

Armageddon

Darkness

David Pollitt

Armageddon

Darkness

David Pollitt

Professional Book Publishing (PBP)

Nashville
Armageddon Darkness

Copyright © 2011 by David Pollitt

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other, except for brief quotations in printed review, without the prior permission of the author.

Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture quotations are from the New King James Version of the Bible, © 1982, by Thomas Nelson, Inc., Publishers, Nashville, Tenn. All Rights Reserved. Used by permission.

ISBN:

Acknowledgements

I want to continue to acknowledge, my bride, Nancy, of 34 years. We renewed our vows on the 25th year with silver Jesus rings. We felt that we were married to Jesus first before we are married to each other. Nancy is such a blessing being such a giving and loving people-person and truly the love of my life. She agrees with me that Sewanee is the most appropriate and beautiful place to center a story and provide a holy sanctuary for everyone including the children.

Hunter my 21-year-old son is my best fan, some call my clone, and in 2011 works for the FedEx Corporation. He has that perfect writer's heart already writing and not following the pack. He makes his own decisions while not being afraid to spend time by himself without distractions—truly topnotch writer traits.

I want to thank Mike Bushilla, owner of MGB Press, who has given me the opportunity to edit and format some of the best Christian books I have ever read as well as providing me with excellent publishing services.

I also want to give credit to my parents when alive for all their encouragement for my writing adventures. My mother helped with her initial, rough-draft editing and gave me my love for writing and reading. My father was the quiet one who entertained himself with his active imagination. Like Father like son. That's my habit. Thanks, Dad.

Finally, I want to thank Shelly Castle for her wonderful cover artwork and for capturing all the facets of this story; another homerun for Shelly.

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Preface

In these times, we should be more careful how we live our believer's walk. Some might say, "It is because Christ is returning at any moment." Yes, that should do it. It also may be that until He comes, things will get very bad. Is our faith also ready for that too? Regardless of when we believe the Lord is returning, we are all players in the most dramatic play ever written—The End-Time Play. In these end times, our actions can determine whether we live or die—eternally and now.

Writing this series has been a wonderful adventure with the Holy Spirit. I refuse to use bad language, but my only luxury in fiction is the use of my own imagination. I hope my stretching of it, my imagination, doesn't offend anyone. It seems a place I can go, as can the reader and a writer, which is safe when God is there. The inclusion of angel war and those things that take place in warfare: violence, blood, sweat, and tear are present and accounted for. We can't have warfare without them. Prepare yourself.

I seek to use romantic rather than other ways to describe relationships. I want anyone to be able to read this and not be offended and/or educated outside the will of God. I want readers to understand romance as a beautiful, tender, and playful love between others. These are God's books because they are about our Lord and biblical things; and I refuse to spoil them with trash. However, I want to talk about romance and love in ways that draw us closer to Jesus. For, remember, if we haven't been intimate with Jesus, we can't be truly intimate with others.

Enjoy the series and learn to let God light up your imagination and take you to Godly wonderful places of peace and safety.

Oh! If you like even one of these books,

you'll love all of them.
Other Books By David Pollitt

Cleft of the Rock 2002

(A study on the 23rd Psalm)

Talking the Talk of the New Covenant Species 2004

With Fear and Trembling: **Walking the** 2004

Walk of the New Covenant Species

Hope For Gentle Old Men-Poetry 2004

New Christian Fiction

End-time Series: The Maranatha Chronicles

Part I: Irish: An Angel's Journey 2011

Part II: Children of the Sanctuary 2011

Part III: Armageddon Darkness 2011

Part IV: Nephilim Wars 2011

Other Christian Fiction

Day of the Dragons Forthcoming

# Other Nonfiction

# Better Organizational Training & Communication 2009

# Preparing Excellence for the Excellent 2011

# In the Garden Forthcoming

# Improving Learning & Performance with Teams Forthcoming

# Understanding Practical Learning Assessments Forthcoming
Small Angel Dictionary

Ephesians 6: 12, "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places."

This world we live in is not just flesh and blood. It is made of much more. You can close your eyes and try to deny it, but you cannot change it. We are few among many others existing in a realm that is earthly, heavenly, spiritual, but all too real.

Seraphim's: Are created to inflame humans to divine love. The highest order who surround the throne of God.

Cherubim's: Are angels who praise God day and night, unceasingly. They are guardians of the heavenly celestial elements.

Thrones: Sometimes called "Wheels of God." Angels made of pure power and energy.

Powers: Angels created to prevent demons from taking over the world.

Nephilim: The offspring created when angels mated with humans.

Power/Thrones: Angels, powers, who can change into thrones. (No such thing.)

Heir-Servants: Special angels created to minister to Christian ministers and their families. Name is not a biblical name for an angel, but the actions are.

Apollyon: The Greek name for Satan. (Rev. 9:11)
Chapter 1

Before The Great Dawn

The morning was crisp with just a little chill flowing over the calm, glassy water of the Mayuyama Lagoon, tucked just off the shore near Shimabara City in Southwest Japan. It was between the mainland and a small, but one of the largest outlying islands, less than a mile from shore.

It was easy to troll for fish in this wide lagoon channel, sheltered from the wind. It also had places tucked away in small inlets to nurture oyster beds, secret treasures for those with patience. For those farming the oysters, the Akoya pearls were considered the most classic, cultured pearls in the world. China attempted to duplicate their luster but never could create the brilliance like the Japanese. A few families kept to the old ways of diving on them without using suspended rafts or checking water temperatures in controlled environments. Others used wooden stakes hung upside down and side-by-side from the surface of more protected habitats, normally to a depth of about 20 feet. The traditional Mayuyuma coast residents kept to their old diving ways and traditions—they were the true purists. One such family was the Nakada family.

Tokoa Nakada lived with a beach-house view of these islands that dotted the coast. Above him, towered the thickly domed volcano, Unzen. Unzen dominated the Shimabara Peninsula of Kyushu. The last time it erupted, it triggered a large-scale collapse of an old lava dome that caused a dry avalanche and a tsunami that took 15,000 lives. The area had been stable for years, but the tectonic setting was shrouded by the Chijiwa Fault, which ran from near Shimabara City west to the north of Chijiwa Bay. It made this area suspect and carefully watched. This made it even stranger when there was a new nuclear plant built not far from the base of Mt. Fugen outside of Shimabara. This was done over the shouts and protests of the Shimabara Earthquake and Volcano Observatory at Kyusha University.

Tokoa knew that the lagoon water was still warm in spite of winter coming. It was a comfortable bath-water-perfect temperature—great for a final dive on his favorite oyster bed. He slipped quietly into his daughter's room and nudged her awake. He tiptoed while trying not to disturb his wife's sleep. Over and over again—he kept saying, "Just one more dive. Just one more."

Sal awoke excited over her last dive. She was only 17, and this was her final week at home before going to live with her aunt in Nashville, an emergency room doctor working at Vanderbilt Hospital. She knew that until she finished her schooling this would be her last father-daughter outing for a long time. They both wanted to harvest some large pearls from some third generation oysters that they hadn't disturbed for a long time—a way of doing something together to buy Mom a going-away present.

Takoa watched his little girl stumbling out of the side of the small cottage. With a jolt, he squinted his eyes together when she let the screen door slam back into the doorframe.

"Sal!" he hissed, "keep it down, not so loud. You'll wake Mom."

They moved quietly to the beach with Sal chewing hungrily on a piece of coconut and a bite of pineapple while throwing her oyster baskets and some large lines into the boat. She was tall, five-six, almost six inches taller than her dad. She was on the local high school swim team and had thought about going Olympic, but she saw the exhaustive things it did to some of her friends who tried. She gave it up for more serious studies, the languages, and pursuing a communications major. Why else go to Nashville?

Her single aunt, Nikki, lived near Centennial Park and Vanderbilt, but even Nikki suggested MTSU as her communications college. Everyone in Japan talked like it was Yale or Harvard, to those in Murfreesboro it was, but it was a prideful opinionated prejudice, although not far from being the truth, a good communication school none the less. Also, it was one of the few colleges still open. Their state support and tuition rivaled the private schools, which closed years ago because of the wrecked American economy. She had already braced herself for dorm living. She would stay with Nikki only until she got settled. The gasoline shortage made it almost impossible to drive anywhere unless you were practically wealthy—not very many of those around anymore.

"Papa, Yokomi is already out fishing, look."

She pointed to Tokoa's brother briskly moving his 20-foot tinny with a 65 hp motor at full-throttle while working his way out of the lagoon and over to the coral heads on the south end of the largest island. He would pull to a brown coral head, set an anchor, and gather his bait for bigger fish past the near breakwaters and directly in the ocean channel.

They saw Yokomi throwing cast after cast around the coral, hauling in grunts, yellow tails, porgys; and with what conch he had left, he watched as several trigger fish competed for the same bait but hauling in only one.

He laughed, "Stupid fish. Can't wait to be eaten or bait, stupid fish."

After getting more than 100 baitfish, he started cutting them up and throwing them into the chop pail.

"Papa, how far is he going today?" Her keen eyes noticed that he was getting more than the usual bait. She figured the calm waters were enticing him to go out farther and deeper today.

"I suppose just past the channel away from all the traffic. We'll be able to see him riding the swells from our spot."

He breathed deeply as he talked while soaking up the morning quiet and watching his beautiful Sal putting on her diving weights. He threw her favorite diving flippers into the boat beside her and made a grunting lunge that pushed their 15-foot flat-bottomed skiff out into the gently lapping surf. The wooden planks creaked, moaned, and gave-to while letting him slide it easily into the nearby shallows. He and his father built it years ago, and Sal first named it as her birthday gift when she was only ten. On both sides of the bow, in obvious un-artistic child's letters, were the hand-drawn words, "Miss Sal." He thought how excited she was when she finished her naming project, and he rubbed the letters on the starboard bow affectionately from the memories.

He thought how much she looked like his wife, Kia, when she was young, except so much taller. He was amazed what new nutrition did for the newest generation of Japanese children. They were all at least a half foot taller than their family, and many, over a foot.

Sal was perfect, he thought. Her height left her with all thighs and swimmer's legs with slightly muscled arms and exceptionally high sloping trap muscles that gave her neck and shoulders a graceful yet powerful look. She wore her hair cut to an ever-so-short crew, just above a shave. Tokoa criticized her for it for years but finally let her alone. She could have worse addictions than short hair. She was so naturally attractive that he doubted even a shaved head would distract from her striking good looks. He couldn't ask for a better diving hand, not even a son to dive with. Sal could hold her breath for over seven minutes and always came up with full baskets.

He looked with a frown at the Takimuaia Nuclear plant sitting parallel with his beach home. It was high up, he thought, too high up on Mt. Fugen. He had heard about the accidents at other facilities. They closed several others when they discovered leakage and even a cover-up to protect the management. Then, the same management built this one. He wondered if the radiation would ever hurt them. Why was something that deadly in the middle of his paradise? Wasn't Uzen enough? He thought, with the Japanese Islands having 28 active volcanoes, why was Japan playing Russian roulette with volcanoes and nuclear plants? It just didn't make sense, especially with of the 2011 earthquake-tsunami reactor accidents.

He rowed effortlessly towards the channel while feathering his oars gracefully without thinking or intent, with practiced, artful moves. He was still able to see his brother. His brother stopped at another coral head and set his anchor, then brought out his lunch basket. Yokomi knew exactly what he was doing. It was his tradition to eat first, then fish. He would sit for almost an hour enjoying the time alone. With eight kids at home, it was the only place he could get any peace and quiet. He turned and waved at Tokoa, and he waved back.

Sal perched herself expertly on the edge of the boat gunnels and dived over, plummeting down through the crystal, green-blue water. She knew every nook and cranny of this spot and had names for each nearby coral head. She even knew which moray eels hung out near which fissures and coral crevices. She'd feed some of them later if she had time. She went to almost 60 feet and rested her chest on the bottom with her back arched to steady herself. She could take in the quality of her oyster crop possibilities in seconds.

Takoa was waiting for the traditional I'm-okay jerk of the lines when he smelled something. It had been years since he had smelled anything like this. It was powerful and full of a rotten-egg stench.

"Sulfur!" he said out-loud.

He pulled on the rope four times in quick succession—the signal to return immediately. Sal watched the rope jerk while counting them, which was anchored to the bottom and only waved back at her dad, knowing he couldn't see her. She knew he didn't like her staying down long on the first dive—superstitious. He always told her to go down and come back quickly to loosen up.

He wanted to make sure sharks or sea snakes weren't near or the "old darkies," as he called them. They were the bigger barracuda that just came in from the deep. They hadn't picked up the bright reflections from the white sands and stayed with their deep hues and colors. They were always hungry and hoped for a snack from a fisherman's bait or their catches. They seldom attacked divers or swimmers unless they wore bright jewelry, which is exactly why he always warned her about them. She wore an exceptionally large, silver Saint Christopher that was handed down from her mom. They all wore it in defiance of the same "darkie" warnings. Only once was one of them injured, her great, great grandmother, and in this very same place. She had a long scar from the barracuda attack where a set of teeth practically ripped it from her throat. Upon first glance, it looked as if she was wearing a jagged necklace, and soon after it healed she decorated it colorfully for show.

Tokoa would stop their harvesting sometimes by throwing out baitfish on a long steel leader and catch a "darkie" to prove to the others what could happen to them. Before he'd get them into the boat, and in plain sight of the others, he'd pound their skulls in with a flat wooden mallet till its head popped. Sal doubted the others cared, but for some reason they always swam off after his theatrics. They'd eat the one they caught after they froze it solid for a couple days to avoid the deepwater poisons.

Sal moved away from the anchor line to look around for a minute before surfacing. She saw the oyster prizes she had marked in her mind like a road map, and her stomach fluttered with great pearl anticipation. Before returning to the line, still jerking furiously, she saw a series of bubbles coming from the sea floor. She circled them and watched as the sand seemed to be moving like a liquid porridge in a cooking kettle. She reached out, grabbed at one of the bubbles in fun, and almost gasped. It was scalding hot. She looked at her hand, mysteriously. She was so badly burned that blisters were already forming. She was shocked as she felt the water stinging her bare legs. She pulled her legs up and shot for the surface while trying to control her ascent but feeling the water biting at her with scalding currents and bubbles mixed with the colder ocean ones. She was frightened, especially when she saw thousands of bubbles following her. She was barely able to stay ahead of them. Finally, she left them safely behind while having outpaced them for a moment, then surfaced 20 feet from the boat.

"Papa, I'm burned! Papa! Papa! The water burned me!" she yelled, swimming in a panic and feeling the water starting to bite at her again.

"Get in Sal, get in, now! Hurry!" he yelled as she reached the side of the boat.

Tokoa grabbed and pulled her completely out of the water in one pull that landed her crossways over the boat gunnels but out of the water. He forcibly pushed her back into her seat without apologies and placed the oars back into the oarlocks. He pulled a sharp knife from his belt and cut the anchor line. He'd get it back some other day. He rowed with just less than panicked moves. They looked back and saw fish floating to the surface and writhing in deathlike movements—one was her favorite moray. A myriad of bubbles hit the surface, filling the air with a steamy putrid smell that stung their nostrils and looked like the coating of the morning fog.

"Papa, what is it?" she asked, seeing something in his face she had never seen before—fear.

"What's wrong, Papa?" she asked again.

He stopped for a moment and looked at his brother standing up in his boat. He could tell that the same thing was happening to him. He saw his brother put his hand in the water and pull it back waving his hand around in pain. As they watched him, the water under his brother lifted up under him as if it were a whale. It lifted him up over 15 feet, and then, dropped him down with a loud sucking sound—the boat was gone. A long ridge of water as far as the eye could see bumped up at the same time. They saw his brother's boat again upside down without him.

Tokoa knew exactly what happened. Magma was pushing the tectonic plates apart, and then, when cool water rushed into massive schisms created in the sea floor, it sucked all the water down into it like a drain in a bathtub. A small tsunami was instantly born with his brother part of it. A wash created by duplicate movements on the plates created a one-meter wave that started traveling out over 200 mph and would probably reach 500, but it would never be noticed by ships until it reached a shallower shore. It could reach 40 feet high. But, this one was just from a tremor, rocking the beachfront and shaking everything for up to a hundred miles away. It was just a little magma, just a little subduction, but just enough to catch his brother. It was just enough to make Tokoa start rowing furiously for land. He knew his brother was like those fish he saw floating on the surface—dead and boiled by the heat.

"Papa, what happened to Yokomi? Papa, we have to go save him. What happened?" She was frantic in concern and fear. She had never seen her dad acting like this.

"He's gone. Cooked like those fish. He was too close to the plates, those volcanic ridges. We can't help him, but we can help ourselves." Tokoa knew that his brother's boat and debris, including him, were probably over 20 miles from here traveling with the small tsunami. He'd be on a South Korean shore in less than an hour, whatever was left of him. Tokoa knew something else. Something bigger was going to happen.

He kept rowing and heard a voice within him just as he saw a stranger standing on the shore beside Kia. In his heart, he heard the clear message. Some would call this voice intuition, but he called it divine guidance. He heard it like hearing a voice of an old friend.

"Send Sal to Nashville, Tokoa. I need her there. Settle your debts, forgive the trespasses, cleanse your heart, and seek my peace."

He knew exactly who had spoken. God's voice confirmed his intuitive fears even more. God was saving Sal for something special, but preparing Tokoa and Kia for something quite different.

"Sal, you still have your airline tickets and passport, don't you?"

"Papa, you know I do. I just got them last week. I even have most my stuff packed. Why?" she asked. She cried softly but still didn't understand everything that just happened.

"I want you out of Japan before tonight. I'm sorry, little one, but you have to trust me on this. You've got to get out of here."

Sal responded in wrenching pain, "But Papa, I can stay one more week. Don't make me go so early, please. I don't understand. Tell me, please, what's going on?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I did. You'll have to trust me. If I'm wrong, we'll both laugh about this, and I'll make it up to you. Your mom and I have saved almost a 1000 dollars worth of silver for you to use once you're in Nashville. Also, we've been sending money to your aunt since the times in America and all over got bad. I thank the Lord that she's a doctor. Otherwise, she'd be on the streets like most of the people in the U.S. No matter what, whether you go to school or not; you've got to get off this island!"

"Something is more important than my schooling?"

"Yes, if I'm right, it's your life. Promise to go to church with little Nikki, will you? When we get home, I have a new Bible for you. Please, your salvation from the Lord is very important to me. Please consider giving your life to the Lord, won't you?"

Tokoa and Kia were one of the few believers in this village, but Sal hadn't followed their example yet. Nikki moved to the states to live in Nashville only five years earlier and was a believer too. He recently got an e-mail from her about going to The Lord's Chapel and how wonderful it all was.

"Oh, Papa, don't be so serious. Okay, okay, I'll think about this salvation thing. How's that? What will you tell Mom, Papa?"

"The truth, little dove, the truth."

"What will happen to you and Mom, Papa?" she asked, with tears streaming down her face while watching the shoreline fast approaching; and noticing, a very tall white man standing beside her mom. She could tell from her mom's face that she was sad and happy at the same time.

Sal was so upset that she jumped out of the boat before it got ten feet from shore, then thrashed through the shallows towards the beach. She ran past her mom and the stranger as she wailed in a bawl of uncontrollable tears. She reached her room, threw some packed luggage on the bed, and fell over it, then pounded her fists and kicked her feet in a fit of loud grief, anger, confusion, and frustration.

