The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two (4 page)

“I’m glad too, Mr. Jay. I was so scared.”
Dawn was caught up in a steady stream of sobs. All the while, Mr.
Jay stroked her hair and held her.

“It’s okay, Dawn. You’re here.” He kissed her
cheek. “I shouldn’t have brought you to the City. It isn’t safe.”
Mr. Jay pushed her away so that she was perched on his thighs
blinking at him. “But we won’t be here long, I promise. Then I’ll
take you somewhere safe.”

“Would you really, Mr. Jay? Back to the
Nurserywood? I really miss it so much, and I don’t like it here. I
don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Her little brown cheeks were
soaked. Mr. Jay swabbed at them with a corner of her quilt. “I’m
more than just a little girl, you know. But I don’t know what I’m
supposed to do.”

“I know.” He hugged her again. “I promise you
we won’t stay here long.” She felt his whiskers prickle her scalp
as he kissed her. “Will you promise me you’ll be careful while
we’re here.”

“I promise. Cross my heart!” Dawn’s voice was
sore and coarse. “I won’t ever do that again.”

“We’ll get out when it’s daylight.” He
chuckled then, and tickled her under the arm. She couldn’t repress
a giggle of relief. “Then everyone can see how pretty you are!”

Dawn pressed two hands against his chest and
pushed away. She focused her eyes on his. “Do you think so?” She
frowned. “Because I don’t know what pretty means. I’ve read books
and books and books about it. And I only guess it means pretty like
a flower or cute sort of, like a bunny.”

Mr. Jay laughed, “That’s it! Cute as a
bunny.”

“With the chubby cheeks.” She pressed two
fingers up against her lips like buck teeth and blew her cheeks
out. Mr. Jay exploded with laughter again, a nice rich sound full
of relief.

“Come on now. Change out of those wet
clothes.” He picked her up and set her on her feet, then climbed
wearily to his own. She followed him wrapped in her quilt. He said
over his shoulder, “I don’t suppose you found us any supper out
there on your little jaunt.” Mr. Jay turned and caught her lips
quivering. “Dawn, it’s okay—I’m joking. I brought some things that
we can eat. Some bread, and some sort of fishy stuff that spreads
on…”

“Fishy stuff…” Dawn took her index finger and
pretended to make herself vomit.

Mr. Jay laughed.

6 – Archangel Tower

The City of Light was the safest place in
Westprime and its reputation drew survivors from what remained of
civilized North America and the safe-towns on the southern
continent. For the first decades following the Change as the City
took its initial steps skyward, its inhabitants clung to the past
out of fear. A world of Change with different ground rules was
unfolding, and none knew how long it would last. Even though the
first years revolved around the resurrection of the dead, walking
and talking corpses suggested redemption over damnation. There was
hope then. More so when these walking dead demanded employment,
equal rights and answers. Science had no explanations for them and
where science cannot speak, religion will.

But times change and the decades staggered
passed. As the City grew skyward this defiance of the dead took on
threatening proportions. There were clashes and riots so municipal
government restricted the dead to the City’s lowest levels.
Isolated in darkness, they wandered through memories of what they
had been—hopeless; awaiting a doom they had not escaped in
death.

For the living, it became apparent that the
Change allowed them to enjoy virtual immortality with their natural
aging arrested or slowed to count years as months. Since time no
longer took them, they ran a higher risk of a violent death. And as
fear grew in the living populace, defensive and retributive
violence became a way of life. But the dead did not care. The
prejudice was irrelevant for a much crueler fate awaited them. Time
and dehydration would reduce their bodies to lumps of hardened
leather. Cries for equality would be twisted into the howls of the
damned.

But the City of Light lived on. The powerful,
the wealthy, and the popular all made it their home for the dead
were kept out of sight here, and it had become a place of Angels.
Those Divine messengers of God were rumored to fly from the highest
spans of concrete on the City’s tallest structures—where the sun
still set on the day.

Archangel Tower was the City’s centerpiece.
It rose a half again higher than the tallest building, slicing
through the metropolis’ highest Levels. The Tower was built as a
meeting place for the world’s religions. The vast monetary holdings
of Catholicism, Christianity, Judaism and Islam had underwritten
its construction. The Change had initially caused a polarization of
the religions but as decades passed the larger and more powerful
among them focused on the similarities in their beliefs.

