is deaf to your prayers.”

  The devil turned to the siblings. “And you, Adam the Firstborn, you will not live to enjoy your birthright, and your betrothed will betray you with another man. You, Cora, will die without ever loving a man or having a room of your own. You, Proverbs, well, you are my pet, aren’t you? I have a special place for you right here at my side.”

  “Begone, devil, in Christ Jesus name.”

  The devil made to leap into the fissure of flames but held back for one final curse. “I almost forgot about you, Sarai, because you are so forgettable. Special daughter? Don’t make me laugh. Oh, you’re special all right. A special strumpet for the incestuous pleasuring of your unholy lord.

  “So says, I, Beezus, brother of Lucifer and the Bringer of Sorrow.”

  And with that, the devil leaped into the crack of Hell. The entire mountain groaned as the fissure closed over him and the flames and cries of agony were cut off.

  The Prophecys reeled from the encounter. After a long moment, Poppy reached out his hand, and Cora gave him the bottle of olive oil from the kitchen. Poppy spilled some of it on his fingers and sprinkled it on the floor where the fissure had been.

  “And stay out,” he said, “in Christ Jesus name. Amen.”

  BS6 1.0

  THEY RETURNED TO the cistern chamber in silence. Poppy stopped there and said, “Go on home, all of you. You did good. Hide the agents’ sno-gos for now and tomorrow dump them in the river. Now go.”

  But none of them went.

  “What’s this?” Poppy said. “Do as I say.”

  Adam said, “Lord, we killed those agents on the devil’s say-so.”

  “We were tricked.”

  “Is that what we’re gonna say to the next ones who come looking for the last ones? Sorry, we were tricked?”

  “We don’t have to say nothing, not if we get rid of their stuff like I told you. The devil, Beezus, already took care of the hardest part for us; every scrap of their bodies is gone. You said so yourself.

  “Listen, all of you, get it through your skulls: these aren’t normal times. The war has begun. Terrible things happen in wars. Those men were our enemy no matter who told us to kill them. They were scouts in the Antichrist’s army. They were the devil’s own soldiers. That’s why he took them away, to use them again. Don’t go feeling sorry or guilty about them. They’re his men.

  “What’s important is to finish cleaning up. Make it like they were never here. And if you can’t do that now, you can wait until tomorrow to get started. A few hours probably won’t matter.”

  Adam turned his father’s words over in his mind. “All right,” he said. “I’ll get Hosea to help me. We’ll do it tonight.” He left down tunnel, and Cora went with him.

  Then it was Sarai’s turn. The tear tracks on her cheeks glistened in Poppy’s headlamp.

  “Well?” he said.

  “I need to know, lord, if what the angel said was true.”

  “That was no angel! Didn’t you notice that, you idiot girl? That was the devil! He has a name — Beezus!”

  “Yes, lord, sorry. Is what Beezus said true?”

  “Beezus said a lot of things.”

  “What he said about me.”

  “What about you?”

  “That I’m . . . That you . . .”

  Poppy waited with mounting fury for the girl to ask her question, daring her to ask it.

  “Forget it,” she said at last and turned to go.

  Proverbs, who had been waiting with his own question, looked away in shame. Now that he knew.

  When Sarai was gone, Poppy turned to him. “What about you? What’s your problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem,” Proverbs said. “But what about Ginger?”

  “What about her?”

  “She don’t need to be locked up anymore.”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  The boy took the question seriously. “I was gonna ask you, but now I guess I’m telling you.”

  Poppy struggled to control his temper. “How do you figure?”

  “Because she’s not infested with demons. Probably never was. Her accuser was the devil.”

  “That logic is ass-backwards, son. Who better to see lurking demons than a devil? That girl’s infested. I have no doubt about it, and I won’t allow her near the children.”

  Proverbs nodded and rubbed his eye. “Then we cast the demons out.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Not maybe; right now. Didn’t we just cast out the devil himself?”

  Poppy didn’t enjoy being ordered about by this boy. He had already come to the conclusion that, demons or no demons, that girl wasn’t daughter-in-law material. But then he flashed on the image of this same boy standing on the rock pile not two hours ago, hoisting a large stone over his head.

  “Tomorrow, first thing,” Poppy conceded.

  “Good,” Proverbs said. “Thank you, lord.”

  BS7 1.0

  THE GOLDEN PEA still lay on the shore of the underground lake where Poppy had left it. No longer was t
here an angel or devil guarding it while secretly stealing their supplies. Poppy sat on the rock ledge and turned off his headlamp to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He prayed to the Holy Spirit for some insight into the bizarre events of the day. He thanked the Father for the strength to banish the devil from the keep, and he beseeched Him not to grant Beezus the power of Job’s curse. After all, the coming time of Trouble would be test enough of any man’s faith, wouldn’t it?