Tokoa pulled his boat up on the beach and slowly walked to his wife, then embraced her with a whisper in her ear, "Who's this guy?"

Before she could answer, the stranger did, "My name is Aaron. I've already told Kia about your brother and what you think you've discovered today. You're right, Tokoa. It's going to get cataclysmic, shortly. I know you're being obedient to our Lord's voice. That makes my job a lot easier. I'm just here to make sure Sal gets on that plane."

Tokoa instantly realized the stranger was an angel; and noticed, Kia giving a confirming "yes" nod. He couldn't miss Aaron's size. Aaron stood right at seven feet. Even though he was a "roundeyes," he was terribly large and powerful looking. Tokoa approached him as he would any other believer friend.

"Welcome to my home, Aaron. I guess we'll be seeing you in a much better place soon, won't we?" He reached up to Aaron, and they hugged in a brotherly squeeze. Kia rushed to their side and looked back at their cottage while hearing Sal wailing.

"This is so hard on her, Tokoa, Aaron," her lips quivered with emotion.

"I know," answered Aaron, "but the alternative is worse. She's very special. No matter what you think, every righteous seed you've planted will flourish in her."

To Tokoa that was the grandest news of all. His little Sal was going to come to the Lord. She was already special to the Lord. God was going to use her, and he knew it. "What a wonderful blessing this is," he rejoiced to himself.

"In answer to your question, Tokoa, yes, shortly. Come visit with me when you get there, and I'll introduce you to some my favorite immortals."

"Is Jesus coming back soon, Aaron?" he asked nervously with his fingers crossed.

"Hasn't it always been soon? If I were a betting man, knowing what I know about what's going to take place here in Japan, I'd put all my money on that filly, wouldn't you?" Aaron turned as if he was going to walk away, then said, as he disappeared, "I'm going to church with a bunch of kids on God's Mountain--Sanctuary. I'll see you shortly."

"What do you think, Kia?" he asked while still holding her.

"I say we get her fanny up to the Kyushu Airport to get Sal to Tokyo National, then call our church friends for one last celebration. I guess by tomorrow we'll be what Aaron called one of those 'immortals,' won't we?" They both did a little dance in the sand and looked back together towards the cottage again.

Sal got up just before Aaron left and looked out. She saw this huge man talking and hugging her mom and dad, then he disappeared. She rubbed her eyes in disbelief, then watched as her mom and dad jumped and danced in circles on the beach.

Her only thought, "Why are they so happy? Are they glad to get rid of me?" She thought better of herself and grabbed at her luggage, then threw a canvas backpack over her shoulders and walked bravely towards the beach.

As she approached them, she started talking, "I don't understand," Sal commented tearfully, "but something within me says you're only trying to protect me from something very bad. I know that. I just don't want anything to happen to you. I love you so much." They all hugged this time.

Together, Tokoa and Kia said, "We're going to be just wonderful. Don't you worry about a thing. Yes, we are trying to protect you."

Tokoa broke the mood with fatherly logic, "We'll e-mail Nikki to meet you in Nashville. You just remember to think about the Lord every spare chance you get, okay?"

"Oh, Dad, there you go getting serious on me again. Wait, where did that big white guy go?"

"He said he was going to church with a bunch of kids?"

"Maybe he's from a wrestling camp, right?"

"Sure, Sal, sure," replied Tokoa, humoring her, and without another word except a trip to the wall safe and a reach for Sal's new Bible, they all ran for the van.

As they drove Sal to the airport, they heard sirens from the Nuclear Plant. Takoa spoke to himself, "They haven't seen anything yet."

By 10 a.m., they were walking through the airport towards her exit gate. The economy was so devastated that it was like an abandoned subway. Hardly a soul was around with only a handful of airlines even operated. She heard how hard it was in the States. The economy was turned upside down, and the nuclear attacks on Washington and New York years ago made it all worse. In spite of that, she hoped it was better now. It wasn't.

    

Chain Reaction

A Swedish geological observatory was located near the Ryukyu Islands. Argin Seward was in shock watching his spastic seismic readings, not believing what was happening. Some of his co-workers were on their knees praying, settling salvation matters. A couple, were thumbing furiously through their token Gideon Bibles, trying to find out how to settle salvation matters. Several were calling friends at home giving final farewells or asking them about salvation matters. Several more were trying to warn friends in Japan and Korea, knowing it wouldn't help. It would be all over in a matter hours, including their own observatory.

Argin shouted over his phone to his corporate headquarters, "This is Argin Seward! Yes, we got shaking, guys! We got tearing! We got subduction! The whole tectonic Eurasian Plate is shifting. We aren't talking inches; we're talking yards, hundreds of yards, miles in some cases. It's affecting them all, including the Arabian, African, and Indo-Australian plates. We've got trouble spelled with a big T!"

He continued, "If it continues at this rate, they'll have to use an underwater sonar to find Japan."

The tectonic plates sheared at full tilt about 2:30 p.m., rocking Japan. The earthquakes were greater than anything ever felt before. The Takimuaia Nuclear Plant sank 20 feet into the rock, right through the foundation. It listed to one side and started sliding down the mountain. Radioactive rods where thrown into the heavy water making the meltdown unstoppable. The first blast was on the order of a 5-psi thermal nuclear explosion traveling 160 miles per hour with the effect of 180 tons of shockwave and destroying everything it came against. Aso, Kirishima and Sakurajima volcanoes ignited at the same time, blowing their dormant domes

Japan wasn't finished yet. Nuclear sites all over Japan went to meltdown, jump-started by the eruptions of Fuji, Miyakejima, Izu-Oshima, Kusatsu-shirane, Asama, Bandai, Komagtake, Usu, Tokachidake, Akan, and Iwate, following the same patterns (shaking the volcanoes loose from dormant sleep and causing earth-shattering explosions.) Every nuclear site was affected: both the Katas, all seven of the Kashiwazaki Kariwas, all three of the Mihamas, all of the Ohis, the Takahmas, the Onagawas, the Sendais, the Himanes, and the Tokias, including isolated individual plants such as Shika, Tomari, Tsurga, and Monju FBR. The chain reaction continued—earthquake—volcanic eruption—meltdown.

Japan broke like an egg. It started as a shaking of buildings with slight tremors, then a roller coaster wave of earth and rock punched its way from the earth's core sending a massive tidal wave of buildings, bridges, and parked vehicles with millions of its busy Monday inhabitants into 1000-foot spins upward, then violently down to earth again. The nuclear debris went skyward like a violent toxic fist. The meltdown pollution covered the sky in a coat of darkness. It sent the temperatures down below the freezing mark in a matter of minutes.

The combined blast of all the nuclear meltdowns was 20 psi, equating to a 720-ton shockwave and moving at 500 mph. It spread in all directions, including towards the South Korean coast. The shockwave hit the Korean Electric Power Corporation's nuclear reactor in Seoul and pushed the sides of the facility into a hump. This meltdown triggered other nuclear incidents up and down the coast of China and Russia. The coast of China disappeared, leaving 1000-foot drops 20 miles inland. Small islands that were peppered with coastal homes sank beneath the waves. Some islands were moved but intact from the severing, but everyone was poisoned by fallout or killed by the shockwaves.

The tectonic plates acted like giant whips moving through the other plates. A giant snake-like fuse was lit, and nothing could put it out. The first continental split tore apart Africa's Northern coast, severing Libya off into the ocean by itself. The Southern most tip of Italy fell away and ran it up against the Italian boot of Sicily. It moved five miles off the Italian coast finally breaking apart and sliding into a deep ocean trench.

In Mayayuma, when the fuse was first lit, Tokoa and Kia were in jubilant prayer with their believer friends. They sat around in a circle in the middle of the church floor while singing praise songs and waiting. Tokoa and Kia were confident that Sal was going to be safe. In fact, they figured she was already at Nikki's and would be sleeping in from her long trip. Nikki sent an e-mail saying she was going to stay home from church with her to make sure she got settled in right.

The church was full of excitement without fear. There was a peace that only the Lord could give. Those in the church felt what was left of their church shift to one side, and the nuclear blast sheared the walls into dust that dissolved them in a fiery heat and thrusted the dust of their bones into Unzen's molten lava below.

They had been right. Sal was safe and reached Nashville just before midnight on a redeye jet flight from Toyoko. Nikki greeted her in hugs, and they left for her apartment off Hillsboro Road, oblivious to events in Japan.

    
Chapter 2

In The Twinkling Of An Eye

Alex Tabor got up off his knees at the All Saint's altar in Sewanee. He saw several people crying and sobbing hysterically, then pulling their hair and wringing their hands in pain and confusion. He felt he was at an Arab wake; their sorrow was heart wrenching.

He noticed a rather distinguished yet odd-looking, man, with a high-balding head in the front pew, who was shredding programs, then tearing apart some pew Bibles. When the man was done, he started scribbling on a piece of paper. Alex approached him and carefully tapped him on the shoulder. The man turned to him; and immediately, Alex noticed he wasn't grieving like the rest but seemed angry, even enraged. The man pushed a note into Alex's shirt pocket, quickly got up, and ran out the front doors of the church.

The note said, "I'm a professor of religion. God took the fanatics and left me here. I hate God for this. It's all His fault. How could he take all those idiots and leave an educated man like me behind? How? How dare He?"

Alex shook his head and wondered how a person so close to the truth could miss it so much. Even Alex heard about getting saved because he had heard it from the kids that worked at his garage. He used to hear them witnessing to the other kids about Jesus, and he was sure they weren't left behind. He had arrived at All Saints just in time to see everyone disappear that included hearing that heavenly trumpet and the ear-shattering shout of an angel that shook the building, "It is time!"

It didn't take a real genius to know he'd been wrong. He had run to the altar and surrendered his life to Jesus. He might have missed it this time, but he determined to be ready if and when it happened again. He walked slowly out onto the church sidewalk and watched college kids scattered around the university lawn. Some lay on the ground still crying while others were leaning against the campus trees and rock walls just staring without emotion as if in shock.

There were kids coming out of dorms mystified by their missing roommates. Others, having breakfast at the Quindnunc Café, watched a waitress disappear before them that let a serving platter full of food and dishes crash to the floor. A cook disappeared along with the assistant manager who was talking on a wall phone to an employee about their work schedule. The phone hung like a limp arm while simply swinging carelessly back and forth where he wasn't anymore.

For some reason, several coeds ran up to Alex thinking he may be a priest since they saw him walking from All Saints. "Help us, please, father. Help us. What can we do? What can anyone do?"

Another girl grabbed at his lapel while screaming into his face, "God took my friends! I called home to my parents. My mother and sister are gone too! Oh, Lord, what can we do?"

"You're asking me? Girl, if your mother was taken, then she must have told you about being saved, about giving your life to God. I overheard some kids talking about it at my garage. I didn't have a mother to tell me about it. Go take care of it. Go right in the church and take care of it. No, do it right here."

As he turned and walked away from them, he looked back and watched as they went to their knees and begging God to forgive them, then asking Him to come into their hearts. He thought, "I knew they knew how to do that. They don't have any excuse."

He mumbled, "I'm going over to the bookstore to see if I can find any books on this stuff. The real pros on this stuff are gone. It's home study time now. I'm not going to miss it next time—if there is one."

Aaron, Joseph, Caleb, and Isaac walked together up University Avenue towards All Saints. "Kind of quiet compared to usual," replied Caleb as he looked at a few stumbling stragglers. He looked more at several unmanned cars, their motors still running—some had crashed into campus trees—others were slammed against other parked cars—one had jumped the curb dismantling a local porch all the way to the front door (as if it wanted in but no one invited it).

All four of them had their wings extended in plain sight. They weren't concerned about being seen. Enough was happening and had happened that it just wasn't important. They knew this would end soon. Darkness was falling. It had the feel of heavy soot around them with the shades of dark gray tones falling from the sky and in the air they breathed. Night was approaching at an alarming speed. They only had so much time before it took completely over.

Joseph answered Caleb while pointing to some kids walking together on the other side of the street, "Not as quiet as it should have been."

Aaron nodded sadly in agreement as Isaac asked, "Where's Irish, Aaron?"

"She's helping greet the newly transformed. I heard little Grace was lead teacher in their first class of Heaven 101. That's kind of scary but thank the good Lord for growth. I just hope she doesn't tell them about the chewing tobacco. They may not take her seriously if she does."

"Why do you still call her 'little' Grace? She's at least 6'2," now, and has been doing a great job on the transformation squad for the last ten years," stated Caleb challengingly.

Aaron answered shaking a how-dare-you finger at him, "Since I'm the commander of the angel legions and was directly involved in her becoming a full-fledged heir-servant, I'll call her what I want. I'll never forget her as a new creation. She was the goofiest new creation I've ever known. She even got on Irish's last nerve if that tells you anything. I must admit that she turned out quite well—one of the best. She and Irish hang together every chance they get. In fact, I have to pry them apart to get some personal time with Irish."

"Joseph, didn't I hear that a captured dark angel said that Dar-Raven is gone for good?" asked Isaac.

"Yep, the Dark Father threw him right into the hell hole for messing things up so much. It may not be for good. Apollyon will resurrect him when he needs to. But for now, yes, he's gone. Did anyone hear the rumor that he took up with a human and had a child?"

"Where did you hear that?" asked Caleb.

"That same dark angel who told us he went to the hell hole. Said he had a grown daughter floating around somewhere," answered Isaac.

Caleb answered, "Oh Lord, that will be one messed up dark Nephilim. Can you imagine the damage that child could do with the Dar Raven blood racing through their veins?

Alex was walking towards the bookstore when he saw four seven-foot-tall shapes appearing from Sewanee's morning fog. He shuddered, not knowing whose side they were on. He sprinted, dodging in between bushes and rock walls. Just as he got to the bookstore, he dived through its open doors, then fell and slid across its polished wooden floors. He scrambled to his feet and sneaked up to a windowsill to watch their approach. They walked beside each other and looked rather like a group of cowboys strolling to a hometown dance. Then, they saw Alex making his escape into the bookstore.

"So much for surprising Alex. Since Alex has been around Dar-Raven, I imagine, he's a little gun-shy about anyone near seven feet. Won't he be surprised that we're here to see him?" commented Caleb.

They waited in plain sight in front of the bookstore while Alex kept watching them. He was so nervous that he didn't want to take a chance, although these big guys had white wings.

"They could be dark angels disguised as good guys, couldn't they?" he asked himself despondently.

Caleb drew his sword and whacked a tree limb in front of the bookstore in boredom. "Take that and that you spineless piece of godless dirt. This is the Caleb. No one escapes my mighty sword!" Joseph laughed at his goofiness, then caused the tree limb to spring back suddenly to knock Caleb on his back.

"Okay, guys, which one of you did that? I know it didn't do it on its own." Caleb glared at his friends while facing each one individually. Joseph couldn't take it anymore and laughed openly at his human joke.

Aaron commented, "We really have been on earth too long. We're getting a sense of humor from it all. Remind me to look up Cole Watchman when we get back to heaven. I like that guy. He's the funniest preacher I've ever known. We can get him to preach one of those crazy, comical sermons of his. Right guys?"

"Right," answered Isaac.

Isaac was even older than Aaron by 5,000 years. He was as massive as Aaron and taller by half a foot. His blackness made his own muscles look even thicker than Aaron's. Aaron used to refer to him as "Snow White" in jest. His hair was white as snow, and he had a neatly trimmed white beard.

Isaac was asked to take the commander position on several occasions, but he always believed in his students more than himself—Aaron being one of his best. He pushed them towards those kinds of jobs rather than take them himself. He stuck to instructing them in war techniques and battle savvy.

"Why don't we just sit out front and let him stew awhile. Caleb, be unseen and see what he's up to. When the time is right, show yourself."

"You got it, boss," he replied to Aaron's commanding suggestion. "By the way, how much time do we have before the dark night really settles in?"

Aaron frowned, "Not long. The same kind of trouble our anointing gave the dark angels won't anymore. We aren't in charge like before. This darkness will prevent us from having the kind of influence we've been used to. We'll become only a little more than messengers. All the dark angels are in the open and on earth now. As humans say, 'All hell will break loose.'"

Caleb shook his head, knowingly, and looked around nervously, "I don't think it will take Apollyon long to get his act together. I wonder if he'll figure out what we have in store for Alex? I wonder if Alex will believe it?"

"It will take Apollyon awhile to unscramble it all. He's never had so much free reign. He'll be so busy with what humans call 'low hanging fruit' (the easy stuff) that he probably won't be thinking about people like Alex for awhile, especially if Alex does what we want. Go ahead, Caleb. Check him out, will you?"

Alex watched the angels casually waiting for him without knowing they were. He felt comfortable that they didn't know he was hiding since they hadn't come in yet. Their friendliness, smiles, and laughter gave him a sense that they weren't dangerous, whatever side they were on.

He shrugged and said to himself, "They must be the good guys."

As Alex walked through the bookstore, he pulled books from the shelves and thumbed through them. He carried some to the front checkout counter and stacked them up as if he was going to pay for them—just habit. As he moved to the back of the bookstore near the business office, he noticed a man slumped over his desk with a pool of blood leaking over the desk edges and a pistol in one hand.

"Guess he couldn't stand knowing he missed it. Shame, maybe I could have helped him get ready for the next trip," said Alex out-loud.

"That's what we're counting on, Alex," replied Caleb as he appeared beside him. Alex jumped back, fell against a bookshelf, and started to climb over the top.

"Whoa, big guy, settle down. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead. You don't see a sword in my hands, do you?"

"That doesn't mean dirt to me. I saw Dar-Raven change into five different people the first time I met him. You could be him or another dark angel for all I know."

"Dar-Raven is gone. Apollyon shoved his big butt directly into the fiery hole. He's being burned alive right now. As far as another dark angel, think again. You're saved now, aren't you? The Lord told us about it earlier. Would a dark angel know that? They might sense it, but the anointing is gone from the world now. There would be no way for them to tell, not unless you told them."

Alex didn't stop climbing and was at the top of the five-shelf bookcase as it teetered back and forth. The bookcase leaned suddenly and sent Alex flying into Caleb's arms. "Nice catch, I'd say. Now settle down and let me help you get some of the best end-time books I know about. Hey, just think about it. You're going to get advice from one of the good guys for a change. By the way, Aaron is outside, the angel who fought Dar-Raven and shoved his feet into the ground. Don't you want to meet him?"

Alex's face relaxed, and he gave in, "Well, since I've not been known for picking good friends or business partners lately, I guess it's time to take another chance. Maybe, if you're right, my choice will redeem me from my past mistakes."

Caleb helped Alex stand, "You don't have to do that, Alex. You're redeemed by the blood of the Lamb. Praise to the King! All your past is forgiven and thrown as far as the east is from the west. Your heart is like pure, white-driven snow. Your heart belongs to God, now."

"Thanks, I needed to hear that. Now, before I go meet this Aaron guy, can you really help me with some good books?"

Caleb reached and grabbed a Thompson Chain Study Bible and handed it to him. "This will be the most important one. First things first, right?"

    

Lost Parish

The Vicar, Chad Scottson, was in the middle of the Nicene Creed when several members of his small parish disappeared: the door greeter and his wife; twelve children of five different families; four teenagers; and a first-time visitor who had just been saved at a Billy Graham Crusade the night before and was looking for a new church home. At first there was only a moment of confusion, then hysteria when parents were looking for their children, even under the pews, to no avail. Their shock was more than just grief for their missing children. It was saturated with a cold, final realization of hopelessness that they had missed it too.

