Project Apex (28 page)

"Thanks," Branning said, setting the boots on a rock before following Hamada’s lead and settling down to sleep. For a while, he looked up at the sky, the brilliant and breathtaking blanket of stars making him realise just how insignificant he and everyone else on the planet was. Gradually, he felt his eyes grow heavy as sleep took him to a dreamless darkness.

III

Rough hands yanked him from his dreamless slumber. Snatches of Arabic filtered into his groggy brain as he was dragged roughly to his feet. He squirmed and tried to free himself as a hood was placed over his head and his arm bent up behind his back. He was being dragged, his bootless feet scraping through the dirt. More snatches of Arabic filtered through the heavy, itchy hood, yet there were so many in unison that he couldn’t make any sense of it from the little he knew of the language. Any hope of assessing which direction he was moving in was fruitless. He continued to squirm, and this time, the Arabic was easier to understand.

Stop.

Don’t struggle.

You won’t be harmed.

Branning paid no attention. He knew well enough the consequences for lone American soldiers who were captured out here in the foothills. He could see it coming, him sitting bloody and beaten, tied to a chair as an extremist delivered a sermon to the camera, perhaps warning those who would invade to think twice. Perhaps they would try to get him to denounce the US occupation himself, maybe by promising him freedom which he knew would never come because he knew enough about situations like this to know how it would go. There would be a machete or a sword, and it would be shown to the camera, perhaps shimmering slightly under the low lighting. Those who were taking him would savour the moment, savour the fear which no training would be able to hide. Branning thought the worst part would be the waiting, the anticipation of feeling that cold steel against his neck just seconds before he was beheaded for the world to see.

He squirmed more, desperate to free himself. The Arabic shouts were becoming more desperate and heated just seconds before something struck Branning hard in the head, rendering him unconscious. He didn’t feel it as he was bundled into the back of a truck, nor did he see Hamada stroll to the passenger side and climb in as the rest of his men climbed into the other two vehicles and set out deeper into the Iraqi wilderness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHURCH OF HOLY RIGHTEOUSNESS

DALLAS, TEXAS

MILES FISHER HAD BEEN expecting the apocalypse and was one of the few who were both prepared and unsurprised as the world started to fall apart. The fifty-six-year-old had endured a strict upbringing by his parents in preparation for such an event, who, despite owning only a modest home in San Antonio, had run the Church of Holy Righteousness for three generations. Set in its own five-acre plot of land, the converted ranch house was the base of operations for the church, which had grown from a congregation of a half dozen people back when his great grandfather had first started to preach, to its current number somewhere around the three hundred thousand mark worldwide. Now a multi-million dollar business built on the donations of its supporters, the white ranch had been expanded to include a custom-built glass and steel hall of worship. Every day, Miles would hold his sermons in front of the six hundred strong crowds who wanted to hear his wise words (and could afford the seventy-five dollar entry fee) and perhaps have him harness the power of the Lord to rid them of their sins, before of course being invited to leave a donation. With a congregation which included judges, political figures and even a couple of celebrity country music stars, the donations ranged from very generous to eye wateringly large.

Miles had taken the seeds planted by his grandfather and father and grown them into a juggernaut of a business, a machine which pulled in revenue on everything from merchandise, self-help videos, website subscriptions and of course the ever popular sermons, which were broadcast on local television networks (on a pay per view basis) for those who couldn’t get tickets to attend live. Some of Miles' family, particularly his brother, Earl, thought he had lost sight of the point of the church, and that it had become more about money than the message. As a millionaire three times over, Miles could see his brother's point, even if he didn’t agree with it. His faith was everything to him, and the money only helped him to spread the word of God. Certainly, his followers believed in him, some to the point of obsession. He certainly cut an imposing figure as he stood at the front of the cavernous hall, his booming voice amplified through the room as he gesticulated and delivered his words with passion. At six feet five inches tall and eyes of piercing blue which stood out brilliantly against his chocolate coloured skin, even for those who entered as non-believers found themselves enthralled by his magnetism and charisma.

He looked out of the window of his bedroom over the fields surrounding the property, some lined with golden corn, others filled with livestock - cows and pigs who were bred and used to sustain the staff of twenty who lived and worked on the ranch. He smiled. For as much as the rest of the world was in chaos, they were in a good position. They were self-sufficient, growing and replenishing their own food. They had a well on the land which gave them access to fresh water, and most importantly, they were secure, the ranch surrounded by a ten-foot barbed wire lined wall.

Miles dressed, putting on his best charcoal suit. After all, even the end of the world was no excuse to be lax about your appearance. He went downstairs to the dining room, the rest of his staff already seated along with his brother. Miles sat in his usual place at the head of the table as one of the girls who worked for him, Nina, poured him a glass of water.

"Good morning," he said as he grabbed a slice of toast and started to butter it. The others looked on, fearful yet respectful, apart from Earl. Earl wore a look of contempt.

"Ain't nothin' good about anythin," Earl said as he took a sip of his coffee. "I hope after sleeping on what you told us last night you're here to give us some good news."

"If you mean about evacuating, I’m afraid not."

"Come on Miles, it's dangerous to stay. You've seen the news, what do we have to gain from staying?"

"Everything," Miles snapped as he took a bite of his toast. He looked around the table, yet nobody but his brother would look him in the eye. "Running away is a bad idea. We have everything we need here."

"We need protection. The authorities can help us."

"No, they can't." Miles said, locking eyes with his older sibling. "Do you think they will have time to help us with the kind of things happening at the White House?"