  Finally, Poppy peered into the darkness at his feet, looking for the golden pea. But unlike the marble from which it sprang, the tiny orb didn’t seem to possess any inner light of its own.

  Which led to the question: just what was the golden marble that now lay at the bottom of his lake? Maybe the devil had told the truth and it was the key to the bottomless pit. Maybe it was a key to something else, or not a key at all. Clearly, it was of heavenly origin: the devil himself was unable to touch it. Whatever it was, it seemed to be extremely valuable, so valuable that even Satan coveted it and needed to summon help from Hell to steal it from the keep.

  But why didn’t Beezus use Obama’s men to recover it for him? Weren’t they on the same side? Why did he conspire instead to kill them? Was it possible that the golden marble could give the Antichrist power over Satan?

  Did that mean by extension that Poppy now had power over Satan?

  Poppy switched on his headlamp and knelt at the shore. He scooped up a handful of water. It was intensely cold. He brought it to his nose. There was no foul odor: wormwood, brimstone, pestilence or pesticide. He brought it to his lips. It tasted fresh and sweet. Whatever the marble was, it was not poison. It would not harm his family. Though being in possession of it might.

  Heavenly Father, You know that we have this little ball bearing here, right, Lord? You dropped it in our backyard so we could safeguard it for You. And we will. Only tell us how. Amen.

  There, message sent, and no need for a flare.

  Poppy rose from his creaky knees and straightened his back. He regarded the golden pea lying at his feet. He couldn’t just leave it there, could he? Especially if it truly was a beacon tuned to demon frequencies.

  But where to hide it? Somewhere within the keep for sure.

  In the end, Poppy could think of no better vault to safeguard it than the watery one where lay the marble. So he picked up the heavy smidgen and dropped it into the lake.

  Down it went straight.

  Watching the unearthly thing disappear, Poppy heard the familiar voice of the Holy Spirit. It had been a long while since that particular godhead had offered Poppy any insight, and he had sorely missed it. Now the Holy Spirit said, Time to wrap things up.

  BS8 1.0

  PROVERBS APPEARED AT the bathhouse door bearing a mattress. Deut let him in. Behind him Solly lugged another mattress, and Ithy and Uzzie brought extra lanterns, bedding, and food. The younger boys set down their burdens and left as fast as they could.

  “You need to shadow Ginger out here tonight,” Proverbs told Deut. “Unless Ginger wants to spend one last night in the powder room.” Ginger watched him from the opposite end of the room but said nothing.

  “What happened to them feds?” Deut said. “What happened in the keep?”

  There was something weird about her brother, besides the fact that he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch. He seemed at peace with himself, even light-hearted for a change.

  “Let’s just say a glorious victory was won today in Father God’s name and leave it at that for now.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means our God is a mighty God.”

  “It means,” Ginger said, crossing the room, “that I was right all along, wasn’t I? She wasn’t an angel, was she?”

  “Hello Rath,” Proverbs said, calling her the name Martha had used in the tunnel. “Hello, Zorn and Tork and the rest of the gang.” He smiled charmingly as he spoke. “Don’t get too comfortable there inside my sweetie because you’re not staying.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” both girls said. But Proverbs only wished them a pleasant night and left the bathhouse. As soon as his footfalls faded, Ginger went to the clothes pegs and began putting on her outerwear and boots again.

  “You’re not going?” Deut said.

  “I feel stronger now. I’m sure I can make it to the Bunyans’.” She glanced at Deut. “Promise me you won’t tell till morning?”

  “You can’t go.”

  “I can’t stay.”

  “But the feds we saw. They weren’t moving all that fast. You’ll run into them on the trail for sure.”

  It was true, and it gave Ginger chills, but she picked up one of the LED lanterns and said, “Can I borrow this?”

  Deut began to cry.

  “Don’t cry, Deut. I can make it. I can outrun those guys. And I’m sure Crissy Lou will be there to protect me.” Ginger approached Deut. “Can I hug you? I promise I don’t have demons.”

  Deut opened her arms, and they hugged for a while. Then Ginger went to the door. But they heard footsteps again, and something heavy clattered on the porch.

  “I brought you more firewood,” Proverbs said through the door.

  Deut said, “Thank you, brother. Good-night.”

  “You’re welcome, sister. If you need anything else, just holler.”

