Tribulation (30 page)

He got off the
interstate near the business district. In order to confound the
Devil’s Hand and their persistent tracking, he climbed up onto the
roof tops. Some were still mostly intact, while others were just
exposed and blackened ceiling beams. Silently leaping from one to
the next, he knew he was taking a chance but it had to be done. He
just couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself. If the Devil’s
Hand found him, they would be able to summon both their human
followers and their demonic kin to aid them. This way, they might
not be able to track him.

He found an
abandoned building, far away from any church and other people. The
closest person he could sense was so distant, their mind was but
the dimmest spark. As for the church - he certainly couldn’t tell
if it had been desecrated from this distance and there was no way
of telling if it had been destroyed or not. It was better to be
safe than sorry. He wondered whether the advance demolition squads
that Colonel Wheat had sent ahead had done their job yet. If they
had, they would be doing well to have beaten him here, despite
having set off three days before him and traveling on motorbikes.
He’d made much better time than he’d thought – largely thanks to
being harried by the Devil’s Hand.

He did some
rough calculations in his head. It had taken him the best part of a
week to get to New Jersey and Adam had told him they had six weeks.
He still had four weeks – five at the outset – before the arrival
of the Antichrist’s invasion fleet. Plenty of time. He’d be busy
though: checking over the churches to ensure the demo squads had
been successful, assessing demon worshipper numbers, determining
how many survivors existed, working out possible defensive
positions.

According to
the latest Intel possessed by Adam, the invasion fleet would
probably take the standard route into New York Harbor, past Ellis
Island and then onto Manhattan. Sam still didn’t understand why
they were going for Manhattan. What was the point? Any port along
the Eastern seaboard would’ve done. Sam had to admit the strategy
wasn’t bad though. Manhattan was an island after all. Once taken,
it would be fairly easy to defend. Perhaps, as the city with the
greatest population, the Antichrist thought it would have the
greatest number of demon worshippers. Or maybe it was symbolic. Who
knew?

The one thing
he did know, however, was that coordinating the defense would be a
challenging task. Communications had been poor since the Rapture,
with short wave radio being the most common way for isolated bands
of survivors to keep in touch. Even that form had become
unreliable, which was one reason why Adam had been passing on his
warning in person. Worsening atmospheric conditions in the last few
months had been blamed.

The only
reliable method seemed to be walkie-talkies but their range was
incredibly limited. Sam had one himself and had specific
instructions in relation to it. The plan was for him to rendezvous
with Adam and the Colonel a week before the Antichrist was due to
arrive. This gave the Colonel – who was coordinating the land based
assault – time to gather troops and move them into New Jersey. If
everything went to plan, he and his troops would then enter
Manhattan as discretely as possible through the Holland tunnel
under the Hudson River and take up defensive positions in the city.
Meanwhile, Adam traveling with the British submarine, was to muster
up whatever sea and air support he could along the coast. His
objective was to ambush the enemy fleet by hiding behind Staten
Island, allowing them to pass and then attacking them from the
rear. Hopefully, the Antichrist’s forces would then be caught in a
pincer maneuver, bombarded by Colonel Wheat artillery from the
front and Adam’s ship to ship missiles and torpedoes from behind.
It was a simple plan and one that could easily go horribly wrong
but it was the only one they had.

Sam was to turn
his walkie-talkie on in roughly three to four weeks’ time for an
hour a day and attempt to make contact with the defense forces. By
then, hopefully, he’d have all the information they would
require.

He’d think
about that later. Right now, all he wanted to do was rest. It was
the first time in years that he actually felt the need to sleep. He
was bone weary but couldn’t risk it without using a protective
pentacle; he could make one but that would mean he was potentially
trapped. His usual meditation regime would have to suffice for
now.