A parent screamed, "It's the rapture! It's the rapture! God took my Billie! It's the rapture! His grandma taught him about Jesus, and God took my baby!"

She raced out of the pew towards the priest who stammered, still trying to finish the service, not knowing what else to do. His thoughts wouldn't let him accept it. It couldn't be true. This wasn't real. This was a mean joke—a cruel, mean joke. He hadn't learned it this way. He hadn't taught it this way. It couldn't be true.

"You did this!" screamed the mother, then others chimed in behind her and surrounded the priest in a furious frenzy of accusations. Like the staccato of a machine gun, they fired their insults at him one after another.

"You taught us wrong!" a lady yelled and hit him with her pocketbook.

"You told us all we needed was love? We loved each other so much that we got left behind together, you idiot!" a choir director shouted as he slammed a hymnal across the back of the priest's head.

"You did this! You told us that we didn't need to be reborn like the crazy fanatics," another Mom with missing children screeched. She had hold of his robe and pulled on it and swung him into the front altar.

Another man who had lost three of his children took a swing that punched the priest in the stomach, then the lady kicked him in his side as he hit the floor.

"You said that we'd all make it! You told us that everyone makes it. You told us that it didn't matter what we believe! You told us that God had already saved us all! How could you? My children are gone. My loves are missing because of you!"

The man continued punching at the priest while several women pulled at his face and hair while crying and wailing at the same time. The altar tipped over backwards and sent the priest with the wine and bread onto the floor. His last thoughts before someone hit him across the head with the heavy, brass table cross were, "I'm sorry. I just didn't know. I'm stupid. I got it wrong. I refused to believe them. I just didn't know..."

Half the church ran out the front doors when the mayhem started, not exactly knowing what was going on, but not wanting any part of it. As they came out of the church, they noticed the streets littered with abandoned vehicles. Passengers from several cars were standing in the middle of the street while banging and slamming their fists into the pavement and on car hoods in frustration—some had their Christian wives and husbands driving when it happened, and their children disappeared with them.

Those who realized what happened didn't and couldn't drive home because of the trauma. They walked around the church property while crying uncontrollably and blubbering to themselves, "We were taught to love each other, but that wasn't enough."

Others still in the church made mad dashes for the church phones or pulled phones from their purses and glove compartments. They wanted to see who else in their family were left. Some knew all too well.

    

Warnings—Shaking Of Heaven

Alex walked from the bookstore with Caleb. When he saw Aaron's face, he knew everything was okay. Aaron walked towards Alex and opened his arms wide in an invitation hug. Alex felt the crushing relief of what had happened to him explode within him as he ran to Aaron and gave in to his compassion.

Alex asked hesitantly, "Can I go next time? I'm sorry I wasn't ready this time. Did my kids make it?"

"Sure they did! Yes, you'll make on the next trip, but you have a lot of work to do. That's why we're here, Alex," replied Aaron as he released him, then Joseph and Isaac came to get their hug too.

"We're just glad to have you on our team. But, within hours all hell will break loose. We have a lot to tell you in a short time. You're the man, Alex! You're the man!"

"What do you mean, 'I'm the man?' I don't know anything about this stuff except what I heard those Christian kids saying in my garage. What can I do?"

"Stay here and prepare for darkness to fall."

"That doesn't sound very inviting. What do you mean, 'darkness?'" Alex got a bad feeling about being "the man" like you get when the TI Sergeant picks you for latrine duty.

"You're in the right place at the right time. A terrible nuclear accident is getting ready to take place. The shockwaves of the first catastrophe will hit the U.S. shortly. Oak Ridge will go to meltdown. Japan doesn't exist anymore. Just before the rapture took place, it disappeared into the ocean. The tectonic plates are tearing the earth apart. The North American Plate will be the only one to stay intact. Even South America, which includes the Cocos and Nazca Plate will be torn apart. There won't be an East Coast of the United States left. The earthquakes and other shaking will cause every nuclear facility near and on the East Coast to go to meltdown. Hey, guess what? California will be okay. Go figure. Like a joke, right?"

"We want you to go to a safer place right here on campus. There's an old church that is made of cobblestone on the other side of the campus, just beyond All Saints," said Aaron as he pointed somewhere past All Saints.

He continued, "It has enough structural integrity to withstand the shaking that's going to take place. It's pretty well self-contained. The priest who used to live in a connected cottage is with us now. Before he left, the Lord convinced him to store up provisions for at least six months in the church cellar chambers. When we say cellar chambers, we are actually talking about an elaborate matrix of storage and living quarters. It has a generator and vast supplies with enough fuel and heating oil to last through the winter. He didn't tell anyone what he was doing. Like Noah building the ark."

"You have to go there and not say a word to anyone. There will be fewer left around here than before after the shockwave hits Oak Ridge. You're just on the edge of the 160-mile range. Everyone here on the mountain should end up losing their hair and have internal bleeding. Most will live, but they'll just wish they were dead. We'll change that a little and send a storm to push it as far east as possible. That should give you a break as long as you stay under for awhile."

"Later on, we're going to depend on you to take in a couple of survivors, but you'll know who they are when the time comes. There are other reasons that you're important. Stay low, keep your head down, and hide."

Aaron continued as he occasionally patted Alex on his shoulder to make him feel better, "We can't help you like before. The Holy Spirit is here to indwell, but the great miracles and healings will be the exception from now on—very rare. The restraints of the Holy Spirit on the world are released."

Aaron bowed his head, acted a little depressed, and continued, "We can only be messengers and advisors with very little interaction. With so many dark angels around, we can't afford to do anything outstandingly exceptional. Don't want to draw that much attention. We really are restricted. The greater the darkness grows, the less hold we have on earth. We can't stay around like we used to. When the darkness gets too great, we won't be able to stay at all. We'll bring you the right people at the right time. The rest is up to you."

"What do you want me to do? I don't understand?" Alex was perplexed and frightened. He didn't understand a lot about the rapture, but he sure understood nuclear meltdown.

"You'll be part of a great revival when the time comes, but right now, we want you down in that cellar. We want you to be our ace to play exactly when we need it. Don't worry, you'll have some company to start with and plenty of books in the priest's cellar library, just like you want. You won't need any of these, but take your new Bible as your own. Go get one more. You have someone to meet on your way across campus. Her name is Abigail. She's Pendwight's niece from Saint Mary's Convent."

"A nun didn't make it?" he asked, then shook his head in disbelief.

Aaron answered seriously, his voice lowering an octave in emphasis, "Pendwight is poison, and he's not done. Stay away from him. He's done more damage than you can ever imagine. He's taught error to so many kids that it's unbelievable. She's just another byproduct of his sin of disbelief. Stay righteous, Alex. Do you understand? Just because the world has gone to hell in a hand basket, doesn't mean you can do whatever you want. Do you know what I mean?"

"You mean, Abigail, don't you?"

"You catch on quick. Swear an oath to God to stay righteous."

"An oath? Is that like promising something to someone?"

"Yes, a promise to God. It's important, Alex. There can be no give and take on this. No waffle room," Aaron stated with his finger pushing at Alex's chest for emphasis.

"Okay, I swear to keep myself righteous. I swear to treat this Abigail as if Jesus was right next to me. How's that?"

"Couldn't have done it better myself," answered Aaron, then slapped Alex on the back enthusiastically.

"Who's going to teach me about all this God stuff? Like I said, I got just enough of it to get saved and don't have a clue about anything else," asked Alex in desperation.

"Abigail will. She's not saved. That's your job. Her job will be to help you understand this great end-time puzzle. She's had the schooling. Now, she just needs the heart of God."

"We've got to go now. You can call on us through prayer, but remember, it takes longer to respond. The dark angels walk too freely on earth now—without restraint. We'll come, eventually."

"How do I find out about what's going on?"

"Keep your eye on TV, radio, and e-mail. Watch for the Anti-Christ and his contenders. Keep your eye on the new capitol and politics."

"Who would want to fight over the Anti-Christ's job?" asked Alex, having heard the word from time to time but not knowing any details. He felt the evil of the title when he said it more than anything.

"You'd be surprised. You'd really be surprised. Oh, by the way, leave your computer hooked to the Internet and logged on as much as possible. Can't ever tell when someone might send you a message."

    

Nikki's Gone

Sal lay on an antique twin bed reserved for guests in Nikki's Hillsboro Road apartment. She could see the Baptist church across the street with most folks walking from close neighborhoods to go to church.

There were few churches even operating now. The economic chaos had broken many so-called believers. It seemed to drive them away from God. They just couldn't believe in the suffering. It wasn't supposed to be this way, especially in the U.S. This was a blessed land, wasn't it? How could God let this happen to His favorite nation? How could He let it happen to the nation with "In God We Trust" on their money? How could He? But, this church seemed to be drawing a big crowd anyway. Since it was a nice day, the church was holding services outdoors under a large tent. There were only about 100 people. Sal noticed how destitute they looked. No one had fancy clothes; everything looked ragged and worn-out. Some didn't even have shoes and wore only socks matted with dirt and mud from a recent rain.

"Hey sister, you get a good rest?" asked Nikki as she bounced into her room and sat down on the bed beside her. "Looks like they actually have a crowd today. There are only six churches in Nashville still operating. My church, The Lord's Chapel, is one of them." They both stared at the congregation while Nikki sat beside Sal listening to them singing.

"Isn't it great? I love that praise song. How wonderful!" Nikki knew that Sal wasn't a believer, but she wasn't going to restrain herself on her account. Her love for the Lord bubbled from her.

"You know, Nashville was visited by angels lately, don't you?" replied Nikki shoving a newspaper article at her with the blurs of what were supposed to be angel pictures on them, but they looked more like fake UFO photographs, nothing very clear.

"I heard you were like my dad and mom, a believer. Isn't that what you call it?"

"Yes, and no matter how tough it's gotten, God always provided for me. It's been wonderful. Hey, I heard that there were all sorts of angels on Monteagle near Sewanee. I thought about going up there for a visit. Would you like to go? I still got a working car and a full tank of gas. In fact, I had an extra tank installed for emergencies. I guarantee we have more than enough to get there and back. Are you game?"

"Is it pretty? I mean, does the country look pretty? I'd like to see some of Tennessee, but I'm a little tired right now. Can we go another day?" Sal plummeted her head into the pillow and faked snoring.

"Oh no, you don't. I have some friends for you to meet. They're at church right now; but as soon as they get back, you'll be fixed up. They got teenagers at home too. They even have some guys your age. Cuties. I've been keeping my eye out for you."

"Now, that's what I call a sister! I'm sorry, Nikki," she ducked her head and confessed. "I'm not buying into this believer stuff, yet. If they go to your church, are they going to be talking about Jesus all the time?"

"Sal, you're such a skeptic. I have no way of knowing how much they talk about Jesus. You'll just have to find out on your own. I do know one family just got this new kid from a foster program, kind of a troublemaker. He's about the only one who wouldn't talk about Jesus that much. That won't last long around us. His name is Jeff or something. It's the Howard family. I'll see if he wants to come along with the rest of them. We're going for pizza after they get out of church. Not many eating places to pick from anymore, just pizza places, McDonalds, Krystal, Krispy Kreme, and Cracker Barrel." Nikki got up, went to get the church directory, and threw it on the bed beside Sal.

"Hey, Sis, look up the Howard's. There's only one. Put it out by the phone and remind me to call in about an hour. They should be almost halfway through church by now. Reading that Nicene Cree..."

Nikki disappeared before Sal's eyes. Nothing but thin air remained. She turned in confusion and noticed the people in the church tent across the way were all gone too. She stared dumbfounded and confused. Then slowly, she watched as car after car collided in a confused mess, up and down the street, with several cars wrecking without their drivers—right in front of her window. She didn't make a sound as she turned towards the TV in the other room and heard the announcement about Japan. She shuddered under the double impact; and as if in a stupor, she walked into the front room and fell into a sofa chair, not taking her eyes off the TV screen.

The satellite film feed revealed the horrors of her sunken island. It showed the steaming waters where Japan had been only hours before. It continued to show hundreds of miles of floating, dead debris and surface waves lapping at chunks and pieces of humanity that bobbed alongside an ocean of boiled marine life cooked to their bloated gills. The footage was a morbid statement of the frailty of mankind.

When she saw the remaining holocaust of the Korean, China, Russian, Italian, and North African coastlines; she broke down wailing in long mournful tones of pain and depression; she couldn't stop. For some reason, she was now more alone than in her whole life—all in a manner of minutes.

Her family and her island country were gone, and then another terrible realization hit her. Nikki was part of what her dad and mom had talked about. She was part of the rapture, and she remembered it had to do with being a "believer." She ignored them before and secretly laughed at them while thinking they were goofy and silly about all this Jesus stuff.

"Nikki was raptured," she replied to herself in a whisper. "Who's left? Just us godless pagans, I suppose. Jeff? I wonder if Jeff is still around?"

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and went back to her room to thumb through the church directory. Finding the number, she dialed it, but stopped briefly, trembling so much that she couldn't continue. She didn't want to know; she didn't want to find out. After a minute, she continued again and held the phone to her ear. After the third ring, the answering machine picked up.

"This is the Howard residence. We are so happy you called. Please leave a message at the tone, and we'll get right back to you. Remember, Jesus loves you." Susie Howard's voice spoke with a cheerful upbeat tone that smacked of her Tennessee roots, with more southern charm than southern drawl.

"Jesus did this, you creep!" shouted Sal before the tone came on.

"This is Sal. I'm from Japan and just got here today. Nikki from your church is my auntie. Jeff, if you were left behind too, can you call me? Here, the number is 292-0794. You ought to know the area code if it matters. I'm at 2200 Hillsboro Rd Apartment H-5, the condo units across the street from the Hamilton Baptist Church. Please call me, please. I'm so scared."

She hung up while continuing her speech, "and so angry." She took the directory, threw it across the room, and went into one of her typical rages, kicking her feet and pounding her fists into the bed at the same time.

    

Boy Named Jeff

Jeff looked around at The Lord's Chapel. Everyone was gone, but he wasn't. He rolled a sleeve up over his shoulder and dug deep in his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. Earlier, he was hoping to sneak a smoke when no one noticed. He proudly stuck a pack of camels in his shirtsleeve shoulder, but not before he lit one and calmly walked around the empty church. He didn't believe what happened. One second, they were here, and the next, they were gone. No one was left. He went back to where the Howard's had been sitting and found Phil Howard's keys and beside it Susie's purse. He rummaged through her purse getting what cash he could, then snapped his fingers knowingly. He had witnessed the rapture. The sign above the church podium said it simply.

"Bring Oil in Your Lamps. Join the Rapture!"

He shrugged in unconcern and followed a previous hunch. Yes, he was right. They all left their purses behind. He went through the church, not missing a one, then went to the front where the collection plates were brimming over, pocketing every dime, cramming money into his pockets till his jeans looked deformed. He figured that he had at least a couple hundred without a lick of work. He moved through the church towards the front. Just before reaching the door, he saw a mirror and stopped to comb his hair. He wore his hair with a slightly greased look, pulled back from his face in a sixties' "Fonzie" style.

His military tattoos decorated his exposed upper arms, and he laughed to himself about all this. He was supposed to be their project. He was supposed to get saved for them and change his life around. What a joke. After all, he was still here, and they were gone—out of his life for good—he had won. His bouts with police and his final juvenile detention set him up for this. Few churches ever cared about kids like him. But, everyone said he was exceptional. He was one of the few natural athletes under State control. His military academy days, before his parents were killed, left him with some exceptional abilities (sharp shooting, track, swim team), which got him far more attention than the others. His natural charm mixed with rebellion made the girls love him, and at 17, he wore his rebellion like a defiant badge that attracted more than a handful of pregnant troubles.

Then, The Lord's Chapel decided to adopt him and get him saved. He was their righteous campaign. Their new Godly project was "The Saving of Jeff." But they were just his steppingstone to freedom—an aggravating one at that. He played nice guy for a while. It didn't matter, now. He was free at last.

He walked slowly towards the Howard's car, and even from the church, he noticed the traffic mess and figured out why. "More of a mess, because of those missing fanatics."

He looked around the parking lot and exclaimed," I need something better than this! I need a tank, a motorcycle, or both, to get around in this traffic!"

High on the top parking lot was exactly what he wanted. It probably drank more gas than he could afford. It was an orange Arnold machine. Five parking places from it was a motorcycle. He ran excitedly towards the Hummer and stared happily into its wide interior. He turned towards the motorbike and wheeled it over, then lifted it up into the backseat.

"Now, this will work!" he shouted while he pulled out a pocketknife and started to hotwire it.

"No way!" he exclaimed and ran back into the church. He started at the front and picked up handfuls of keys, not missing a one. The Honda motorcycle keys stood out easily enough, but the Hummer's were the next to last.

He exclaimed, "Just my luck!"

Once he got the Hummer started, he pushed several parked cars over the edge of the upper parking lot and watched them crash into bottom level of the lot.

"Full tank of gas!" he exclaimed. Seeing two gas gauges, he shouted triumphantly, "No, two full, big tanks of gas! I could almost go to Florida with this much gas. Cool!"

He moved out into traffic while pushing abandoned and wrecked vehicles out of the way instead of avoiding them. Several times, he rolled over the tops of them and landed with ease on the other side, then worked the gears furiously while the tires spun him forward. Seeing his car doing acrobatics, others moved off the road to let him by as he came up behind them.

He finally made it to the Howard's home and pulled up into the driveway, then parked in the double garage and closed the door behind him. Had to keep his "jewel" hid. After all, if he had good taste, so could someone else.

He made a sub sandwich and lay on the couch to take a nap. He hesitated and turned on the TV instead. The devastating overseas news was just starting, which included a news report about the missing people. Governments were making announcements about the financial calamity of so many missing. It seems that some industries wouldn't be able to open for business on Tuesday, especially in the U.S.

"Should have hired heathens, you idiots!" he shouted at the TV "That will teach you!" Jeff laughed and rolled over to get some shuteye.

From his peripheral vision, he noticed the light on the answering machine blinking. He jumped up. Everyone knew the Howard's were in church—at least those who counted.

"Alright! Someone else is still around. Maybe it's a teenager. Could I be that lucky? Better not be some guy. Maybe one of my old girlfriends tracked me down. I doubt they went with the rest." He lunged for the phone—his testosterone raging.

    

Abigail

Abigail walked from her convent dorm room looking across the campus, visibly shocked by the mayhem. She pulled at her sisterly garb, tearing it off her, and ran back into her room with her clothes half hanging off her in her frantic attempt to escape from them. She knew what had happened. She didn't want to advertise her stupidity anymore by wearing her sisterly clothes. She didn't want the obvious, stupid questions she would get from everyone. "How come you're not gone?" It would drive her crazy.

She thought how much she always listened to her Uncle Pendwight and knew he was still around. He was the one who taught her about avoiding the fanatics and all those serious types. She was determined not to be like them; she had succeeded; she wasn't.

She pulled on a pair of jeans from an old cedar chest. She hadn't worn civilian clothes in over 15 years. She was surprised they still fit. She was able to button and zip them in swift moves just like when she was a kid.

"Haven't lost that girlish figure," she thought.