The Tower’s many-windowed surface was
polished marble, and its design combined the best and loftiest
aspirations of the many religions represented within its walls.

Its massive main entrance was found on Level
Three. Many argued that the Tower should be accessible to all
Levels, while others—influential investors and powerful municipal
decision-makers—suggested it be approachable only from the highest.
Its architects compromised, placing the main entrance on Three:
just high enough to avoid the great unwashed on the lower levels,
while retaining a respectable declination in elevation that looked
like humility. Later compromises included entrances on Levels Five
and Six; but these deferments to class and wealth were masked as
additions for the purpose of fire safety.

The main gates on Level Three were
formidable, rising forty feet at the apex of their spear-point
design. Before them were the Tower Grounds. An enormous disk of
concrete and steel constructed and suspended from the Tower’s
megalithic body encompassing four square miles of property. The
Tower Grounds’ perimeter included manicured gardens and a lake for
baptisms and meditation. All around this ran the Tower Wall built
of marble thirty feet high. A single gate, a scaled down version of
the Tower’s entrance, allowed the pilgrims in and kept the
unbelievers out.

The Tower burst through all the City’s
levels, before puncturing the Carapace, charging into the constant
overcast and flying skyward. Its upper reaches were obscured by
cloud and accessible by invite only. The two hundredth floor was
honeycombed with luxurious offices. One of these belonged to the
Reverend Able Stoneworthy.

He was a man of slight but sturdy frame
approaching six feet in height. A loose fitting black suit hung on
his angular body like a blanket. Its all-encompassing darkness hid
his true dimensions. His head was large and round—ill-fitting
partner to the thin neck that propped it up. The eyebrows that
squirreled restlessly on his forehead were dense and darker than
the thick curly hair on his head. They scurried about over bright
blue eyes—pausing only to squeeze the penetrating orbs for some
finer discernment. His nose, like his body, was thin and straight.
It traced a long practical line to a thick-lipped mouth that hung
down at the corners—the frown caused more by gravity than
sentiment.

Stoneworthy pulled his fingers from the
depressions they had made in the thick synthetic leather covering
the arms of his chair. Awkwardly, he uncrossed his long legs,
pulled them from under his desk. Leaning back, he drew in a breath,
and then wiped a hand across his brow. By degrees his heart stopped
racing. The air still stirred from his visitor’s departure.

Reverend Stoneworthy spoke with Angels
infrequently. He had before the Change, but never then did they
occupy his office with such Divine presence. Nor did their wings
flex and stretch to the ceiling, their feathery tips brushing the
fresco there. Of course, he hadn’t had such a beautiful office in
the days before the Change. Then, he made do with what he could
find: a rented tent, a local gymnasium or in the sun behind the
open doors of his van. He had done the Lord’s work with fervor and
hard work, knowing that the Word was the thing.

But like the rest of humanity, the coming of
the Change had devastated him. As its wider ranging effects were
felt, his Faith was put to a test that he failed. When Stoneworthy
realized that both good and evil had inherited the earth, he began
to doubt. He saw himself as a fool and hypocrite. The minister
remembered well his fall from grace, hitting bottom, and being
reborn. He thought of it daily to act as penance.

One night, he entered the home of a young
prostitute, paying for her services with monies collected by his
ministry. He engaged in all manner of immoral acts with the woman
in an attempt to earn the damnation he had received. Myrah, a
tired-looking woman of short stature, had full breasts, swollen
belly and thighs. Stoneworthy picked Easter to meet with her that
final time. Drunk on whisky, he played out all the acts the Devil
whispered to him—then he slept.

But an Angel appeared. At first Stoneworthy
thought he was dreaming, until he thoroughly clawed the sleep from
his eyes. The quiet musical breeze from the Angel’s wings caressed
him into belief where he lay in sweaty sheets. Filled with shame,
Stoneworthy burst into tears and fell forward on the floor.

“Forgive me!” he had cried, rubbing his
forehead on the tiles. There was silence for several
heartbeats.

“You have sinned against the Lord,” the Angel
said. Its voice was a clean wind that still blew in the minister’s
mind.