The building he
was in was part of a two-storied brick office block, partially
gutted by fire. It had survived primarily because it was made of
brick. He found an isolated office cubicle and made himself
comfortable, pulling the long disused and ash coated blinds shut,
darkening the room sufficiently so at least he felt a little more
relaxed. He settled into his meditative position. Tomorrow, he
would investigate Manhattan. A little thrill went through him. He’d
never been to New York, never seen the ocean. Despite the
circumstances, it was still a tiny bit exciting. The prospect of
destroying some demon worshippers appealed also, as did thoughts of
what he might find. Perhaps Manhattan was a bastion of humanity? If
they had destroyed all the churches and entrance points to the
island, there was no reason they couldn’t survive. They would still
be exposed from the air but a determined resistance could ward off
Astaroth attack. The thought filled him with a little hope. A tiny
bit … but some hope was better than none.

Ten hours. That
was all he’d have to wait. And then he’d find out for himself.

Manhattan, New
York

“
The second angel
blew his trumpet, and something like a great mountain, burning with
fire, was thrown into the sea, and a third of the sea became blood.
A third of the living creatures in the sea died, and a third of the
ships were destroyed.”
Revelation 8:8-9

W
hen darkness finally fell, Sam was already prepared.
Had been for some time. In fact, he’d struggled to fill the last
few hours, his mind going over and over recent events until his
brain was swimming. Aimi was a painful recurring subject. He’d
sharpened his swords. Twice. Emptied out his backpack, cleaned and
checked everything inside and replaced it neatly. Planned his route
into New York. Even trimmed his fingernails. Eventually, he shut
the thoughts down by finding an old packet of cards, playing
patience until it was dark enough to move. Somewhere in the
distance, he heard screams and felt the telltale presence of
demons. Clearly, at least one church had not been
decommissioned.

Suddenly, he
felt torn. He knew he should investigate. Despite what Gabriel had
done to him, it was still his duty to protect the innocent. He had
given his word, and that was not lightly given.

Empathy messed
with his resolve. He could imagine what some poor person felt right
at this very moment, being stalked, trapped, captured and dragged
to Hell. Their terror. Their pain. Reluctantly, he shook himself
free from its grasp. He had to think about the bigger picture. He
had a duty and obligation to Adam and Colonel Wheat. He had a job
to do. That was what he had to focus on regardless. It was ruthless
and made him feel nauseous but it was about the greater good.

Eventually, he
just took off, putting as much distance between himself and the
source of the screams as possible, heading east towards Manhattan.
Behind him, in the same general direction as the screams, he felt
the Devil’s Hand make an appearance. Very persistent. They were
also getting lucky or just guessed correctly that he was heading
for Manhattan. He had no doubt they’d soon pick up his trail again.
Their presence made him think of Yeth. He wondered how his
Hellhound was getting on with his assigned task.

Slipping back
onto the interstate, he increased his pace, keen to increase his
lead over his pursuers. The last thing he needed whilst
reconnoitering was to have them nipping at his heels. He’d planned
his route out carefully, using his map to trace the interstate from
Springfield, through Jersey City and under the Holland tunnel into
Manhattan. Originally, he’d planned to take one of the bridges in
order to get a closer view of the city but he’d reflected that it
was pretty important for him to check out the state of the tunnel.
It was, after all, the route Colonel Wheat planned to take when he
arrived with his forces.

Fortunately,
the interstate became increasingly blocked with cars as he got
closer to Manhattan. This suited Sam perfectly. He’d never been
trained in Parkour – the French style of urban movement – but he’d
read about it when he was younger. The definition of it kind of
summed up how he liked to move, aided by his natural athleticism
and otherworldly strength and dexterity. It was something he’d had
a great deal of experience with over the years. Urban landscapes
scattered with the remnants of human debris weren’t exactly hard to
come by these days.

The piles of
cars posed an irresistible challenge to Sam, an obstacle almost
purposely designed for him. It was the closest thing to what Sam
defined as fun. He doubted whether the Devil’s Hand would view it
like that. Hell probably never ran courses on navigating urban
settings.