They hung loosely to her small but tall 40-year-old frame. She was a natural red head, with her hair bundled up on top of her head (she pulled at her hairpins and let her hair flow down her back and over her shoulders). She shook her head in approval and grabbed for a Sewanee t-shirt that she was getting ready to send to a friend of hers in Nashville. In an impulsive move, she reached under her sweatshirt and pulled off her bra and tossed it on the floor with a defiant, "Humph!"

She pulled on some tube socks, slipped into some leather-hiking boots, and wrapped a new leather belt through her belt loops that pulled tightly at her tiny waist. Again, she thought about how lucky she was to have stayed so thin all this time. Many of her sisterly brethren were as big as barns and even younger. She wondered how they gained so much weight while eating the sparse convent food that continued to keep her skinny. Probably were sneaking off to the kitchen when no one else was looking. She smiled knowingly, "Probably compensating for the lack of something. I bet I know what that is!" she spoke loudly to herself.

Gathering up a hand-me-down backpack, she stuffed some reading material and personal bathroom items in it that included her favorite Hobie beach towel and a roach clip covered with ostrich feathers, souvenirs from her wilder pre-nun days. She spotted her Bible on her bed stand and threw it against the wall in disgust.

"I missed, so I missed! It won't do me much good now! If what I know is going to happen, all hell is getting ready to break loose. I have to find a way to survive. It won't help, now!"

She reached deep into her cedar chest and pulled out a loaded, double-shot, pearl-handled derringer. "I'm out of here, God! Thanks for nothing!"

Alex walked towards the chapel, having followed Aaron's directions. He looked for Abigail. Nothing so far. As he walked around the corner of All Saints following the walk to the other chapel, he ran into her. Abigail fell backwards into the bushes and thrashed in awkward, struggling movements.

"Watch where you're going, buddy!" she cussed him. He put out a hand to help her, but she misunderstood his helping hand. She pulled her gun and fired, just missing his head by a fraction, but enough to send him backwards onto the ground near her.

"Whoa, lady, slow down! I was just trying to help you up! Ease up on that trigger finger, will you?"

Finally, Abigail got a good look at Alex. "Governor! Governor Alex Tabor? It can't be! Is it really you?"

Alex quickly recovered and helped her to her feet, then noticed her blushed-red face as she straightened herself up. A crucifix fell from under her t-shirt having broken in her bush struggles.

Alex picked it up and handed it to her, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to scare you. Here's your cross. Just call me Alex. I don't think governor has much clout with everything that has happened recently. What's your name?"

Abigail took the cross from him and started to stick it in her front pocket, then changed her mind and threw it across the lawn at a nearby tree, "Lousy God did this to me! My name is Abigail."

"Abigail! Holy mackerel! You're the one I'm supposed to meet. You're the nun," he replied, then moved his hand dramatically across his forehead that mimicked relief.

"What do you mean meet me? How do you know me?" She started nervously backing away from him, not trusting even the governor right now.

"An angel called Aaron told me that I'd meet you. I'm to take you to safety until the holocaust passes. He said that Oak Ridge was going to melt down, and we needed to take shelter in the chapel on the other side of campus somewhere. Do you know where it is?"

"Who is this angel, Aaron? What's an angel got to do with me and you?" she asked, then moved farther away from him while getting ready to run.

"Everything. I'm supposed to standby to do some things for the angels since they can't stay around like they did before, and you're to teach me about the end times."

"What do you take me for, a fool? I'm not going with you anywhere! You're crazy! I rejected those fanatics and that includes their angels. God got me into this mess. You really expect me to help Him out, now?" She continued to back away from him while looking around for the best escape route.

The ground under and around them swayed like movements on a skyscraper in a heavy wind. There were rumblings and rock-shearing sounds. Abigail lost her balance and fell back into the bushes again.

"What in the heck was that?" she shouted as she crawled to her feet and set them far apart, then braced herself for more.

A student came running from a frat house directly towards them screaming, "The East Coast has disappeared. The whole coastline fell into the ocean. The tectonic plates are shifting. The news showed the nuclear plants up and down the coast going to meltdown. Most are in the ocean. The shockwaves are coming this way. They said for everyone to take cover. Run! Now! Hide! This is the end of the world!"

Abigail looked at Alex weirdly as the boy passed them and ran into All Saints. It didn't help. The earth moved like some kind of giant mole was burrowing its way around them. The back of All Saints sunk 40 feet, and they both watched as the church bell tower toppled to the ground before it stopped.

"I think that was just an appetizer!" shouted Alex as he reached for her hand to escape together.

She took his hand gratefully this time while they both ran towards the cobblestone church as she yelled at him, "Come on, governor! I don't know if I believe your story, but you're the best bet in town! God may not like me. In fact, I don't like Him much right now. If He likes you, you're whom I need to hang out with!"

She whispered, "At least till it settles down a little."

"There's the chapel!" she exclaimed as she pointed to a small, gray-stone building at the other end of campus.

As they approached, the earth seemed to groan and snap around them. The chapel doors popped open under the last movement. They looked at each other in joint skeptism.

"Are you sure this is the place to hide?" asked Abigail, not believing any place was quite safe. "It looks a little rickety to me."

"Not in the chapel, but under it. Come on!" he said as he pulled her behind him. "Where's the basement?"

"I remember helping at a garage sale here about five years ago. We stored everything in the basement. The door is through the back and down to the right!"

She passed him this time leading the way. There was more movement, and they noticed the church floors creaking under the pews. They also noticed that the cellar stairs didn't seem to be affected by it.

"There's a big door going down another flight of stairs made of concrete and metal. It's two levels deep," replied Abigail. They finally reached the door and pushed on it together, but it didn't budge.

"What in the heck is this made of, titanium?" asked Alex.

"I told you it was concrete and metal. This was an old fall-out shelter 25-years ago. Look, there's a lever at the bottom and top blocking it from opening." She grabbed for the bottom while Alex grabbed the top. They pulled with all their strength, then there was more earth movement, but it helped this time, enough to shift the door open.

"Get down there, now!" shouted Alex. It was pitch black, but to the left hanging from a coat hook was a five-battery flashlight swinging on a tethered rope. "Perfect!" remarked Alex.

They moved down to the lower level, and the coolness of the inner earth was rank with the wet smell of rock, water, and moss, then surprisingly it started disappearing. The rock gave way to newly poured concrete under their feet and on the walls of the passage beside them. Finally, they found a light switch. Alex flipped it on and off several times as he discovered in disappointment only a flicker and nothing more.

"The electricity must have been bumped off-line. Alex shined his flashlight at the first door to their right; and as they entered, they saw a high-capacity generator sitting like it was waiting for them. It was expertly vented to the outside and surrounded with over 50 (20-gallon) drums of gasoline.

"Let's get it started," he remarked as he pulled the gasoline cap off and noticed it was marked to the top. He screwed it back on and pulled at its lawnmower handle. It sputtered then stopped. He pulled again. It failed again, but they were more interested in the sound of rock and earth moving around them. They silently thought that it wasn't quite as violent as it was before; it was, in fact, far worse. Just like Aaron told Alex, they were protected from it. The generator started in a burst of noise, and the lights flickered, then came instantly alive.

"Boy, someone did their homework. This is great! There's enough fuel for a long time and look how the vent disperses the fumes. At least, we won't die of carbon monoxide poisoning."

"Believe me, carbon monoxide is the least of our worries," she replied as she looked around at the storage room. "You're right, I can't believe Father Sargon did all this. He lived here for the last ten years before moving back to Nashville. I wonder what else he's done?"

"I know you don't like to hear about the angels; but if what I know is true, this is probably one of the few safe places around."

"I know what I said, but can't you just refer to the angels as intuitions or something? Just for me? I'm not quite ready to hear about God things quite yet."

"Okay. My intuition tells me that this is probably one of the few safe places around. How's that?" Alex laughed lightly and noticed that Abigail was smiling at him, tickled by his sense of humor in the midst of such catastrophe.

"Thanks, Gov. Now, let's go see what else the brother did," she replied and took his hand voluntarily this time and walked with him in a wide, well-lit corridor with numerous rooms on both sides. They felt they were looking at a great mystery. Abigail was finding her sarcasm waning and her excitement building. She felt she was on an adventure—a great, terrible, end-time adventure. She also knew, depending of what they found down here, they might be some of the few survivors.

    

Pendwight's Angel

Pendwight was sitting at his computer desk listening to the TV news when he felt the first tremors. He still couldn't speak while having lost his voice a week ago when angels stopped him from interfering with the children's worship service at their sanctuary. He hadn't said a word since.

The news about the missing persons was being mixed with the East Coast meltdowns. He stared in amazement that all this could happen in such a short time. He wearily rubbed his face and wondered if Abigail was part of the raptured. He thought not, knowing what a good job he had done teaching her about his educated truths. Still, he couldn't move; his emotional fatigue was overwhelming.

"You need to get out of here, now!" commanded a seven-foot dark angel draped in his feathered wings as he placed a firm hand on Pendwight's shoulder.

Pendwight fell forward screaming in surprise, but his surprise was also filled with relief. He could speak again. "Who in the heck are you?" He knew what he was.

"A friend," spoke Tare. "Oak Ridge is going to meltdown soon. Memphis will turn into an inner ocean, and the U.S. will split all the way to Canada, starting at the Mississippi. We want you to go to Wheeling, West Virginia."

"What in the world is in Wheeling?" asked Pendwight while getting his own cocky sarcasm back.

"No nuclear facilities, for one. It's safe there. The capitol of United States will be moving there shortly. We want you to help in rebuilding America. We'll introduce you to the right people. They need the help of a religious, educated person like you. Get in your car and follow our instructions. Grab some essentials. Give yourself only 15 minutes, and here's a detailed map of the route we want you to take. You'll be safe if you do what we tell you. I'll send some help when you get closer to Wheeling. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but why me?" asked Pendwight, not half believing who he was seeing. "Am I that important?" He wanted to believe he was and that he wasn't a lost cause after all. Someone actually liked him, even if it was the wrong side; he was important again.

"Oh yes, you're very important. We've had an eye on you for quite some time. You've earned this break, don't you think? Oh, by the way, we've been looking for Abigail but haven't found her. Thought she'd like to go with you. You haven't seen her around, have you?"

"No, I was just wondering where she was too. I don't think she was taken, was she?"

"I doubt it. If she shows, take her with you, okay?" he suggested and disappeared before his eyes.

Pendwight rushed around throwing books, clothes, and his laptop into his station wagon. He pulled the map out and shook his head distrustfully. They had him zig-zagging all across the states to the West Virginia line. He wondered why. He thought for a minute and figured that this route probably avoided the worst fallout and earth movements. He noticed there was a note to drive nonstop. He floored his gas pedal and screeched down the Sewanee streets for the Interstate. Abigail would just have to make it on her own. He didn't have time to fool with her, niece, or no niece.

    
Chapter 3

The Redeemed

They were streaking lights of energy moving through space. Keel felt his cells assembling and disassembling as he watched the children from the sanctuary racing along with him. He felt the exhilaration of supersonic flight, and he felt like his atoms were being pulled apart in every direction. Far below him, he saw earth like a giant orb and watched millions of other colored lights soaring from earth into space with him.

He thought as he traveled, "I never thought of heaven as being so far from earth. I believe I've traveled light years away." Suddenly, they were pulled through several galaxies, and then he noticed an uncountable number of angels traveling with them, some gracefully cart wheeling at incredible, acrobatic speeds in front and around them.

Irish appeared beside him and spoke into his thoughts, "Like the ride, Keel? It gets better," and sped on before him.

In the distance, there was a brilliant light stretching from horizon to horizon. It wasn't its size that impressed him, so much, as the brilliance of it. It looked more like a supernova, lighting up the heavens around them. As they drew nearer to it, they started to reflect a white-brilliance, then they saw themselves being transformed into its glorious, cosmic texture.

Aaron appeared near Keel and nodded with his own excitement. "Isn't this the best?" Keel nodded in a mental "yes," and watched as they headed directly for the center of a great, gem-walled city of spectacular dimensions—translucent and dazzling. Within its walls, were fields of open meadows and immense, fruit-laden, eon trees peppering the countryside. They flew over the city several times while watching millions of its inhabitants shouting and praising God with their hands in the air and welcoming them to the Godly glory.

Suddenly, they were standing in front of a great, white-marbled throne as the Son of man moved towards them. He passed through their bodies, and every participant drank from Him as they soaked up the very fabric of his glory that caused them to fall before Him, overflowing with His presence.

Then, there was absolute silence. Slowly the sounds of a sparkling brook were heard that flowed from the brilliant throne—rivers of Holy water. It flowed over everyone and covered and filled them till it began to flow from them. From the Father stepped the Son, and from the Son stepped the Father, and from them both continued to flow this grand river of glory. The Son spoke in a warm, loving voice just above a whisper that blasted into their consciousness as he said, "Welcome."

Moments later, Keel found himself in an expansive meadow full of flowers of every imaginable kind. He saw Irish walking towards him and felt her thoughts, "Nothing prepared you for this, did it?"

"Nothing," he thought back.

"I have someone I want you to meet. This is Grace. She's one of my most favorite heir-servant angels. She's going to start teaching you about heaven. Heaven 101 if you like."

Keel saw images of other people that had been transformed, but they were so full of light that he couldn't distinguish who they were. He was looking for God's dozen. (Those he had been with just before the rapture took place). He didn't see them. He only saw light images.

"Who are you looking for, Keel?" asked Irish as she watched him looking around.

"My friends, Hunter, Carey, Anne, Sister Bernard, Enya, Nash, everyone?" he replied while trying to focus on the images but unable distinguish their features.

"They're all around you. It's up to each of you to give each other more form. If you want to see them as you did before, you must do it together at first. At least, till you have more practice."

Grace approached Keel and walked through him to prove a point. "You don't have a body, Keel. You've been transformed, changed into shades and tones of bright light. You must concentrate on your own image to give yourself more form. Otherwise, you won't even be able to see yourself. Look at that water flowing beside you. Do you see your reflection?"

She continued, "You are not what you were. You are like the atoms of stars and galaxies. Remember, yield to the image of yourself within your own mind. You must do the same to see your friends. As each of you learns to control your image, they will see you too."

Keel spotted a small form walking towards him. He stood in front of them and relaxed his mind. He heard Grace say, "Step through her."

He didn't understand at first, then took a step forward standing exactly where the image was, then he knew instantly who it was. It was Carey. He felt her essence around her. He started to see the image of her old self emerging from him, and they both stepped away from each other, then looked at each other as slight shapes of their old selves.

"Cool," said Keel. "We thought each other like this, didn't we?"

"Yes, exactly, Keel. Carey, do you feel your body?" asked Grace.

"No, I don't feel anything. If I feel anything, it's a form of warm light, but I can see Keel now—sort of. But he looks like he could blow away. He seems to be waving back and forth. Can we make ourselves more solid?"

"Sure, ask him to help. Each of you think what you want to look like as if you were looking in a mirror at home. Imagine the clothes you were wearing and how your hair looked. Try it."

Carey kept thinking about her torn blue jeans, then that top she wore the day of the rapture. Finally, she appeared more solid, then at the last minute she seemed to change her mind and opted for a new pair of jeans and a colorful sweatshirt. She looked at herself and back at Keel and noticed that he was wearing exactly what he had on the minute of the rapture. When he saw her change clothes, he decided to do the same. It happened far quicker this time.

"You both need practice, but you'll get the hang of it," comforted Grace.

A tall, youthful form ran up to them and walked through Keel. "You know who I am?" she asked, very perky.

"Sister Bernard, you look great. You're a knockout," answered Keel, amazed at her transformation.

"Just the young me. That's all, except taller," replied Sister Bernard, and she disappeared.

Keel heard Enya crashing into his mind, "I really got the hang of this," she shouted as she sailed around Keel's head and found Nash moments later, almost not recognizing him until she accidentally moved through him in a crowd.

"Oh, Nash, isn't this wonderful?" she gasped. They both moved off together, and Keel saw them sitting beneath a fruited tree sharing an enormous apple.

"Are you hungry, Carey?" asked Grace.

Carey couldn't stop laughing while she changed clothes every other second and answered, "No, I'm too busy being fickle about what I want to wear."

Anne approached Hunter, and her image was just enough for him to tell it was her. He tried to hold her hand, but their hands passed through each other. For a moment, he was frustrated, but the emotion wouldn't develop, and he laughed at it.

"Hunter, you need to learn. It's a practiced art. Didn't our Lord promise you many mansions or dimensions? This was some of what He was talking about. You need to agree with each other what you want to feel and share. Do you want to feel her hand, and does she want you to feel it? What did it feel like before? Can you remember and imagine it? It's up to both of you," counseled Grace, tenderly.

Keel moved closer to Grace and asked, "Is there any limit to what we can or can't do?"

"You can't do evil because you are all righteous. There is no evil here. There isn't any sin. There is no thought that is formed that disagrees with the Master. You are part of Him, and He is part of you. It is His body that flows and works within you."

Grace continued, "What's your favorite sport, Keel?"

"Fishing," he answered instantly.

"Then fish," said Grace.

Keel found himself standing on a body of water with a fishing pole in his hands. He thought a minute, and his old fishing boat appeared below him. He sat down feeling and hearing small waves lapping at his bow. He looked out and saw the form of Old Hickory Lake in Tennessee appear around him with all its familiar shoreline. Suddenly, a set of fishing poles appeared, all marked for different depths, just like at home. He shook his head in disbelief. He looked up and saw his mother, father, and grandmother walking across the water towards him. He jumped out of the boat and moved towards them. They moved around and through each other while sharing an intimate loving dance.

Keel asked them, "Did you ever expect it to be this way?"

"Nothing prepared us," they answered together.

"I missed you, but I can't cry. I'm unable to feel that way for some reason. I feel only elated. I guess that's why there are no tears in heaven, right?"

Grace turned her attention to Anne and Hunter again, who were practicing each other's images and had perfected it quite well.

Hunter asked the hard question, "I don't have the urge to be human anymore, not like before. Anne and I were beginning to be quite an item before this. How do we share just being with each other, now? How can we be special again?"

"You are special to each other. You haven't lost that. You just express it differently. Both of you, come here," said Grace as she pointed to a place in front of her.

"Hunter stand here. Anne you stand in the same spot. Now, both of you let yourself feel the glory of each other's essence. Tell me what you feel."

Hunter sighed lightly, "I feel a special warmth and love different than the rest. I feel exhilarated and thrilled to be standing with her."

"I feel Hunter around me and through me. I feel all that special, short history of us blending with me now. I can't explain it. I feel like we're almost one. It's wonderful! It's all too wonderful!"

Grace spoke plainly to them all, "This is Heaven 101. Let's all go drink from the river of life and take a walk down by Peter's gate. You all still have to munch on some fruit from the tree of life, and my favorites, the leaves."

"Welcome in the Name of the Lord!" she shouted.

    
Chapter 4

The Anti-Christ

The morning news showed a world in chaos. The devastation was beyond what anyone ever imagined. Governments were scrambling to evaluate the costs of the damage. After reviewing the final report, the heads of the European Union (EU); and in addition, the United States, Britain, Canada, and Israel were getting ready to gather around a video conference call for a crisis management meeting.

At the Vatican, Andre Montplier, the founder and leader of the New World Peace Force (NWPF), created from the EU, met with his EU members. He watched each ambassador sitting ashen-faced and grim with stoic-shocked looks of despair. They sat around an ancient table made hundreds of years ago for only Bishops and Cardinals. He chuckled at the irony. After his own headquarters in Paris and Rome were nuked years ago, he put a bid on reestablishing new offices in Rome. The fallout prevented anyone from over a hundred miles from venturing close to Rome. He asked the new Pope to let him lease the facility from the church. They all laughed at him. Yet, he got the last laugh. He was given a 50-year lease for only a million a year—they were working the scam this time—they thought.