“Forgive...” Stoneworthy wailed. “No. Judge
me!”

“And yet...” the Angel said, “I see that
though you have forgotten to speak the Word, you have not lost its
meaning.” Stoneworthy’s mind began to clear then. “The Word is but
a word. It is a container, as you are. And though the Word may be
used in vain, its
meaning
will not be blemished.”

“I was afraid!” the minister bleated, peering
upward at the flashing eyes.

“You did not fear. You doubted your God.” The
Angel’s countenance was sharply contrasted by the radiant light
from its halo. The being was like carved marble, great flowing
robes dropping to its feet from broad white shoulders. A gleaming
golden sword hung from the Angel’s waist on a shining belt. “Such
doubt is sin. To doubt your faith is a pain carried inside your
temple body, to doubt your God is a pain that shall last all
eternity, for it resides in your soul.”

“What shall I do?” Stoneworthy had covered
his face with his hands, weeping. “I have offended Him!”

“Offense?” questioned the Angel. “You offend
him now, with such vanity. The Lord shall tend his flock, the
obedient he will love. Those who will not heed his Word are free to
wander the wilderlands with the Wolf. The Lord understands that you
serve yourself with the Word; you do not serve him. And yet, you
adore him by serving that part of him that lives in you.” The Angel
gestured toward the bed. “Is this how you serve your Lord?”

Stoneworthy looked at the bed, and there was
Myrah, still asleep. Her eyes were like a skull’s cast into dark
shadows by the Angel’s light.

“No! No! I am so sorry! Slay me, Angel.
Strike me blind! Punish me!” Stoneworthy struck his own breast,
sputtering through his sadness.

“How shall I punish what should be punished
by the Lord God inside you, and by he who is in Heaven above.” The
Angel had surprised Stoneworthy then by cupping the minister’s chin
with a long warm finger and drawing him to his feet. “
See that
you do not do that
. I am a fellow servant who worships God with
you.” Stoneworthy rose, naked before the Angel.

“Do not despair. You have served the Lord in
Heaven when the rest of mankind reveled in sin. And only when the
end of the world came, did you doubt. For that the Lord is
thankful. A man’s faith must not need proof and you had none before
the Dark Days began. Greatness comes from a man’s ability to
believe without proof. Pharaoh asked Moses for proof of the Lord’s
existence. Was he great? The empire of Egypt is no more, and
Pharaoh no more. For even with proof, they did not believe. Your
greatest sin, Stoneworthy is your misapprehension of the signs.
This
Change
as you call the Dark Days, is the first step to
Salvation for you all. You must recapture your Faith, and learn to
serve God as you have.”

The Angel rose to its full height—its great
pinions spread, and from it burned a fire that scorched the
minister’s soul. Stoneworthy howled, his body convulsing with pain.
“Go. Now! As you are. As Adam and Eve were once cast out! And for a
time, eat not of the world. For seven days go into the wilderness
that you have courted. Then return to this City, and gather the
holy men of earth. The truth of your mission will be made known to
you if you find the truth of yourself in the wilderness—for there
lies Faith. Go! Now!”

And as the Angel faded from his sight
Stoneworthy ran naked from Myrah’s apartment. He ran through the
streets joyfully bearing the humiliation, rejoicing in the terror
of salvation. He left the City on bleeding feet and ran until his
heart was ready to burst. Only when he could climb to the top of a
tree-covered hill did he end his labor. He stayed in the wilderness
for seven days, eating nothing, tasting nothing but the familiar
sweetness of deprivation, terror and the Divine knowledge of his
essential self. His fear taught him much, for few wandered the
wilderness without it. After the Change, animals lost their fear of
man, and no longer recognized his dominion.

The rain of the Changed world washed
him—scoured away his sin, threatened the life of his body with cold
and death. But he wrapped himself in a protective cloak of faith
and rejoiced. When he returned, Stoneworthy set to work gathering
together the priests, ministers and officials of the major
religions that had already gravitated to the City. Through
conferences and discussions, he began the process of joining
together those that loved God, and devoted their lives to his work.
They would form a beacon for the world to see, and this city of
survivors would become the City of Light. With his fellow faithful
he would create an altar worthy of God. For decades he labored, and
it was done.