Rapture
Authors: Phillip W. Simpson
There will be signs in the sun, moon and stars. On the earth, nations will be in anguish and perplexed at the roaring and tossing of the sea. Men will faint from terror, apprehensive of what is coming on the world, for the heavenly bodies will be shaken…. When these things begin to take place, stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near
First published in 2011 by Pear Jam Books ltd
PO Box 46116, Auckland 1011, New Zealand
ISBN
978-0-473-19163-4
Copyright © Phillip W. Simpson 2011
National Library of New Zealand Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
The right of Phillip W. Simpson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 96 of the Copyright Act of 1994.
Design and typesetting by Cheryl Rowe, Auckland, New Zealand
This book is copyright. All rights reserved. Except for the purposes of fair reviewing, no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
(2.7.49 - 24.12.10)
My first fan
And for Jack Sherlock Simpson
(b. may 27th, 2011 - )
My son
One life ends, another begins.
CONTENTS
1
JACOB’S LADDER
FIVE WEEKS SINCE THE RAPTURE
“For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.”
Sam sat and waited on the porch for night to fall, both swords balanced carefully in his lap. They would be coming for him soon.
For the thousandth time that afternoon, he leant out and stared down the length of Main Street. Still nothing. No surprises there. He hadn’t seen any other human for days now.
Main Street looked no different than it had for the last few weeks: the same wrecked SUV’s and pickups, most parked haphazardly at odd angles, some resting half inside shop buildings like partially-consumed meals. He tried not to think about food – it only made his stomach rumble mournfully. It had been three days since his last proper meal. He had to ration what supplies he had left carefully. He would need them for the trip.
Ash covered everything in a white shroud. It drifted down in silence, easily mistaken for the snow that usually fell at this time of year. It was February after all; in the eighteen years Sam had lived here, Utah was always smothered by snow in February. Somehow, even the Rockies that jutted above the town’s buildings to the west had lost most of their covering. Since the Rapture, the temperature had climbed dramatically, so much so that Sam almost felt the need to remove the hooded sweatshirt that he always wore. He didn’t though. Old habits died hard. He knew from the climatology and science lessons that Hikari had drilled into him that the cloud cover should lower the temperature, not raise it. It seemed that science, like God and many humans, had deserted this world.
Ash-covered rubble from a few destroyed homes blocked much of the road. Most of the other buildings looked like they are about to join their fallen comrades. It was dangerous in there now since the earthquakes. Sam had found that out for himself when he’d scavenged in amongst them for food during the days and nights since the world changed. He’d only narrowly avoided being crushed when a brick wall had toppled without warning. Only his heightened reflexes and training had enabled him to avoid certain death.
Death would’ve been a much more preferable option, though. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he had been trapped by bricks, unable to move and completely at the mercy of those things that prowled the darkness. And more than half of Main Street had caught alight since the sky started raining fire. At least three of the shops still smouldered even now, smoke from their burning timbers wafting idly up into the sky.
He cast his eyes skyward to track its ascent. Dark clouds boiled angrily above him. Not since the Rapture had he seen the sun; he would’ve given almost anything for a glimpse of it. Predictably, it didn’t appear.
Sam sighed and looked down. The deck beneath him was cracked from the earthquakes. He could see the ground beneath. Unlike most houses and shops in Jacob’s Ladder, his family home had gotten off relatively lightly. The earthquake damage was superficial with just a few cracks in walls and some broken ornaments. The ash was a different story though. Many of the fires in the town had begun because of it. He had to get up on the roof periodically and check for fire damage. When he did find something smouldering, he had to use his dwindling supplies of fresh water sparingly. It was a constant battle.
In fact, just living was a constant battle. Like him, the few remaining humans had ransacked the local store in desperate hunger. That was days ago now. The handful of survivors he’d exchanged wary words and glances with were now long gone. Either they had been taken in the night, or they’d moved for what they hoped would be better pickings. Probably to Boulder, he thought. It was only a few miles and an easy trip even on foot. Not him though. Sam knew he should have pushed on by now but just couldn’t bring himself to. It was too hard to leave behind everything he knew.
As his sharp eyes caught movement, his hands locked by reflex around the hilts of his weapons. He relaxed his grip when he saw that it was only bits of rubbish and leaves, dancing lazily around the stationary vehicles as if to mock their lack of freedom. Then the clouds above him parted suddenly, the ash turning crimson. Even though he expected it, the sight above him caused his heart to lurch. It was the moon - a moon never seen before on Earth. It had been like this for weeks now. Red. Bloated and corrupt.
The colour of blood.
He stepped back in the house, careful to avoid the trap in front of the door. Other than the red stain of the moon, it was very dark. There was no power any more, and no power meant no lights. The technicians who operated the power plants had been taken by the Rapture, or taken by those things that came later. Either way, it didn’t matter to Sam who saw extremely well in the dark. Part of his DNA, he suspected.