Andre immediately hired a group of scientists and a vast armada of industrial chemists to develop a chemical spray and scrubber to de-fallout an area around the Vatican the shape of a triangle, six miles on each side. It was a surprising success. He patented the formula in the name of NWPF and was selling it for a small fortune. After Andre started moving his offices into his sacred triangle, the Pope tried to back out of the lease and regain the Vatican. He lost in international court, and Andre finished moving all his ambassadors directly under the Vatican's roof just two months ago.

Angelica approached Andre as he sat at the head of the table and placed a loving hand on his shoulder. She was letting him know how much rested on this. This was an important time in both their lives. Andre felt her touch and immediately started hearing other peoples' thoughts coming from around the table. This happened to him a lot lately. He felt his blood surging, and his heart beat wildly. A sense of great authority and power came over him. He reached up and patted her hand gently. Andre couldn't imagine leading this group without her. Angelica was always there, her hand on his shoulder, just like today.

They were an uncommon match. Andre was terribly bald with exceptionally short legs, which made him walk in a staccato, bouncy fashion; although, it made him look exceptionally energetic. He was so plain looking that he looked alarmingly dull. Whereas, Angelica was tall and slender, and her face was set off by her dark hair and riveting black eyes. She could have been a model for any top magazine. Her obsessive affection and devotion to Andre, were not only noticeable, but attracted much enviable attention.

She had known Andre since they were kids. She was his childhood friend, eventually his girlfriend, and now for the last year and half, his wife. Even as a child, she played with inquisitive and special ways. She always asked him disturbing questions and made him think twice about even the simplest decisions.

She would speak to him with childish, practical frankness, "You will be a great and powerful man one day, Andre."

She seemed to be planting her own thoughts deep into his, especially when it came to his future—his destiny. Her words were always so well placed. They were perfect mind fodder, becoming seeds of greater and more deliberate ideas the older he grew. Her ideas were saturated with cynical attitudes that flowed easily from him now. He couldn't tell the two apart—his ideas or hers.

She had a special skeptism towards Godly things and people, but an affinity towards world religion and world eye-opening tolerance of all faiths, beliefs, and lifestyles, with an open-arm acceptance for all life's perversions. She was impassioned against any kind of exclusiveness, which especially included Christian believers. Her secular almost unrighteous disregard for God kept him from following more pious ways even when he wanted to. Because of her influence, he didn't buy into Godly things quite as easily. Even as a child, he examined everything with the sarcastic eyes of an adult when he wasn't one.

At 11, his own room was plastered with maps of the world. That Christmas, Angelica bought him an earth-globe ball. When she gave it to him, she said, "The world is yours, Andre. Think it. Believe it. Take it. Just figure out how. I'll be there to help you—my hand on your shoulder." He never forgot it. It burned its way into his mind and heart. It was the look on her face like the look at a sacred coronation. He spent hours staring at his maps and tossing the globe while running his hands over it, then caressing it, admiring it, and ultimately believing what she said.

He wondered why there couldn't be a world government; and kept thinking, there would. In his fantasies, he thought he would be the one to bring it all together. He could save the world from its own disorganized and disjointed mess. As a child, he drew lines on the maps around the same countries that now surrounded his conference table—those very same ones.

For some reason, Angelica continued to poison his mind about Israel. She seemed to hate Israel. Her attitude was a typical Mecca model, which was make peace; get strong; annihilate. She fought hard to keep him from establishing trade relations with Israel. Although, for some reason, she backed his negotiations of the peace treaty that allowed the rebuilding of the temple in Jerusalem for the return of all the pre-1967, Syrian and Golan Heights territory to the Arabs. In fact, the rebuilding of the temple was her idea. Andre received the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts.

What made his efforts so frustrating, and ultimately deadly, were the Arab extremists who used hand-placed, nuclear devices near his corporate offices in Paris and Rome. At that time, he was lucky. He hadn't been at ground zero, but he was near enough that he wished he'd never backed the Israel-Arab negotiations. He was almost killed from the Paris explosion. He flat-lined for so long that it was considered a miracle he survived. His head injury was so massive it took 50 operations to reconstruct his face and skull. He now had a sparkling glass eye that provided a startling, bright reflection if the sun hit it just right.

All during this ordeal, Angelica never left his side. She held his hand throughout, never sleeping, barely eating. Her stamina was a miracle in itself. She threw fits when they asked her to leave his side for even a minute. That's when his deep depression sunk in. He tentatively promised himself that he wouldn't return to politics but go into a law practice once he recovered. When Angelica found out, she almost went crazy. He had never seen her like that before. She was beside herself, and it was her influence alone that swayed him to stay in politics.

He loved—more craved—her so much that he couldn't imagine being without her. Her exceptionally sensuous, dark-tanned ways made him a slave to her insatiable sexual appetite. He became so addicted to her that he couldn't imagine being without her. Almost losing her was too much. It was this crisis that forced him to marry her. He would stay in politics if she would become his and only his. She was his property, lock- stock-and-barrel, and his addiction too. Her political drive propelled him and shoved him towards this old childhood vision—the world.

Although, he had a nagging and terrible sense that he was turning into a Judas, but he didn't know why. He drove himself crazy thinking about it, even to the extent that it drove him into heavy counseling. He kept wondering whether Judas was just God's pawn. Could he have changed his mind, or was he destined to the field of blood? What kind of God would make a person do something that would send them to hell? How could that be? What if Judas just had different plans than God? Why was he punished over a wrong opinion or idea? Could he really have changed and gone another direction? Was his decision to go back into politics his Judas decision? Was he faced with a turning point, and maybe, just maybe, he should go another direction? But, Angelica's hold on him was too powerful; he gave up and did what she wanted.

Andre felt that much of Angelica's hatred towards Israel came from her Iraqi roots, especially her Taliban heritage. She told him once that this peace was for his political benefit; but as far as she was concerned, it was equal to the agreement that Mohammed signed with the Quraysh. He discovered that she was talking about the non-belligerency agreement that Mohammed signed with the Quraysh tribe. Mohammed violated this agreement when he conquered Mecca and killed the leaders of the tribe two years later. In other words, the agreement was worthless.

He despised Israel for her American connection. When he looked at Israel, he thought about the U.S. When he thought about the U.S., he thought about Israel. Then, there was Israel's obstinate claims based on biblical and historical promises that God was somehow taking care of them. He doubted it. It was America, not God. America was their God. They just didn't want to admit it. How they continued to prosper with so many enemies around them was a mystery to him. He felt that sooner or later someone would succeed in destroying them. It was inevitable, a foregone conclusion. Now that the United States was in such economic shambles, he looked for someone to try.

Andre still remembered when oil reserves were in short supply and more valued than gold. That's when Israel hit the largest oil find in the history of mankind. It was enough to tempt Russia and its Arab Allies to attack Israel. Suddenly, Andre found himself defending Israel to protect EU assets. He figured, by defending Israel, he would at least end up building more favor from the U.S., whether he hated them or not.

All this was going on while Europe struggled with its Euro Dollar and finally succeeded in bringing the value up to an all-time high. The value had finally reached 6.66 on the European Exchange. It was the same number that was on a statue of Andre in front of the EU headquarters in Paris. The plaque called this 6.66 feat the sign of true greatness. Montplier was named The Greatest Ruling Statesman of the World.

Andre's political protest of the attack on Israel by the Russian-Muslim alliance was as far as he got. Before anyone could do anything to stop it, it was over. The U.S. fired nuclear missiles into the related homelands of every representative country attacking Israel. More people were killed in one day than in all the wars since the time of Christ. Israel, on its own, activated Operation Sampson by nuking their own country. The Russian-Muslim devastation was almost total, 84 percent. But, this happened only after Russian Typhoon submarines launched multiple volleys of nuclear missiles directly at the U.S., France, Germany, and Britain. For the U.S., their star wars program eliminated most of the missiles, but some got through. Washington D.C. and New York City were gone now. The two cities that thought they were finally safe, years after having the twin towers of the World Trade Center destroyed and part of the Pentagon blown up by Taliban terrorists, felt smugly secure again. Smug or not, this time their cities were gone, not just thousands of casualties.

Andre lovingly pulled Angelica into his lap, and she swallowed him up in a passionate kiss in front of the other EU members. She looked back at them while taunting them with her passionate intentions. She laughed at their drool and fixed looks while knowing they were wishing it was they instead. No one dared reprove them. After all, Andre was their king and Angelica his queen.

Two others faced Andre-type decisions, the Monarch of Austria, Count Takash, and the American President from Arizona, Terrone Conrad. Both of these men were sitting in similar places of power and influence. Behind both of them were their own wives with their hands on their shoulders too.

    

Chapter 5

Beast Feud

Count Takash's wife, Sister Jessica, was his most precious confidant and motivator. He relied exclusively on her political input. If it hadn't been for her political influence, he would be at one of his palaces enjoying the quiet life while delegating decisions to his own political puppets.

They still called his wife Sister Jessica because she had been a nun in a convent when he first met her. He saw her for the first time when she was returning to the convent carrying a basket of fresh picked blueberries. He pulled up to her in his limousine, rolled down his window, and asked, "I bet you wish there were such things as flying nuns, right? Want a ride?"

When she looked at him, it was as if she could see directly into his soul. He saw her deep, black eyes peering from her headpiece and felt swept away in her gaze. She was intoxicating to him and didn't answer his question but ran away from the road while cutting across a wide field towards the convent. She seemed to be deliberately taunting and insulting him. She knew exactly who he was. Her pulling away from him drove him crazy. It seemed to fuel an obsession within him, an obsession to have her, to own her just like he did everything else. He chased her to the convent and finally caught up with her just as she was entering.

"Wait, I'm Count Takash! I want to talk with you! Wait!" he shouted.

"I know who you are. You're a man who's wasting away in a palace when you could be the king of the world. I have no use for could-be kings," she answered as she turned her back on him and slammed the door in his face.

He stood—stunned by the insult, then started thinking about what she said, "How could I be the king of the world?"

He stood outside the convent walls yelling for over two hours, "I could be king! I really could be! Is that what you want to hear? Tell me, is that what you want to hear? Tell me, what you want me to do? I could be king! For you, I could be!"

Sister Jessica finally looked out of the second story window and answered, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Count. I've never known of a king with two queens, have you?" She pulled the pins from her headpiece and swung her dark hair in a sensuous move. He watched it fall past her shoulders. She made sure he saw her plainly. Her looks struck him so hard that he gasped; she took his breath away. She was far more beautiful than he ever imagined. Instantly, his imagination seemed to swirl with dark, exotic thoughts of her that were graphically vivid, overwhelming, and exhilarating.

Suddenly, he made a decision, "One queen. Only one!" he shouted, turned, and left.

Weeks later, the announcement of the Count's wife drowning in their swimming pool hit all the tabloids. Days after that, he stood again in front of the same convent while calling to the same second story window as before.

When Sister Jessica appeared, he shouted, "Only one queen!"

She turned away and slammed the window shut. He was in shock, thinking about how stupid he had been, but still intoxicated at having her for his own. He started sending hundreds of gifts and millions of dollars to the convent. They were mostly bribes to give him an excuse to see her, but they wouldn't let him. In a desperate and drastic move, he had her kidnapped from the convent and taken to one of his palaces. The convent thought she left on her own until they read a newspaper confession from her years later. She was noted as saying that she was held against her will for three months. When she wouldn't respond to his friendship and affectionate advances, he told her that she could leave. She refused and said she would stay. Her condition—marriage and final say over every political decision of his reign.

Once the Count was heard to say, "She was like a drug. Once I met her, I couldn't get her out of my mind. It felt like she was in my blood. It was something beyond me. Her resistance to me made her even more desirable. I would've done anything to have her."

    

The American Beast

President Terrone faced similar decisions. His wife was Cassidy Raven. He always kidded her about her last name, but she wouldn't give it up. No amount of kidding made her take Terrone's.

She would only say, "I honor my father. He was a great and powerful man."

Terrone still talked to his friends about the first time they met. He was a professional boxer when he met her. He was finishing a major fight that would make him a main contender for the World Heavy Weight Championship. He finished a grueling eight rounds without either one getting an obvious edge. When the fight was over, Terrone won by a slight margin that was more bribe motivated than justice. He just had more money behind him than the other man.

As he made his way back to his locker room, Cassidy stood outside his door waiting for him. Her tall beauty struck him, and he puffed himself up to give this pretty girl an autograph.

"You want my autograph, right?" he remarked while sizing her up with exaggerated and obvious head-to-toe looks.

She frowned and walked up close to him saying, "You call that a fight? If you want to really win, team up with me. I'll take you to the top. You're too good to stay around using your fists. You could be the king of the world and just don't know it. I can take you there, all the way to the top."

Terrone felt the sting of her speech, but he remembered only her first words and protested, "That was a great fight! I won, didn't I? He couldn't knock me out if he tried."

Cassidy spit on the floor by his feet, "Is it a knockout you want? Here, try this!" she shouted and took a swing at him that hit him square in the jaw with an uppercut. He went down like a big tree and slammed dramatically into the concrete—out cold. He was out for 15 minutes. They carried him in, hoping no one saw—someone did.

An amateur photographer took a snapshot of her hitting him. It ended up on the tabloids by the next morning's run. The picture captured it perfectly. In fact, there were constant discussions about Terrone's feet being lifted off the ground when she hit him. Everyone called it trick photography but knew different. They couldn't imagine how a 6' girl weighing only 140 pounds could hit a 256-pound professional boxer up off the ground that included knocking him out. There were some discussions of signing her.

As Terrone left that night, she was waiting for him. He asked his limo driver to go on without him. He walked quietly beside her as they made their way through the streets of Tucson.

His first question was, "Why did you do that, girl?"

"To get your attention. It worked, didn't it?" she replied as she took his arm as they walked, then smiled at him as if she had known him all his life.

"My attention? Couldn't you have just sent me a postcard? I've never been hit that hard in my life. Who are you? Superwoman?" he laughed, and she joined him.

"My father would probably say Superwoman was a wimp compared to me. You know how fathers are. So, are you ready to become the President of the United States, yet?" she asked as she turned and faced him after only walking five blocks.

"You're serious, aren't you?" he asked while staring at her in confusion, but believing he could for some reason.

"Me, put up these fists to wear a tie?"

"If you say 'no,' I'll show up at every fight and do the same thing—knock you out cold. You won't be able to book a fight after the publicity I'll give you," she declared while staring directly into his eyes with her hands placed defiantly on her small hips.

"That sounds like blackmail. I bet you'd do it too. All this? Why? Just to see a big brawler like me beat up the D.C. boys for once or is there another reason?"

"Sure there is. I've always wanted to sleep in the Lincoln room. How's that for a motive?" she answered flatly, and he knew she was telling the truth.

"The President's wife?" he exclaimed, surprised at her boldness, but never doubting a word she said.

"You're really reaching for the stars," he replied, still shocked at her brashness.

"Not the stars, just you right now. The stars will come later," she answered.

They walked for another hour and just talked now that her business was discussed and the cards were all out on the table. They ended up in front of her hotel, but she shook his hand and walked away from him without another word.

As he followed her to the elevator, he yelled before the doors shut, "Can I see you again?" in a pathetic, grown-man whine.

He heard, "You can see me all you want if you ask the right question."

He knew what that question was. He stayed in the hotel lobby with fans continuing to approach him wanting autographs, but he kept waving them away. He was considering, and he was still there the next morning when she came down for breakfast.

He ran to her and asked, "If I ask you this question, how do I know I'll get the right answer?"

"You're asking me that after I told you I will sleep in the White House, and you will be the President? Think again. Oh, forget it. Yes, I will marry you, Mr. President—if you'll ask me?"

"You will? You're crazy. You know that, don't you? But, I'm not stupid. I've never had a steady girl since high school. I've never dreamed about a girl as pretty as you. I'd be an idiot for missing a chance like this. You buy the ties, and I'll wear them, Mrs. President."

It was all a blur to Terrone now, but he had to admit a wonderful blur. He was shocked at how well she put him in the right places at the right times. He was stunned by the amount of money she raised from the white supremists and other fringe groups scattered over the Western U.S. She ran his campaigns and kept him running hard until someone noticed. He finally ran for the Arizona governor's slot and won. He stayed for two terms until he got a call from a new-to-be President who wanted to tap into Terrone's renegade vote; they won with a landslide.

Cassidy never did get to sleep in the White House, not with Terrone. Especially, since the President was killed when Washington D.C. was nuked years before. Terrone and Cassidy were on a vacation in the Bahamas when it happened. They rushed back to set up shop in Tucson. It had been the capitol ever since.

Her aggressive zeal for his career caused rumors to fly. He had heard through the grapevine that she was unfaithful to him on more than one occasion. He heard that it was only with the most important contacts, and somehow, even if he thought it was true, which he didn't; she seemed to be doing it for him. After all, he had become the most successful up-and-coming candidate in this century.

Recently, Cassidy insisted on moving the government to West Virginia. Arizona was just a little too far from the majority of power. At least, they would be closer to the seat the authority, what was left of it. It was from a Kinko's in Wheeling that he made his part of the conference call to the Vatican today, not having moved completely into the new facilities yet.

    

The Dark Feud

Angelica looked over at the Count sitting with his Sister Jessica. For a moment, Sister Jessica and Angelica's eyes met. There was an unheard hiss. It was something on the order of two cobras preparing to fight. Angelica turned away when a government courier brought in a box of reports. Immediately, without looking at them, Angelica pulled two out and slid one across the table towards Sister Jessica and left the rest in the box. Angelica instinctively opened it up at the next to last page. With a highlighter, she marked a section in bright yellow. She placed it in front of Andre, then pointed to the highlights and thumped her finger on them for emphasis. She touched his shoulder lovingly and turned to see Sister Jessica touching the Count's shoulder while placing her copy of the report in front of him. Once again, Angelica and Sister Jessica's eyes locked. This time Sister Jessica raised her nose in an arrogant flip, then turned her gaze away from Angelica's while thumping her duplicate highlight.

The information in front of Andre and the Count read, "Report on Economic Effect of Missing." It was a detailed projection on the results of so many missing people, categorized by region and country. The crisis was compounded where citizens were dead from earthquakes and nuclear accidents. The summarizing bullets of the report in large letters were:

  * Immediate World Census

  * Immediate Electronic Funds Capture of All Economic Revenue

  * Need of a Simple, Single Method of Census and Revenue Capture

Angelica wrote a note above the final suggestions, "Don't let them do it to us again," and placed her finger on it while looking directly into Andre's eyes, until she was sure he had read it. He did a small "yes" nod, and she lifted her hand from his shoulder. She went about making sure that more copies of the report got to each EU member.

Sister Jessica grabbed the report from the Count while still touching him. She looked up and stared inquisitively at Angelica. As Angelica gave each member their reports, she leaned seductively against them. It was a tease, and she enjoyed their thankful I-needed-that smiles. When their eyes met again, Angelica stopped, frozen in her tracks. She nodded to Sister Jessica, and she nodded back.

Immediately, Sister Jessica wrote above the suggestions, "Don't let them do this to us again." She pointed the note out to the Count while she tenderly ran her fingers up the back of his head while rubbing his neck as he read it.