He raced
through the cars with a will, somersaulting, rolling and leaping
with a grace and power no human could match. He made good time,
sensing the Devil’s Hand falling behind even though they’d
discovered his trail.

As he neared
New York, the smoke became more apparent. Several buildings at
least must have been on fire. But that paled into insignificance
when he began crossing a bridge, thankfully largely intact other
than some twisted girders, interspersed with a few cracks big
enough to fall through. A sign told him that he was still on
interstate 78. If memory served, the bridge was the New Jersey
Turnpike extension. The vaguely familiar stench should have warned
him, but he didn’t really think about it, largely immune to the
smells this post-apocalyptic world could throw at him.

He was about
ten feet onto the bridge when he suddenly became aware of what was
under him. The source of the odor was the water - the salt water
that was Newark Bay, the body of water between him and Jersey City.
It was water no longer. It was the color of blood – and not just
that either. The smell finally registered. Corruption. It didn’t
just look like blood – it was blood, blood that was in the process
of putrefaction.

Sam stopped
running. Stopped moving completely. Probably stopped breathing for
all he knew, and just stared in stunned silence. It was one of the
worst things he had seen since the Rapture. What’s more, it was a
terribly depressing and disappointing sight. He’d read about the
ocean as a boy and had always looked forward to the experience,
given that he’d been brought up in Utah. Even when he was in
California, the opportunity to see the sea had never presented
itself. Something had always come up. He’d built it up in his mind
though as an experience to look forward to, something to savor.
Those things were very rare for him these days.

The
disappointment was almost crushing. He should’ve expected it
though. The book of Revelations had predicted that the sea, or at
least a third of it, would turn to blood. Poison. He had dared to
hope that the Bible might be wrong in this regard, but like
everything else so far, it was like reading from a script.
Everything the Bible said would happen, was happening. Why should
this be any different?

It completely
ruined his entrance into New York. The earlier excitement he’d felt
was gone. Despondent, he began to jog again. The road took him past
Liberty State Park and it was here that he got his first good look
at Manhattan. As he’d suspected, it was on fire, the flames clearly
visible in the darkness - but only in very specific areas. To his
eye, they almost looked deliberate. It didn’t make much sense
either. Anything flammable should by rights have burnt by now.
There couldn’t be much left other than brick, concrete and stone –
luckily the exact same materials many buildings in New York were
comprised of. Some buildings lights were on, too which could be
construed in any number of ways. Sam didn’t like to hazard a guess
as to what was going on in the city at this early stage.

It didn’t help
his mood much that the view was also marred by the outlook onto the
Hudson River. It too, was blood red. The Statue of Liberty –
another sight he’d been looking forward to – fared no better. Lit
by the crimson moon which was only now making an appearance from
behind a cloud, Sam could clearly see from his vantage point that
it was scarred with scorch marks, filthy and battered. The uplifted
arm carrying the torch had either broken off or been deliberately
destroyed. Either way, the once proud lady painted a rather bleak
picture.

Sam tore his
gaze away from the horrible view, desperately trying to find
something positive to look upon. Across the Hudson River, he could
just make out Brooklyn. No lights were visible but Sam could make
out a large number of shapes clustered at the docks. Ships. Sam
would have expected many of the residents of New York to have used
the ships to escape the city after the Rapture. Clearly not. Maybe
things in the city weren’t that bad? Maybe many of the residents
had decided to stay?

Overall, his
first impression was that New York was depressingly similar to most
other cities he’d encountered. Even Liberty Park was a burnt and
blackened ruin. Hardly the welcome to New York he was hoping
for.

He trotted on,
leaping cars and other wreckage, but the fun had gone out of it. He
navigated the street by instinct, his mind on other things. The
interstate took him through downtown Jersey City. His eyes and
other senses told him that few if any humans were resident. Even
demons were conspicuous by their absence. But they were out there
alright – not just the Devil’s Hand either. Plenty of demons in
fact. Just because he couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t
there.