His pack was where he’d left it, lying on the carpet in the middle of the lounge. Mentally, he went through the contents to make sure he had everything. There was a small portable gas cooker and two spare gas canisters, a few tins of food he had managed to scavenge, and a sleeping roll, sleeping bag and a couple of spare sweatshirts. Not much for the trip he had planned, but it would have to do. At least he would no longer have any need for snow gear. He was grateful for that - he needed to travel light and move fast if he was to survive.
He looked around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. There wasn’t much time left and he needed to be ready. They usually came when the blood red moon was high in the night sky. Two of the windows were already smashed where they had broken through last time. That was before he had set up the spikes, gathered from nearby fences and embedded into the wooden floors next to the windows. This time they would be in for a surprise.
Sam dropped his swords down next to his pack. The scabbards, normally lacquered black, had turned a sickly maroon in the light. He strapped the longer of the two – the katana – onto his pack and slung the whole affair onto his back. The shorter sword – the wakizashi – he tucked into his belt. Normally, the two together – known as
daisho
, literally meaning ‘long and short’ – would both be there, but he’d found with practice that the katana was easier to draw if it was over his shoulder. His backpack also had a tendency to get in the way if the longer sword was tucked into his belt.
Now, he took some time to make sure his draw was not impeded. Both swords slid out of their oiled sheathes without trouble. He put them back and adopted the ‘still inner calm’ technique that Hikari had made him practice so much that it now came as second nature to him. Closing his eyes, he listened, conscious that he might have missed something while he was trying out his swords. Nothing. Usually Sam could hear or sense them long before he saw them, so he knew he still had time.
Taking them two at a time, he raced up the stairs. The alignment of some of the steps had been damaged in the earthquakes and he was careful to avoid them. He went to his master’s bedroom first and stood next to the bed, lost in thought. He missed the small man who had been such a large fixture in his life. His master and sensei. His teacher. He hoped that Hikari was happy where he had gone.
The room was sparsely furnished, with only a simple futon on the floor and a small chest of drawers along the wall. The earthquakes had displaced many of the objects in the room, like the cross over Hikari’s bed which had fallen down. The day after the Rapture, wearing gloves, Sam had carefully replaced it and then set everything else to rights in the room. He’d folded a pile of clothes on the end of the bed - the only trace he could find of his master.
Hikari’s swords were mounted on their stand under the window, beside a small bedside table with a lamp and bible sitting on it. He’d seen Hikari reading from this bible many times. It was well worn, crumbling at the edges, the gold embossing on the cover starting to fade. He smiled at the thought of Hikari sitting in Lotus position on the porch reading from it. Often, his master would narrate passages from it for him. Those were some of his favourite times.
Without conscious thought, Sam reached out to touch the bible, then at the last second, he yanked his hand back. After all this time, he should know better. The Bible, he knew only too well, would burn him with the lightest of touches.
He left Hikari’s swords where they were. Although made of finest steel and folded countless times by one of Japan’s greatest swordsmiths, they were of no use to him. They would have little effect on his foes. Unlike his own, he thought grimly, patting the wakizashi at his waist. Cold iron was the only effective weapon against demons.
He left the bedroom, stopping short when he saw a flash of light … but it was only his reflection in the cracked hallway mirror - a teenage boy, well over six feet in height with broad, powerful shoulders. The result of almost constant training and preparation. His face was lost in the shadow of the hooded sweatshirt, a tuft of jet black hair jutting down over his forehead. With his jeans and trainers, he knew he looked just like any other teenage boy, albeit one who with his build was probably the high school quarterback.
All very normal … if they didn’t look beneath the hood or see his eyes. That was why he so very rarely looked in the mirror these days. He knew what lay underneath, and had no desire to see it again. Even now, with all the years he’d had to come to terms with it, he still didn’t want to be reminded of his bloodline.
He stalked down the corridor, past his own room – there was nothing for him there now – and into her room, inhaling deeply. It still smelt of her: her perfume, her clean natural scent. He drank it in. The rebellious part of his mind told him that he missed her more than he did Hikari. It wasn’t true – he just missed them in different ways. Closing his eyes, he could picture her as if she was actually in the room with him. Long, shimmering dark hair, luminous blue eyes inherited from her mother who had died in childbirth. A grace in her movements that made her sword play seem like a dance. A smile that made his heart ache. Hikari’s daughter had been his constant companion and friend for all his life. At almost sixteen, she was two years younger but far more mature and much less impulsive than he. She was gone now and he would never see her again. Where she had gone, he could not follow. Ever. The thought made him almost choke with sorrow.