Terrone was on the video feed preparing to go live when the e-mail transmission triggered "You've-got-mail" message on Cassidy's nearby laptop. She reached over and pulled the report from a nearby printer. She stared into the video screen and saw Angelica staring over the shoulder of Andre. She picked up the report, highlighted the suggestions on the next to last page, and wrote above them, "Don't let them do it to us again."

There was something about what she did that interested her. It seemed that she could hear a voice speaking to her—a familiar one—she liked hearing it. Angelica nodded and sat down as she snuggled close to Andre. At that moment, Sister Jessica got up and eased herself from the room just before the meeting started. Angelica followed and slipped through the slowly closing door. As she placed a hand on Sister Jessica's shoulder from behind, Sister Jessica turned and grabbed her hand and threw Angelica against a hall wall. She dived on her, then pulled at her hair and repeatedly punched at her face. Angelica dodged most of the blows but finally got an arm free and clawed at Jessica's face, tearing bloody marks into her exposed cheek. Blood covered Jessica's face and neck. They never made a sound except when they fell against some hall chairs and walls. They weren't going to stop until the door opened as the exiting German ambassador almost fell over them. They immediately started crawling around the floor.

Sister Jessica wiped hurriedly at her face with her sleeve while saying, "I know that contact is around here somewhere." Fortunately, her dark suit absorbed the blood without notice.

Angelica answered, "I know, I thought I saw it land right where you are!"

The ambassador looked at them queerly since they both looked a little disheveled. Jessica gave him a flirting glance; but now, her face was smooth without a mark. They both got up to let the ambassador by.

"You won't win, Sister Jessica," she whispered once he was out of sight. "Andre will win. I've worked too hard to let you get an edge. I'll kill the Count myself if I have too. I've already murdered five up-and-coming French politicians to get Andre where he is. One more bureaucrat won't make a difference."

"Except this bureaucrat is my bureaucrat!" she fired back, then pushed Angelica away from her and briskly straightened her clothes. "You'll have to kill me first to get to him. He's never alone; I'm always with him."

"I've known you for over 5,000 years. You'll slip up. The minute you do, he's history!" Angelica shook her finger at her threateningly.

"Yes, and I've been hearing that kind of backtalk from you about every mission we've been on since we were created. Apollyon chose us to make sure the right man is picked. Have you forgotten about Cassidy? She's not out of the race, yet."

"The Anti-Christ can't be an American. She's a Nephilim. She's only half dark angel. She won't be able to pull it off. She doesn't even know about us, and she's just running on instincts."

"She may be a Nephilim, but she's Dar-Raven's Nephilim. And, it's Dar-Raven's instincts of darkness she's running on. She'll end up doing the right thing for Apollyon without knowing why. In her genes, she has all the darkness of the great Dar-Raven flowing. Think about it. She has control over the President of the United States. America is still the greatest power left. Don't underestimate her."

"One thing at a time. Humans are easy. I'll kill your Count first, and then I'll kill her. Nephilims can die, and so can we, given the right situation, remember? Without her, their President would crumble," whispered and hissed Angelica, but noticed that Sister Jessica ignored her angelic death threat.

"That's a mistake," she thought to herself as they were interrupted by Andre.

He had stuck his head around the door and remarked, "Come on, gals. Stop the hen party and get in here for the conference."

As they walked in together, they held each other's hands, merely faking friendship, and then they tried squeezing the blood from each other's fingers till it came oozing from their cuticles. Finally, they went to sit beside their husbands.

Angelica sucked on her fingertips and gave Sister Jessica a snarl while watching Angelica heal and wipe away the drops of blood formed around her nails with a hanky. No one else noticed.

    

Don't Let Them Do It To Us Again

"As the President of the EU, I'd like to open this conference meeting by giving my extreme condolences to everyone who has lost loved ones. I would like a moment of silence to honor the dead. They all stared or bowed silently for over five minutes.

Andre continued, "I have a report, which you have seen, showing the results of several major problems. The first are all the missing people. We all realize, for whatever reason, that many of the so-called fanatics of some Christian cults have disappeared. We have no idea how they did it. We believe there was a conspiracy to deliberately harm those countries in which they lived. Their disappearances have left some industries totally inoperable. President Terrone, I understand the United States has been especially hard hit by the missing fanatics. Is that right?"

Terrone's voice shook with emotion as he answered, "That's right, I have no way of knowing exactly how much economic chaos it will cause. Most of the harm is from our southern states and those states included in what we call the Bible Belt. I haven't received a complete report yet."

Cassidy placed her hand on his arm and patted it gently. She interrupted, "President Montplier, do you have any suggestions on how we can prevent this from happening again? It's obvious that it was a planned catastrophe by these groups."

The Count stood up out of turn, "Yes, I agree with the American First Lady. We can't allow them to do this to us again!" Jessica pulled him to his seat by his coat tails while trying to hush him up, but happy that his response was so on target for their dark agenda.

"Yes, Mrs. Raven," replied Montplier, "I was about to get to that. We feel that the most important thing we can do is get an accurate census as soon as possible. We want this census to have another element. We want a way of handling all payroll and revenue funds electronically through our centralized accounting offices controlled by the EU's Central Bank. This would give us a system to crosscheck every participant that tells us whether they are a part of another like-kind fringe group as those missing fanatics—a group that could harm us again. If we find an employer is too heavily leveraged with these fanatics, we can curb them with mandatory employment ratios. We also want to find a way to allow citizens to spend funds allocated to them from our central distribution program—but under our watchful eye. If we can control the spending, we can control the fanatics. It won't happen again."

"I'd like to suggest for purposes of a consolidated front that the United States join the EU by considering to use our very vast and sophisticated banking system. After all, your country is suffering the most from this missing problem."

Cassidy nodded "yes" to Terrone. "Yes, I believe we can work this out. It would be nice not having to handle the money problem too. But, you said your banking system. You didn't mention the electronic transactions. Are you implying that the transaction side of this isn't quite finished, yet?"

"You are very astute, President Terrone. We were getting to that. We felt for handling your funds that we could somehow rely on your vast reserve of 'superior geeks' to provide the electronic-transaction solution for us. Does that sound like a fair deal, Mr. President? After all, you have NACHA on your side. They're pros at handling electronic-fund transfers. I'm sure they have a vast armada of resources that can act quickly to solve our problem."

Andre sat more upright than before, proud of the progress, and felt it was mostly his doing. He basked in the praising looks from his own members. Angelica and Sister Jessica looked at each other and smiled slightly, which turned to an unnoticed snarl quickly thereafter.

"What do you want to call this new system?" asked Terrone.

"My goodness, President Terrone, you Americans are so concerned about such silly things. We'll worry about the small stuff later."

President Terrone laughed saying, "Just don't call it the 666 program, will you? Man, you'd get a rise out of those so-called fanatics for that one."

"Well, I guess, since they're all gone, it won't be an issue anymore, will it? Anyway, it was the Euro Dollar's grand achievement not long ago. It's just a number, President Terrone, just a number."

Cassidy did the throat-cut movement to shut him up, and Terrone signed off politely, "Sure, I'll have this all worked out in less than a week. Be back at you. Good day, folks."

    
Chapter 6

Beast Technology

Eddie was the top technical wizard of the Solid Gold Transaction Company, as well as, President of the NACHA Electronic Funds Council. Early in the morning, he received a call from Oscar Coleman, Director of the NACHA systems. Oscar had received a call from the Chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, who had received a call from the President of the United States.

"Eddie!" exclaimed Oscar. "I've got the deal of a lifetime!"

"Oscar! Is that you, Oscar? You'd better have one! It's three in the morning. What could be so important at three in the morning? Since it's three in the morning, am I supposed to listen better?"

"Shut up about three in the morning and listen! The President needs an electronic-payment solution to capture census data. He needs to be able to store financial information on available fund balances along with other personal data on the same chip. They want to create a way to have all employers in the U.S. transfer funds to the EU's Central Bank and have funds transferred back to the U.S. into chip accounts for each citizen concerned within 24 hours of the original transfer. No one can buy or sell a thing without accessing the system we set up. Do you understand? This is going to be a World Account Transfer System. We'll call it the WATS system. No checks, no credit cards, and nothing moves unless it goes through WATS, got it?"

Eddie rubbed his eyes wearily trying to pay attention to what Oscar just said. "What about cash?" Eddie asked skeptically.

"I bet they make it illegal. It's not worth anything anymore. This is the only currency that counts."

"Does it have to be in Euro dollars?" He had no problems with how. He just wanted to know the format, now.

"No problem. We transfer in American currency, and the Europeans convert it coming and going for us. We just have to design a system that can handle the transfers at lightning speed. Hey, it won't be Euro or American dollars anymore, only WATS dollars. How about that?" exclaimed Oscar in his excitement.

"Sounds like WATS of money to me," exclaimed Eddie while laughing at his own dumb humor.

He continued, "Amazing, just amazing, and in my lifetime too. Well, you know Oak Ridge TVA just got in trouble for putting the electronic chips in the employees' food while trying to track their bathroom break habits. Hey, they're gone now anyway, right? I can get you something to hold 48G of information and receive currency data enabling transfers from the chip to other electronic devices. Is that what you're talking about? Oh, I forgot, all this can be sent back and forth over the Internet through the Federal Reserve in a lock-and-key format. As long as they cooperate, we can have the money flowing back to us in 24 hours, just like the doctor ordered. Goes to them, and back, and we disperse. When do you want it?"

"How big a chip is it?" asked Oscar

"Like they use on large animals, except half the size of a small rice kernel. It's covered and wrapped with an encoded Teflon coating. Where do you want a person to keep it? In their back pocket? How would they ever find it?" Eddie replied sarcastically while feeling a little heady from his own genius.

"Got me. That's not my call. Is there technology that can read the chip if someone walks through a grocery store lane?"

"Sure, it's all just scanner stuff. Magtec has tons of the stuff, and it's simple to manufacture. It means the grocery stores will have to throw away the swipe stuff and used handheld ones."

"What about a gas station?" asked Oscar skeptically.

"Oscar, no matter what you think, this really isn't rocket science. The technology is already here. We developed some of this stuff years ago, just waiting on the economy to catch up to the technology. Now, when do you want it?" replied Eddie grumpily.

"Can you come to Wheeling, West Virginia?"

"Yes, but when? My gosh, Oscar, tell me so I can go back to sleep!" he shouted almost getting ready to hang up on him if he didn't hurry up.

"Tomorrow? You need to meet the President for a conference call with Andre Montplier in Europe, tomorrow!" he said excitedly.

"No rush, there! Okay. Tomorrow has 24 hours in it, and the Europeans are on a different time zone. I'll be there around six tomorrow evening. Since they need my stuff so much, they'll meet when I want. I'm the only game in town, anyway. Now hang up and let me go back to sleep," commanded Eddie, then hung up the phone before Oscar did.

"Honey?" replied Eddie's wife. "Who was that?"

"President Terrone wants to meet with me tomorrow. I never voted for the jerk, now I have to help him."

"What! The President of the United States! Are you kidding? Is that all you have to say?" She was shaking him as he went back to sleep.

"Okay, okay, one more thing. Geeks rule!"

    

Aftermath Snapshot

At a Solid Gold Transaction Company employee meeting, Charlie stood before 50 of his employees while considering exactly what he would say. There was an occasional vacant desk, but overall, most of his employees were there. Several of his people had committed suicide last night.

"Okay folks. Listen up. I know that we are all in a messed-up state, but that doesn't mean squat to me! We have a job to do, and we're going to do it. We're the only ones in the U.S. who are going to make a deal with the devil, so to speak. We're getting the Euro Contract on electronic funds transfer to and from the EU's Central Bank in Europe. Eddie is on his way to see the President right now with the contract. They want our technology, and we want the job. It's as simple as that."

He continued slowly now while lowering his voice and pretending a point of sadness for effect, "I know that many of you have missing family. So do I. My brother with his wife and children are gone. I know that we all have to admit that we were wrong about this fundamentalist rapture thing. Well, that's over. We're all here. We all screwed up, and we can't do anything about it. It's over. What we can do is survive."

"This is the plan guys. We have new Magtec scanners that allow merchants to scan chips anywhere on a person in order to deduct cash information for purchases. We normally charge a $150 apiece, but guess what? They cost $1,500, now. But, we'll set up a payment plan for them, then ACH it ourselves right from their accounts at the Central Bank. The good news is that since we're charging more for it, we'll give you $2 extra per sale. What a deal, right? If they can't scan, they can't sell a thing. We have a way to adapt a smart phone to do the same thing for only $1,000. We're in control here, guys—the only ones."

He continued, "Start calling our own customers first. If they talk about trading in equipment, tell them to forget it. This is a new world and a whole new ball game. Remember, we're in charge!"

    

Wheeling, West Virginia

Eddie walked up to the new capitol house in Wheeling. It was a 15-bed (bed and breakfast) just off the town square. The capitol police started an extensive search of Eddie as he kept pulling chips, wires, and fuse-like-looking devices from his pockets.

"Mister, we don't know what all this is, but you'd better stay put while we have our people check it out."

Eddie's face was shoved against the wall with a guard's hand around the back of his neck. The guard continued to press him against the wall until he tasted the lead in the flecking paint. Finally, he had enough.

"I'm here because of a special invitation from the President of the United States. I'm the superior geek providing the tech stuff to work with the Central Bank in Europe. You'd better get someone down here to straighten this out, pronto! You're not going anywhere with my stuff!" He grabbed at some of his prized electronic parts, artfully snatching several pieces from a nearby guard. They responded by pulling their guns at his success. The guard pulled him away from the wall and slammed him back into it again, then Cassidy came down the stairs just as it happened.

"What in the world are you guys doing to our technical wizard? Have you any idea how close you all are at being shot?"

Cassidy's own security police had their M16's pointed directly at each security guard's head. The guards dropped their guns in a panic and the youngest one, called Donnie, started crying hysterically.

"Eddie," said Cassidy, "come with me."

He turned without question and continued to snatch his electronic pieces and stuck them deep into his pockets. As Cassidy rounded the corner of the long hall, she ran into her new presidential advisor.

"Eddie, I'd like you to meet President Terrone's new advisor over domestic and religious affairs. Professor Pendwight, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is Professor Pendwight."

The professor looked worn-out and haggard. He had been traveling for days. Only on an impulse had he picked up a hitchhiker who happened to be a dark angel sent to help him. They traveled the last 100 miles discussing all sorts of religious subjects, then the dark angel directed the professor to Terrone's bed and breakfast.

He gave him an introductory letter that simply said, "We recommend Professor Pendwight as the President's advisor over domestic and religious affairs." It was signed, ''Friends of your father." Unknown to Pendwight, it was signed with Apollyon's blood. Cassidy keenly sensed it. It took her less than a microsecond to feel the powerful urge to comply. She stopped calling it intuition anymore. They were her dark voices, now.

Cassidy knew who her father was. She was proud to know. Her grandmother explained it to her on her 18th birthday. As she told her story, Cassidy heard known information repeated, but what she didn't know made everything else make sense now. She listened politely about her mother's childbirth death along with her twin sister, and how hard it was for her grandmother to raise her, but not because of expense. She was honestly shocked to find out how much money was in a trust fund, just for her—millions. She knew before her grandmother said another word that her father had everything to do with it.

"Your mother was a witch, as I am. Your father is Dar-Raven. He's a dark commander for Apollyon. You are a dark Nephilim. You're a child born of an angel and a human. You are born with all the wisdom of hell. You have all the dark secrets of Apollyon embedded in your soul and mind. You are capable of many things beyond that of a human, but I don't know what they all are. You must listen to the voices. They will lead you in the direction you need to go. I will continue to be your guide as long as you need me. One day, you must listen only to your own voices."

When Cassidy returned home after graduating from Vanderbilt, majoring in political science, she went to her grandmother and simply said, "I hear the voices clearly now. You've been useful to me and to Apollyon, but no one can know what I am."

Cassidy touched her forehead lightly, and her grandmother died instantly of a brain embolism. Cassidy removed all evidence of her existence from pictures to letters and left her house burning to the ground. She left for Arizona to follow the voices.

    

Eddie Meets The Devil

Eddie followed Pendwight and Cassidy back to the President's suite. Terrone was honestly happy to see him. He looked to Eddie as his ace in the hole. He knew Eddie could deliver; and by virtue of this home run, Eddie would be responsible for Terrone winning the European favor— Terrone always liked being a hero.

"After all, wasn't the U.S. the supreme god of technical? We are the real source of technical genius," he thought.

"Eddie, Eddie, I'm so glad to meet you."

Terrone towered over Eddie; and when Terrone stood square in front of him, no one knew Eddie was there. Yes, Terrone was the explicit, massive athlete, bulked up from all those boxing days. He still worked out for hours each day to the dismay of his bodyguards. They spotted him all the time. They became better for it, having been dragged reluctantly into it at first. By virtue of this, Terrone had the best personal trainers in the world, willing to push him and themselves to the limit.

"Going to the max," Terrone called it.

Eddie stood only 5'2" and weighed just at a hundred pounds soaking wet. He couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag if he tried, but he didn't want to. He knew his victories were in his mind. He was the king of his world and knew it. He took special pleasure in knowing everything about everything. In his spare time, he devoured online encyclopedias by the multi-meg. What made him enjoy his mind victories even more was because he was uneducated—just a High school diploma. He had taught it all to himself. He could tell you every piece of information and where he got it that included the page number, the time, down to the serial number on a floppy disc where he saved his information. It was his photographic memory that made it all work. Now, he was the teacher and the ultimate walking encyclopedia of high-tech, high-transaction knowledge. If a transaction moved electronically in the world, he knew how and why it did or didn't. Furthermore, he understood how to make it move by writing the codes at lightning speed without the help of special conversion programs.

Eddie yelped, "Ouch, President, not so hard!"

Terrone dropped his handshake apologetically saying, "I'm sorry, Eddie. I don't know my own strength."

Pendwight stood back warily, having only been on the job less than half a day and still stunned by his good fortune. He never said a word about his dark angel friends. After all, they hired him for his wealth of knowledge about religion; and supposedly, people. They were supposed to go hand in hand.

They were sitting around a conference table that Terrone had brought in as his desk. He had a thing about massive furniture and the feel of solid wood. He said it was because everything in his life had been big. He was thinking of his mother and father with all his sisters and brothers. They were more like the American big-foot family.

Terrone was pacing back and forth down the full-length of his table and periodically bounced a golf ball on it until Cassidy yelled at him, "Will you please sit down and stop bouncing that ball? What we are doing at this moment, at this very moment, is more important than you will ever know. We are creating history. We are driving the vehicle to our and your own domain—the world. Now, stop it!"

He sat down sheepishly behind his desk in a tailored-made-to-fit, immense chair and swiveled nervously back and forth in it. Cassidy appeased him by asking him, "Darling, do you have any questions for Eddie?"

"Yeah, I sure do. I understand that all this information can be stored in something the size of a corn kernel, right?" he asked.

"Half of a rice grain, Mr. President, a grain of rice, like this." Eddie put the rice grain on the table and flipped it towards the pane window behind the President's chair.

Three capitol guards moved so fast that Eddie found himself face down in the conference table's wood. The rice grain barely missed Terrone's face and glanced off the window. It was somewhere in the thick-piled carpet.

"Slow down, guys! I was just demonstrating a point. Try to find the sucker. I bet you can't," he mumbled, tasting furniture polish as he spoke.