"People are scared, me included Miles. We're vulnerable here."

"That's where I disagree. In fact, I think this is exactly where we should be. We have food, water, walls to protect us. Fleeing would be foolish."

"None of that will mean anything if those people decide they want what we have. We'll die."

"No, we won’t. The lord has spoken to me, and he told me we would be safe." Miles said, offering a reassuring smile to those seated at the table.

"This isn't one of your sermons. I'm your brother. Give me a little more respect."

Miles said nothing, preferring to let his anger cool before he replied. As furious as he was, he smiled. "This is why father put me in charge of the church and not you, Earl. You question your faith too easily."

"And you believe too much in yours."

Miles looked around the table, again somehow managing to hold his temper. "Would you all excuse my brother and I?"

There was no delay. Eager to be as far away from the coming argument they could all sense, the staff filed out of the room, leaving Earl and Miles alone.

Earl poured himself a coffee, the similarities between the two brothers striking. "Poppa wouldn’t have wanted this Miles. This isn’t why he set the church up. It was supposed to be about worship, not money."

"How can I take you seriously when you say that with a twenty thousand dollar watch on your wrist?" Miles sneered.

"It's just us now, you can drop the act," Earl said as he sipped his coffee, winced at the heat, then set it back on the table. "Regarding the watch, you can have it back if you want. You bought it for me after all, just like you bought all these poor people who work here."

"They are well looked after, you are too. I don’t know what else you want from me, I’m doing my best."

"They're scared of you. Hell, they're scared of what's happenin' out there in the world too, they're just too scared to say it to you."

"You don't seem to have a problem expressing yourself," Miles grunted as he poured himself a coffee.

"Come on, you're my brother. You know I love you. You just sometimes need someone to point you in the right direction. Let's get out of here. Find somewhere safe until this whole thing blows over."

"And where would you suggest? I can’t think of a safer place than this. We have a natural defence here, a place where we can survive in relative comfort away from the chaos on the streets."

"Only for as long as those people decide they don’t want in, then we're in trouble," Earl said, flashing a smile that was eerily similar to his brothers. "You’ve seen the news. You know what’s happenin’ out there."

"Father believed in me, I wonder why you can’t. I know what I’m doing."

"I do believe in you, Miles. I just don’t think you appreciate how serious this situation is. In truth, I’m worried by how little fear you have."

"I know how serious it is," he snapped, slamming a fist on the table. "This is the beginning of the end. This is what the Bible spoke of. This is when we need our faith the most."

Earl sighed and sipped his drink, suddenly unable to look his brother in the eye.

"What is it?" Miles asked.

"Nothin'."

"Come on Earl, we both know well enough something’s bothering you. Spit it out."

"It's just... I’m not convinced this stuff that's happening in the world has anythin' to do with the Bible. I think it's something else entirely, somethin' that can put us and the people who work here in danger."

"It sounds like you're losing your belief."

"No, it's not that."

"It is, isn’t it?" Miles said, leaning closer to his brother, the anger like a physical thing growing inside him. Need I remind you of the word of the good book?"

"No, I-"

"Revelations fourteen-fourteen," Miles said, interrupting his brother. "Then I looked, and behold, a white cloud, and seated on the cloud one like a son of man, with a golden crown on his head, and a sharp sickle in his hand. And another angel came out of the temple, calling with a loud voice to him who sat on the cloud, ‘Put in your sickle, and reap, for the hour to reap has come, for the harvest of the earth is fully ripe.’ So he who sat on the cloud swung his sickle across the earth, and the earth was reaped. Then another angel came out of the temple in heaven, and he too had a sharp sickle. And another angel came out from the altar, the angel who has authority over the fire, and he called with a loud voice to the one who had the sharp sickle, ‘Put in your sickle and gather the clusters from the vine of the earth, for its grapes are ripe.’

"Miles, please-"

"Also, see Isiah, Thirteen-Nine. Behold, the day of the Lord comes, cruel, with wrath and fierce anger, to make the land a desolation and to destroy its sinners from it."

Miles grinned, as he leaned closer, palms flat on the table, fingers splayed wide. "Are you telling me, brother, that this doesn’t correlate to our current situation? Are you telling me this Joshua is, just as the Bible said, the one like a son of man, the one seated in his temple who is about to reap the evil from this world?"

Earl stammered, unsure how to respond, because, for as much as he knew it was insane, the way his brother said it with such conviction made it seem plausible.

"Heed the words of Zechariah, Fourteen-One. Do you remember the passage, my brother?"

Earl tried to recall, unable to find the passage within the vault of his brain. Miles saw his confusion, and widened his grin, reciting the passage word for word, showcasing his knowledge to his sibling.

"Behold, a day is coming for the Lord, when the spoil taken from you will be divided in your midst. For I will gather all the nations against Jerusalem to battle, and the city shall be taken and the houses plundered and the women raped. Half of the city shall go out into exile, but the rest of the people shall not be cut off from the city. Then the Lord will go out and fight against those nations as when he fights on a day of battle. On that day, his feet shall stand on the Mount of Olives that lies before Jerusalem on the east, and the Mount of Olives shall be split in two from east to west by a very wide valley so that one-half of the Mount shall move northward, and the other half southward."

Miles sat back in his chair, his grin fixed firmly in place. "This is happening now, my brother. The end is coming, and after, there will be a new world. A world where the good and the righteous will stand by his side as masters of the new earth. There will be many who will be afraid and will come to us seeking shelter that we need to educate, those who we need to show the right way so they might join us."