  Deut and Ginger looked at each other, and Deut said, “And then what?”

  “And then I’ll fetch it for you.”

  Ginger opened the door. Her tireless suitor was bathed in moonlight. “You’re planning to stand out there all night?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “To keep me prisoner?”

  “No, to protect you.”

  “I don’t want your protection.”

  “Yes, you do, only you don’t know it. You’ll know tomorrow.”

  “Why? What happens tomorrow?”

  “You’ll have your own mind back.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “First thing in the morning,” Proverbs explained, “we’re gonna drive out all the evil spirits that’s got into you. Then you’ll see everything with new eyes, and you’ll be able to decide your fate with your own free will. Then if you want to go home and take your chances with the Antichrist, that’s up to you. If you want to stay here safe in the keep as my betrothed, tomorrow you’ll be free to choose. In the meantime, you’re under my personal protection. I am at your service.”

  Social Media

  SM1 1.0

  MEANWHILE, ACROSS THE state in Wallis, Bradd Tetlin was in the kitchen grating cheese for a platter of nachos. The governor sat beside him on a barstool drafting a Facebook post on her laptop. She read the latest draft under her breath and said, “Done.”

  “Want me to read it?” Bradd said.

  “Would’ja?” She turned the laptop toward him.

  OBAMA IS A SPECIAL KIND OF STUPID

  We’ve had about enough of you, Mr. President. Pulling sick stunts like this frees us of any obligation to show you respect. You say you went to Newtown to comfort grieving parents after the horrible crime against innocents there? But what you really did was use their bleeding bodies as a platform to spew your asinine, ideological-driven garbage about Americans who value their 2nd Amendment rights. Shame on you. You disrespect your office.

  And if that isn’t bad enough, after every one of these terrible shootings, you try to put the blame on law-abiding American gun owners, millions of us, who are not terrorists. When nothing you and the Dems propose would have prevented this or any of the earlier massacres.

  Yes, it’s a special kind of stupid to blame the victims, Mr. President, but then you probably already know that. God help America if we have to stomach another four years of you.

  Vera Tetlin

  “Well?” Vera said.

  “It reads fine to me,” Bradd said. “It’s strong.”

  “I was going for strong. Are you saying it’s too strong?”

  “No, I’m not. When you’re looking down
the wrong end of the barrel for four more years, then, no, it’s not too strong. The opposite, maybe — a little too constrained.”

  “Thank you.” Vera kissed his cheek. She reached over and clicked the button to send the post to her thirteen million friends.

  When the nachos were done, Bradd removed the platter from the oven and brought it and a couple of Buds to the living room where Vera was watching The Good Wife.

  She said, “Any word back from Beaver Swayne?”

  “Not yet.”

  “It’s been almost a week already. Before you get too comfortable, Bradd, give him a call, will ya? See where he’s at on the telecom thing.”

  “All right.”

  “And tell him to come see us again. There’s more we need to discuss.”

  “Such as?”

  “It’s like you said; we’re staring down the barrel of a gun. More and more, we Alaskans are sitting ducks up here. Maybe we need to discuss contingencies.”

  SM2 1.0

  THAT SAME EVENING, Jace’s phone and internet service returned for a few hours. He had just enjoyed a hearty meal of Dinty Moore stew and French-style green beans from cans and was debating how to wind down the day. The return of the internet was a perfect occasion to spark up a bedtime blunt from his dwindling stash and spend a pleasant evening catching up on family, friends, and the news of the day.

  There was plenty of news for him to catch up on at the end of December, 2012. The Maya Apocalypse, as he already knew, was a no-show, but no one had really taken it seriously anyway, except for a bunch of wackos in the French village of Bugarach. Another no-show was the all-important Christmas shopping season, according to early sales numbers. In other news: the Muslim Brotherhood had rammed a partisan constitution down Egypt’s throat, setting the stage for years of civil strife; the last of the slaughtered Newtown first-graders and teachers were laid to rest; the VP of the National Rifle Association proposed installing armed guards in every school in America; psychiatrists affirmed that people with Asperger’s Syndrome were not prone to becoming mass murderers; Nelson Mandela and the first George Bush were both hospitalized for old age; Russia passed a law prohibiting the adoption of Russian children by Americans; Secretary of State Hillary Clinton fainted, hit her head, and got a nasty blood clot on her brain; the U.S. economy fell off the fiscal cliff — again; President Obama gave away the store — again; Congress kicked the can down the road — again; and Alaska governor Vera Tetlin posted another Facebook rant calling Obama a “special kind of stupid.”