Cassidy grabbed the hand of one guard and with exceptional strength pulled it away from Eddie and shoved the guard backwards in one swift move. Terrone had seen her do things like that before and always marveled.

She reached for the other guard, who was still holding Eddie, but he backed away like a scolded dog. He had his thumbs broken by her before. It was just an accident, but he was too quiet when he walked up behind her one day. She noticed, although she was listening to music on her headset while out for a morning stroll. She didn't wait to see who it was; but immediately turned as if she knew he was there—he never figured out how. She grabbed his hands in a vice grip breaking both his thumbs, including two other fingers on each hand. He still remembered. He also remembered how fast it happened. He didn't think a human could move that fast and wasn't giving her another chance.

Cassidy smiled knowingly at his back off and commented, "Ease up, guys. This isn't Viet Nam. Eddie is our guest. Now, just like you said, a rice grain." Cassidy walked six feet from where she stood. She bent over, put her hand deep in the carpet, and pulled it out. "Is this the one?"

"How did you find that? How did you find it so quickly? It would take a magnifying glass and several hours to find it, normally." He watched her almost cocky confidence as she walked back towards him, then plopped it back down in his palm.

"You're right, rice," she stated.

Terrone recovered from the excitement and continued his questions. "I just want to know one thing. Where is anyone going to put this chip so it can be scanned in grocery stores and such?"

"That's up to you. I don't care," replied Eddie casually, and he didn't. He was straightening his white dress shirt, which hung off one shoulder and under it was an orange t-shirt. The t-shirt had a bright-blue, Tennessee-Titan football symbol on the back, seen clearly through his shirt. His red Mickey Mouse tie look mismatched with its nicely tied cravat that hung three inches from his buttoned-down collar, with only one button fastened. It drove home an alarming point. He just didn't care what he looked like. Everyone wanted his mind, and he knew it.

Pendwight jumped like someone had shocked him and ran into Terrone's library. Terrone inherited it from an attorney friend who had just died. He bought it from his widow out of kindness, and it was only for show. The library was connected to Terrone's own private bedroom, which was called the West Wing. He used it to get away from everyone.

Pendwight came from the library holding his finger in a book with a sneaky smile on his face. He was getting ready to pay back the believers. "Put it on the right hand! Or even on someone's forehead," he announced pompously. Cassidy was the only one who caught the significance of it and smiled openly. Now, she knew that Pendwight was part of her team.

"Think about it this way, gentleman. It can be placed just under the skin. When I go to the store to buy food, I just hold up the back of my right hand, and it can be easily scanned. In addition, if I walk through an airport gate, I can be scanned to verify that I have enough money to pay for the ticket, as well as, checking my personal history to make sure the census has me listed correctly. For instance, I'm a white male, approximately 6', weighing less than 180 pounds. Except, we can add one extra element that Montplier will love. Remember, we don't want them to do it to us again, do we? This time, there's data stored on the chip that shows whether someone is one of those true believers. We won't let them do it to us again! We can even make it a law against removing it—immediate imprisonment. But, for those believer idiots, we'll make them put it on their foreheads. They'll have to make a decision what side they're on before we mark them. They won't be able to buy, sell, or even get a job without being marked. I love it!"

Terrone replied sarcastically, "You seem to have it all figured out. What book did you get that 'in-the-hand thing' from, Pendwight?"

"The Bible—in Revelation. It would be just enough to drive those new fundamentalists crazy. Don't you know?" Pendwight chuckled while bubbling over with his own dark humor.

"Eddie," asked the President, "how easy is all this?"

"Too easy," feeling a little uneasy about the use of the word "marked" and on the "forehead." His own Baptist mother and father were taken, and he remembered them talking about stuff like this when he was a kid. It scared the fire out of him then and was doing the same thing now. He somehow felt like he was making a deal with the devil. He looked intensely at Cassidy, and goose bumps rose on his skinny arms. She stared at him waiting for some definite comment while sensing his fears and noticing the sweat breaking out on his bony forehead.

"Where would we put one on you, Eddie?" she asked sarcastically.

He felt the power of her question. His lips quivered, and his mouth went dry. He was actually being asked to make a decision and didn't want to. He wanted to think about it. He felt her eyes bearing down on him. He was glad he was sitting down so no one could tell his knees where shaking.

Cassidy moved quickly towards him, then pounced on him like a cat. She held his face in one hand; the other was on his shirt collar and pulled him near her face. Her knees were placed squarely on his own, which started trembling from the pain.

"I asked you a question, Eddie! Where would you put it? Put it on your forehead like the fanatics or on the back of the hand like the rest of us?"

He pulled his face away and almost in a rebellious tone replied, "I wouldn't. I wouldn't let anyone mark me at all."

She shook his collar making his head thrash around when Terrone yelled at her, "Leave the poor guy alone, will you, Cassidy?"

He came around the end of the table and grabbed her about her waist while trying to pull her away from him. She screamed in frustration and flung him back towards the wall. Her strength was too much for him, and he rolled backwards hitting the wall with a loud thud. Once again, he was being manhandled by Cassidy. He nodded to the guards, and they swarmed on her and held her arms only barely containing her. She thrashed around trying to fend them off, and they held on like they were on a bucking bronco.

"Stop, Cassidy! Stop it now! Enough is enough! This is not the time for another one of your fits! Stop it!" yelled Terrone.

With an unusually even tone and relaxed posture, she commented to the terrified Eddie, "You don't seem much like a team player, Eddie. Well," she replied in an uplifted, playful tone, "I guess you'll just starve to death. The choice is yours."

"Cassidy, Eddie, everyone! Will you all just settle down a minute? You're taking all this stuff so seriously. Don't forget that Eddie is here to help. We neeeeed his help, Cassidy. Do you understand?" emphasized Terrone.

Eddie dropped to the floor and tried crawling towards the door. He was getting out of there. The guards stepped in front of him like two big oak trees blocking his path and picking him up to his feet. Both of them started brushing him off and straightening his clothes. Cassidy moved quickly to his side and took his arm as if they were entering a dance.

"Eddie, relax, we're just kidding around. Go sit down. We have a conference call with Montplier in a minute. We'll just refer to you as our unmarked wizard, okay? You see, no one cares around here, do we, guys?" she asked as she looked at her guards with a hateful glare.

There was a grunting of, "No," "of course not," "absolutely not," but Eddie knew better. He just wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. He pulled a contract out of his briefcase and tossed it towards the President, but it was intercepted by Cassidy. Pendwight moved from a place in the corner of the room where he had pressed himself during the Cassidy episode and looked at it over her shoulder.

"I'm here to get this contract signed. What you do with our technology after I get it running doesn't matter to me. I'm going to be somewhere in the Smoky Mountains, surrounded by 200 acres of rock and woods. I don't care what the world does with this stuff. Just give me a signed contract."

Eddie was promised a huge bonus that would set him up for life; and in his mind, he'd already spent it. He really was moving to the Smokies, and he doubted anyone would ever find him. No one would be able to make him take a mark, even if they wanted to. He planned to be one of those perpetual dropouts.

Cassidy examined the text and with heavy sarcasm replied, "A contract? Well, let's see. A transaction fee of 50 dollars per transfer on payrolls going to Europe and 25 dollars coming back. A fee of a dollar per buy-and-sell transaction after that. My, this looks a little steep. So help me understand the room."

"What room?" asked Eddie.

"The Terrone and Cassidy room. Where do we fit in? I'm sure we do, don't we?" asked Cassidy sarcastically.

Eddie was prepared, "Ten percent of all fees over 22 cents no matter how they are transmitted."

"No, 50 percent, and you take care of the Europeans from your part," shot back Cassidy with a rapid reply.

"Fifty percent! You've got to be kidding?" He lied. They expected as much, and thought it would be higher. The price was well adjusted for any contingency.

"I've got to make a call first." He walked to the other end of the room and quietly called on his cell phone. "They want 50 percent and for us to take care of the Europeans."

Charlie laughed openly since he had already planned on this. "Offer them 45 percent and five percent stock in our company if they pay for all the technical interfaces. We'll take care of the Europeans. I'm just going back to NACHA, and I'll get it back on their end. Do the deal, Eddie! Do the deal!"

Cassidy smiled, being the only other person who heard, "Tell Charlie, it's a deal. Here's a laptop with Word. You have a flash drive of the contract, don't you? Change it right now, and we'll finish up our part before the conference with Europe begins. Here!" She pointed to a conference table chair and slid her laptop to him already set on the Word program.

He slowly changed and added the figures, then went to print on two copies; and at that moment, prompted by Cassidy's intercom signal, a legal advisor came in to witness the contract and have it notarized. They were waiting out in the hall.

Eddie turned to Cassidy and asked mystified, "Was I speaking so loud that you could hear my conversation or are you Superwoman?"

"Terrone says I'm Superwoman. Just comes with my Raven genes, I guess." She laughed at her little secret, admiring her own Nephilim talents.

    

The European Beast

Andre watched the video screen with Angelica standing behind him, her hand on his shoulder. He felt so empowered by her presence. Sometimes, he was surprised how deflated he felt when she moved away from him; he needed her more than ever.

"So, Mr. President, you have the technology wizard with you, I see?" Andre had to admire the speed in which America moved when it wanted to. He was also pleased by the promise of the competency that Eddie provided. What bothered him was the fearful and intimidated look in Eddie's eyes. Eddie kept looking back over his shoulder at Cassidy.

Angelica understood. She could see the strength in Cassidy. She could see the softer more attractive Dar-Raven features in her. His features before he was thrust from heaven; and before, he burned away his beauty and took on his legendary "Skeletor" appearance. She sensed an almost reckless explosiveness in Cassidy that she considered dangerous. She doubted that Cassidy even knew what she was capable of.

Cassidy stepped beside Eddie, which made him pull away and lean into the opposite side of the chair. She leaned into the video and sidetracked the technical talk by talking about the "mark."

"We want the marks to be in two places. One for the believers—we call them—and the other for everyone else."

The fanatical emphasis that Cassidy placed on the "mark" issue was convenient if not prophetic. Angelica saw the darkness oozing from Cassidy's words as she explained the need to (make sure it didn't happen again). To think that a Nephilim could be so completely in sync with Apollyon and his plans without knowing about her and Sister Jessica. That was thrilling as well as scary.

Cassidy stepped back behind Eddie to be with Terrone, and Eddie continued to talk sophisticated propeller-head language, but in such detail, no one doubted his expertise. It was obvious that he knew what he was talking about, and the admiration of everyone listening brought their opinion of him from a code monkey to the guru level.

Andre listened to the complete plan, then spoke hesitantly, "Folks, it's obvious that you've worked out many of the details, except one. Where are the chips going to be manufactured? Do you really have a facility big enough to provide the whole world with this stuff?"

Eddie shrugged at his question, "I just provide the know how. It's up to someone else to provide the goods. Do you have a suggestion?" Eddie seemed to sense that a suggestion was coming.

Eddie looked back at Terrone and Cassidy when he took the initiative. They nodded "okay" at his comment, and he relaxed a little. He was sure that the Cassidy episodes were over for the time being.

"Well, Angelica has family in Iraq with several manufacturing firms that can be refitted to handle this. Don't you, dear?" Andre turned to her and gave her a waist hug from his chair.

"Yes, I have two Uncles who can handle this. I have a question about another important issue. Do you mind, Andre?" She moved in front of him after he gave her an affirming nod and sat in his lap.

"The information on the chips? What are the questions to determine whether someone is part of another fanatical element? What are the specific words that can be used?"

Eddie jumped up and moved out of the way knowing Cassidy would be returning to finish this part of the presentation. He was wrong. Pendwight received a knowing nod from Terrone and Cassidy. It was his turn.

"I'm Professor Pendwight. I would like the questions to be simple in any language. They could be:

  * Are you a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ?

  * Or, have you ever received Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?

  * Including, have you ever been reborn, saved, regenerated, or redeemed by the blood of Christ?

He continued, "You see, if they answer, 'no,' the mark goes on their right hand. If they answer, 'yes,' the mark goes on their forehead. I'd suggest, if someone answers, 'yes,' that we withhold 50 percent of their allowable income in trust by the appropriate government. This will repay employers for damages they have suffered from the others who left. This fund can also reimburse any governments or employers for future harm if the fanatics try to do it again." Pendwight was aglow with the blow he thought he had made to those whom he hated most. He wanted to be responsible for this decision.

"Professor Pendwight, you are a very wise man. I couldn't have come up with such a simple plan myself. You are to be congratulated. Shall we call this the Pendwight Regulation in honor of your great wisdom? Except, I'd like to make one comment. This actually might be an Eddie question."

"Yes sir. What is that?" he remarked confidently as he noticed Eddie stepping closely beside him.

"Ask all of those questions to make sure we cover all the bases with these fanatics but give me some assurance that there will be enough memory on the chips to contain that text and detailed information from dates of birth, social security numbers, (as you call them), as well as other census data that we will need."

Eddie leaned towards Pendwight and the video, "There's plenty of room. Enough to store a complete volumes of Encyclopedia Britannica's: picture and video memory including movies if you want. Imagine that," replied Eddie proudly, then backed away while standing purposely on Terrone's side of the room.

"Eddie," replied Andre, "I might just try to snatch you away from the U.S. if you give me a chance. I could use a man like you on our side of the ocean."

"Thank you, sir. I've already accepted another offer from the Smoky Mountain Corporation," replied Eddie, then chuckled with his own humor, but noticed Cassidy glaring at him and ducked his head in silence.

Pendwight bowed and stepped away from the screen to let Terrone sit down. "When can we start the census and get the first delivery of chips?"

Andre turned to Angelica, and she answered, "Give us two weeks to set up the electronic accounts so that money is moving. By the end of two weeks, you'll have enough chips to handle ten million. Might I suggest you give us a schedule of particular regions of your country you want to target first so we can calculate and workout the workload?"

Terrone turned to Cassidy, and she whispered, "The South, Terrone. The South."

"We believe it will be our Southern states. I'll send you the schedule so you can handle continuous shipments," replied Terrone.

Cassidy pushed in front of him, interjecting, "I want to start enforcing complete compliance within a month. No mark, no job. No mark, no food. No mark, imprisonment. That should handle it."

Andre and Angelica looked at each other with a sense of great accomplishment. She whispered to Andre like when she was a little kid. "The world, Andre, remember? Just figure out how. I'll be there to help."

No one else heard it but Cassidy; and at that moment, she realized that Terrone had competition. That was her agenda too. She determined, in order for this to work for her world, she had to make sure American regained control of its money again. She had to make sure that another fanatical catastrophe didn't happen. She thought she might have to resort to more drastic measures with the believers. She decided that she had to prove to the world that the U.S. could handle these believer problems even more decisively than anyone else. She saw images of thousands of guilty mark breakers in jail and even dead for not complying. Terrone would have had a heart attack if he been able to see inside her mind.

For a moment, Cassidy looked up at Pendwight. She knew he was having similar thoughts, although she couldn't read his mind. It was as if they had a natural affinity of darkness between them. They both smiled knowingly when they looked at each other.

    
Chapter 7

Little Alliances

Jeff heard Sal's message but couldn't believe how lucky he was to hear a girl's voice on the other end of the line. He started dialing and was so excited that he dialed incorrectly three times before getting it right.

Sal picked up on the first ring, "This is Sal. Is that you, Jeff?" She was shaking with hope and excitement. It was like an answered prayer without praying.

"Yeah, Sal, it's your man," he replied arrogantly.

She ignored his first comment—just grateful to hear a voice because she knew she wasn't alone. "I'm sorry I called, but I was desperate," she replied as she sniffled with tears running down her cheeks.

"Man, girl, you can't be more desperate than I am. I haven't been with a girl in months!" Jeff was bounding over in his male confidence.

Sal started to understand what Jeff was saying and became alarmed. Here she was breaking up over the phone, and all he could think about was his testosterone surges. "I'm sorry, but my English isn't that good. I think I understand what you're saying. This was a mistake, bye." Sal hung up, leaving Jeff stuttering on an empty line.

Sal wasn't about to put up with talk like that. She considered herself a freewill, liberated young woman. She thought, "I didn't need a boyfriend at home; I sure don't need one now."

Jeff was stunned that he had assumed the wrong things, but his ego wouldn't let him give up. "She'll change her mind after she sees me. After all, we could be some of the few teenagers in town. Who knows," he responded out-loud.

He pulled a canvas duffel bag from a closet and dumped some clothes into it, then went to the garage and rambled through some fishing tackle. He found a fishing knife in a leather sheath to hang from his belt and grabbed a nylon zip pouch to put his money. He got in his Hummer while still carrying the church directory with Nikki's address and number. Shortly after, he was parked outside Sal's place. He honked excessively, and she finally appeared at a window. He was stunned at her good looks and thought that this was better than he ever imagined.

He grabbed the duffel and threw it over his shoulder while moving quickly up the stairs to her door. He rang the doorbell repeatedly, but she didn't answer. After 15 minutes of ringing, he started pounding heavily on it.

Finally, she answered him from the other side, "I know who you are. Go away. I don't need a friend like you. I'm not your girlfriend. In fact, I saw you, and I don't even like you that much."

Jeff felt his ego being deflated. This was the worst rejection he'd ever experienced. But, something about her resistance made him want to at least talk with her. He felt a mellowing in his spirit.

"I'm sorry. I know you're new to our country. You said so on the message. I know I'm kind of a jerk when it comes to girls. Right now, I promise not to be a jerk if we can just talk a little." He was actually telling the truth. He also wanted to talk to someone who didn't mention Jesus every other word.

"I suppose, since you're still here, you're not one of those fanatics, are you?" she asked cautiously, her hand on the lock while deciding whether to unlock it or not. She also had an iron frying pan in her other hand.

She didn't wait for an answer but said, "You're right. I need some help. If you promise to keep your distance, I'll let you in. Otherwise, I'll throw you out on the street myself."

"I promise," answered Jeff reluctantly.

The click was a refreshing reprieve from his ego busting. He pushed gently on the door, and it swung open—no Sal. She was ten feet away with the frying pan still in her hand.

"Leave your stuff out in the hall. Take that knife off and leave it too. You're just a visitor. That's all. Just a visitor!" She stood defiantly poised to either throw the pan at him or hit him with it if he came any closer.

"All this because I figured you out wrong. Man, girl, you're a hard case. I thought those Christians were tough. You'd fit right in with them. How come you're still here?" He had his head and shoulder around the edge of the door watching her. He noticed how cool she was, not even breaking a sweat, but he was.

"I'm not a believer. I never bought into that deal. Nikki was. I saw her and those church people across the street disappear before my eyes."

He edged his way into the room. With hands in plain sight, he moved towards the couch to sit down. "Do you mind?" he asked.

"No, it's not my place anyway. Just don't move. Why did you act that way to me? I'm not your girlfriend. Do you treat all girls that way?"

"When they let me," he answered truthfully.

"American girls must be pretty desperate, huh?"

"Hey, give me a break. I just thought since you and I were left, well, hey what's to stop us from"

"ME! That's who! You get it straight right now! I never had a boyfriend in Japan, and I don't need one now! Keep your hands to yourself and your squirrelly little mouth shut!"

"You don't seem to have any problems with your English, now," then he ducked submissively. "I said I'm sorry. I promise to talk right and behave. I'm sorry about Japan. Did you have folks there?"

Sal dropped the frying pan with that question, and it clattered so loud Jeff jumped up from the couch yelling, "Whoa! Take it easy, girl!"

"Yes, I lost my Christian family. They made me leave Japan because they knew it was going to happen. I think some big white guy told them to get me out. I don't know who he was, but I just figured he must be what you call—an angel? Isn't that what believers call them?"

Jeff avoided the question asking, "Hey, you want to go get a pizza? I got plenty of money," he remarked while still holding the zippered nylon pouch.

"That won't do you much good. Haven't you heard the reports on the news?" she pointed to the TV

"What reports?" he asked.

"The news said that the only money worth anything right now is gold or silver, mostly silver. Credit cards don't even work anymore. How are you going to buy anything? You probably just have paper, don't you?"

"Yeah, I have some silver," he said as he dumped out his change in a big pile on the floor.

"Where?" she asked sarcastically.

"There," he said pointing to the change pile.

"That's worthless," she rebutted.

"It's silver, isn't it?" he replied again.

"It's junk. See the wafer in the middle. There's no silver in any of that."

"You're right, but I pulled these silver dollars from a framed collection at my house. How about them?"

"Okay, then let's go see if there's pizza anywhere. Remember keep your hands to yourself. Pull your sleeves down and pull your pants up. I don't want to see your boxer shorts. I don't want anyone to think I'm associating with a hood. It looks stupid. And no smoking," she moved out the door and briskly flung his things back into the apartment.

"Man," he remarked, "pizza with the Wicked Witch of the West."

"I heard that!" she answered and actually smiled a little. He saw it and was relieved. He may have a chance, he thought. Still, he walked behind her by several yards. He was enjoying the view, and she noticed when she turned around and caught him staring at her.

"Stop it! Stop it right now! Come up here and walk beside me, not too close," she ordered, and he ducked his head a little, ashamed of himself, mostly ashamed he'd been caught.

"I give. I give. I'll be good. I promise!"

"Didn't you learn anything from those Christians?" she asked, not wanting an answer.

"Are you sure you're not a believer? You're sure acting like one," he fired back at her.

"Just because I have ethics and upbringing doesn't make me a believer. I just grew up right, that's all. And you didn't, I suspect." The words stung Jeff to his quick and reminded him of his parents' accidental deaths.

"They're dead," he replied while letting the words hang in the air. Sal stopped and bowed to him as her apology.

"Okay, we're even on parental insults. Now, where is this pizza place?"

The Pizza Hut was just down the street; and as they approached, they noticed that the line was three blocks long. "Hey, what's going on," he asked a couple in front of them.

"Most of us got caught without food at the house. We're hoping they'll take our money. The grocery stores are refusing paper money or credit cards."

Another couple walking past them overheard and injected, "They won't take paper money. We're going home to stir up something. I don't know what we're going to do." The lady looked terribly pregnant.

Jeff felt their pain, and he saw others leaving the line after they heard their comment. By the time the mass exit was done, they were only a half block away. No one had the right stuff. Jeff touched the husband's arm as they were starting to leave and whispered, "Wait here. We got some silver, and I'll bring some pizza back for you, okay?"

Sal looked at Jeff strangely. She was seeing a tender underbelly on this tough kid. She smiled at him and put her arm through his as they walked closer. He jumped; and thought, she was going to hit him.

"Just for being nice, okay? Nothing more," replied Sal while staring at two Vanderbilt football tackles guarding the front door for line breakers or those desperate enough to try to grab a piece and run.

Jeff was surprised at how much pizza a silver dollar got. He got a large with everything on it; and after they ate almost all of it except for two pieces, they wrapped it up and carried it outside with them.

As they walked out of the restaurant, a man with a knife ran towards them and grabbed at their pizza. Sal swung her handbag at him and hit him across the side of his face. He was thrown back so violently that it knocked him out cold. He hit the ground so hard that Jeff thought he might be dead.

"Sal, what do you have in your purse, a lead brick?"

"Almost," she answered laughing. She opened the bag, and he peered in and flushed red for a second, then acted hurt.

"You made me pay for that pizza with my last silver dollar, and you have..."

She stopped him from saying it out-loud and whispered to him. "I have 500 dollars in wrapped silver just in my purse. Think we can get enough pizzas to make it, now?"

The family humbly came up to get their pizza, and Sal reached in to her bag and forced a roll of silver dimes into the pregnant lady's hand. She noticed immediately what it was.

With tears running down her face, she thanked her, "I didn't think there were any Christians around. I wasn't one, but I am now. You are a believer, aren't you?"

Her words cut Sal to her soul. She almost wished she could say yes. She remembered everything her dad and mom had said about Jesus. It was like a huge anvil on her heart.

"Not yet," she answered apologetically, "not yet."

Jeff heard her words and a block later asked, "Not yet? You actually thinking about becoming one them?"

"I'm just keeping a promise, that's all. One of the last promises that counted. Yes, I'm thinking about it. I just don't know how." They walked back slowly without saying another word.

As they reached the apartment, Jeff said, "I do."

"You do, what?" asked Sal.

"I know how. Hey, I've been going to church for three months at the Lord's Chapel. How could I not?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. Not now. Maybe tomorrow."

"You mean, you're going to see me again?" Jeff asked hopefully.

"I may need some protection, and I don't have a dog. I think it might get rough around here, and I'm just a sitting duck."

"What are you saying, Sal?" asked Jeff.

"I'm saying if you want to stay here you can. But you have to keep your distance. You have to treat me like your little sister. Do you understand?" She pointed her shaking finger at him.

"Sister! Sister! Oh, man, you really know how to hurt a guy. Okay, okay, sister. But I get first dibs on the cable movies," he said as he ran towards the remote and sat down on the couch.

Sal went to a far chair. "I bet it's got controls programmed on it to lock you out of the dirty ones." It didn't, but her sister only signed up for news channels and the National Geographic's Funniest Animals.

Jeff kept mumbling, "Sister, I can't believe it."

Sal cried herself to sleep, not wanting to believe her Christian family was gone, no matter what way they left. She felt alone and abandoned, and her heart ached for them. She finally drifted off from exhaustion around five the next morning.

Jeff moved slowly into Sal's room; and with a cautious but steady hand, he reached out towards her small exposed shoulder. He admired the outline of her under the sheets and with crossed fingers hoped they'd become an item, sister or no sister.

Just as his hand reached her shoulder, her eyes opened, then with artful but precise moves, she swiftly grabbed his fingers and leapt up from the bed. She bent his fingers backwards painfully, then moved under his arm causing him to flip over and landing flat on the floor. When he jumped up trying to get his balance, she grabbed his arm and threw him with a practiced body throw.

Jeff felt himself flying through the air, and he flayed the air in panic. He saw the window frame beside him and moved his feet in terror as he hung out the third-story window. He screamed in a pathetic, begging voice that was trying to justify this mistake.

"I was just trying to wake you. I fixed breakfast for you!" screamed Jeff as he hung from the windowsill. As Sal watched him, she was trying to reason whether it was true or not. She turned, left him dangling, and ran into the kitchen. She saw dirty dishes but no food, then she saw a nicely set table in the dining room with plates piled high with sausage, eggs, and a platter full of homemade biscuits.

"Oh no!" she shouted loudly and ran back into the room just in time to catch him as he slid from the window. With a braced lunge, she grabbed his only clinging hand and wrist. She pulled him partially into the window and was finally able to grab the back of his jeans and hoist him farther in.

He screamed in pain, "You're giving me a wedgie!"

She hadn't realized that her grip had slipped off his belt loops. "What's a wedgie?" she asked simply, then left him on the floor breathing heavily. She turned and went to the breakfast table and started eating. He staggered after her, still trying to adjust his undies.

"Morning," she replied. "Why don't you sit down and have some breakfast?" She was smiling without apology and motioning him to the chair nearest the biscuits.

"Morning! Morning! Is that all you have to say after just about getting me killed? What was that all about?" He knew she didn't trust him, then he noticed that she still had on her clothes from the night before, having gone to bed with them except for a small string top—the tops of a pajama set.

Sal still never said anything; and noticed he was staring at her top. She blushed, bowed slightly, got up, and walking briskly to her room, closed the door behind her as she changed into a t-shirt and returned.

"Is this better?" she asked while embarrassing him for staring.

"Actually, no," he answered boldly and laughed, then rubbed his window-sill scratched wrists and hands, still amazed at what happened, but understanding why.

"Let's forget this ever happened. Just remind me to knock next time or throw a bucket of water on you from ten feet away." He laughed again, and she joined him, both of them shaking their heads at the ridiculous.

"Where did you learn moves like that?" he asked.

"Well, I had to have something to occupy my time, not having boyfriends. Remember, I am from Japan, Grasshopper," she said and hissed at him with a mocking sound of the Kung Fu series.

"I thought 'Grasshopper' was Chinese, not Japanese."

"They learned all that stuff from us, including how to build automobiles."

Jeff laughed again, then turned seriously to her for a moment, "I am sorry. I should have been more careful. I promise, Sis, I won't mess with you, okay?" Sal blushed and nodded "yes" as they ate their breakfast.

The TV news was opening its morning program about the new worldwide census. The United States had picked eight states to start the detailed questioning: Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama, Louisiana, Georgia, and Mississippi. The first census enrollment was to start taking place in four days along with extensive marking. The questions concerning the marking questions were posted on the TV screen with a toll-free number to call if you had questions. Following this, there was a statement from the government about the regulations concerning not getting marked or committing fraud in questioning.

"The government takes seriously any and all avoidance of the marking system. We will not tolerate any unmarked individuals. We also take seriously anyone who isn't truthful concerning the questionnaire that has to be completed. In order to encourage compliance, we will do the following:

  1. Any unmarked individual will be faced with imprisonment up to 90 days in our enforced gated communities. There will be a $250 reward for turning in anyone not marked past the deadline.

  2. If an individual receives a mark in the hand and lied, meaning they really are a reborn, redeemed believer, then they will be moved to a Psychiatric Educational Community, PEC, for counseling. There will be a $500 reward for anyone reporting someone who is in defiance of this regulation.

  3. If anyone changes their minds after receiving a mark on their hand to a mark on their forehead, they also will be sent to a PEC facility for an undetermined amount of time.

Flashing on the TV screen was a message with repeatedly flashing borders noting an important announcement. Within the borders it stated:

"Children, if your parents receive a mark in their hand but read the Bible or pray, be an American and report them. That goes with any family member including parents, sisters, or brothers. Do what's right. We can't let them do it to us again."

Jeff and Sal stood aghast at the implications. "This sounds more like Communist China than America," replied Sal. "I'm not getting marked, Jeff!"

"Are you crazy? They'll take you directly to prison for not having a mark?"

"I don't have a social security number, remember? They can't track me. Anyway, what if I change my mind after I receive the mark and want to become a believer? They mentioned that any person who changes to a mark on their forehead would have to go to PEC for something for an undetermined amount of time. What in the heck is the PEC, anyway?"

"More like a concentration camp, I imagine. You're actually thinking about becoming a Christian?" he hissed as he backed away from her by several feet, then put his fingers in front of him in the sign of the cross and acted like he was fending off a vampire

"I told you before that I'm keeping a promise. You can't escape the fact that so many are missing. What do you think caused that, invisible ink? These people are gone because of what they were. There's something to it. I have to think about it," she said, then put her own fingers in a cross formation and stuck her tongue out at him in a girlish tease.

He tried to laugh but couldn't, "Sal, I may not be able to protect you from those people out there. With those kinds of rewards, sisters will turn against brothers, and children will turn in their own mothers and fathers. There will be gangs of people hunting down the unmarked. It will be open season on them. I know people enough to know that. If I didn't know you, I might be one of them. It's better than digging ditches."

    
Chapter 8

The Sewanee Safe Haven

Abigail sat up from a dead sleep at the sound of the TV in Alex's room. The announcement of the new world census startled her memory of Revelation things she had learned in several seminary classes years ago. She tried to remember the sequence of events and spoke to herself in slow motion while using her fingers to count the events and accent the Revelation episodes to herself.

Putting on a terry-cloth robe, she moved through the hall to Alex's room and quietly knocked, not knowing whether he'd be asleep in front of the TV or was watching it. He flung it open excitedly and pointed at the TV with questioning eyes.

"What does it mean, Abigail? What does it mean?" He knew enough about some biblical things to think it meant something, but he wasn't sure.

She giggled at his excitement and spoke softly to him, "Settle down, Tex. It's just the mark of the beast, that's all. Want to know more?"

"Yes, yes, please another Bible lesson, please!" He pulled up a chair in anticipation, and Abigail patted him on his shoulder to quiet him. She pulled a chair up to his and opened an illustrated Kids' Activity Bible and turned to the Book of Revelation.

The last week had been quite a shocking adjustment to both of them. Abigail was getting accustomed to Alex's Godly but pragmatic ways. Alex was becoming used to Abigail's sarcastic, ungodly attitudes. Somehow, they were moving towards each other, more from trying to pass the time and to avoid boredom. It helped to have some computer games, but their own favorites were some kids' games they had never heard of before like Monkeys in a Barrel, to name only one, while Angry Birds completely frustrated them.

They heard about the dead in Chattanooga because of the Oak Ridge meltdown. The angels had kept their promise about the uncommon breeze, more like a storm, that pushed most of the fallout 20 miles short of them. An electronic surveillance camera mounted outside the church showed them a different story. Students who ignored the warnings were dead in the streets—mixed mostly with Sewanee pets—(cats and dogs, with an occasional goat from a nearby farm).

Abigail was becoming used to Alex. Although, she said pointblank to him several days earlier, "Alex, you are one of the ugliest people I've ever known. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Alex laughed in unconcern and remarked, "You're just about the coldest sourpuss I've ever known. You're like Pendwight in drag." He remembered meeting Pendwight at All Saints when he couldn't speak. He recognized him from a picture in Abigail's wallet.

They both laughed together, "But I can do something about being a sourpuss, can't I?" remarked Abigail.

"You got me there," replied Alex.

Abigail liked the non-threatening Alex. Alex never ever looked at her as anything but a sacred guest, and she knew his heart was good. His new excitement for the scriptures forced her to talk about the Lord far more than she wanted; but after all, she was the expert. He needed her, and she felt obligated to help. The reading and explaining of the scriptures were getting to her. She felt her own sour ways fading, and in its place, a more gentle spirit and kindlier ways.

Alex noticed. He never pushed; except once a day, he'd look at her across the breakfast table and asked, "Are you ready to give your life to Jesus this morning, Abigail?" while winking at her.

She'd wink back and went from feeling insulted to a casual consideration, seasoned with humor. "Not today, Alex. Not today."

"How about tomorrow, Sister?" he prompted her while smiling broadly.

"Ask me tomorrow. We'll see."

Abigail turned the pages of the Kids' Activity Bible she had found in the vast library of the vacated priest. They both marveled at how adequate and well-provisioned the facility was. There were exactly four bedrooms, and even a separate room that looked like it was for a pet with a children's gate and a concrete drain in the middle of the room. The communications were astounding. There was a computer that used a big screen TV instead of a monitor. There was a short-wave radio packed away in a storage closet along with two hundred Double-D batteries and an additional hundred C's, with four radios with head phones. There were two canvas duffel bags. Each had a flashlight, one with several changes of clothes for a man, and the other for a woman. In each bag, were a Bible, a new atlas, and a Boy Scout compass. The man's bag had one additional item that was strange, a high-pitched dog whistle. In another room was a life raft with a portable inflation unit, along with two wooden oars, and two bedrolls. Fifteen pairs of assorted sized jeans were stacked and tied in bundles with packaging string.

The kitchen was the largest room and stocked with 180 cans of chicken noodle soup, and 180 (1) lb boxes of shell noodles. There were 50 bags of thin spaghetti noodles with 50 jars of spaghetti sauce of various kinds and brands. In addition, there were 100 boxes of chicken bouillon cubes and 200 jars of mild salsa with a hundred bags of Tostitos dipping chips. Fresh ground coffee in 1 lb cans lined the kitchen counter like red marching soldiers—with a trash bag full of filters. There was 500 gallons of distilled drinking water in a storage area under the kitchen floor.

Bathing water was no problem. There was a fiberglass reservoir of water built in the ceiling that they figured had to contain at least 5,000 gallons. Each bathroom connected to the four bedrooms had an old-fashioned bear-claw bathtub with newly installed massage showerheads with a pull-around shower curtain. The shower curtains were odd. They were obviously bought from X-Men Central Ordering House. They were covered with all the X-men copying different scenes of all their movies that listed all their individual powers. Abigail mentioned that Father Sargon had a pack of young nephews and nieces. They suspected they had much to do with his kiddy fashions.

In what they considered to be the pet room, was a 100 pound bag of Purina Dog Chow. There was a small sweater-like garment hung on the back of a chair, looking like it would fit a medium size dog. A long leash hung from the same chair along with a doggy poop scoop and unused air fresheners. The list continued until it was almost silly. Strangest of all, was a Bible written in Japanese and a Colt 45 pistol. The Colt had only two bullets. They joked about the Colt but didn't touch it. Abigail kept referring to it as her Gov eliminator. She said on several occasions that Alex would probably drive her to kill him. She'd do it to keep him from bothering her about the Bible so much. But they laughed and giggled about it like it was their own private joke.

"Okay, student," she replied sarcastically, "are you ready to learn about God from your resident pagan?"

"Yes, sir!" he replied as he stood up from the kitchen table and saluted her with military courtesy.

"Stop being goofy, Gov," she replied while laughing at him.

With a serious tone she started, "In the end times, there are going to be things happening like great earthquakes and terrible, bloody wars. Some say the wars are going to be between the angels, but others say it will be between God's people and the devil's people. There are even going to be creatures with scorpion tails that will go around stinging those who don't have the seal of God on their foreheads. They will hurt them, but they won't die, although they want to die. The beast, or the Anti-Christ, by another name, will make sure no one can buy or sell anything unless they take the sign of the beast. It looks like that's the mark on the right hand they're getting ready to enforce for the census. It looks like it's all adding up."

"It's just like the news, but the believers are going to have to take on the mark on their head rather than their hand," mentioned Alex.

"Well, the Anti-Christ can call it his mark, but I bet it's the seal of God to the Lord," she remarked.

They continued to read through Revelation for several hours matching some scriptures back to the Gospels for additional backup.

"Who's the Anti-Christ?" asked Alex.

"I don't know, but I imagine it will be a gentile, and those in the know think it will be a European. There's really only two of those, and Montplier is the closest thing we got right now."

"But he's a peacemaker. He pulled the countries together in peace and got the Nobel Peace Award for it. He even got Rome cleaned up enough to reestablish the EU offices. Can't it be an American?"

"Probably not. We're not mentioned much in Revelation. It's like we're sitting this one out, or we're too devastated by all of the trouble we've had. I think I remember it saying somewhere that the eagle would have its wings clipped so it can't fly anymore. Guess who that eagle is? I'll bet the U.S. has been hurt worse than any country in the world from the rapture. You heard the news. The slogan seems to be, 'Don't let them do it to us again.'"

"Sounds like we provided the technology for the mark, according to the news, but the Europeans are controlling all the wealth. They have the golden keys. We're just a distant player, that's all," replied Alex.

He continued, "Did you hear them talking about taking 50 percent of the money believers make and giving it back to the government and reserving some for employers? Believers will have to pull together somehow to survive. I bet they have to go to bartering and trade. When they do, the government is crazy enough to think they're doing it to cheat them out of taxes. What do you think?"

"You're imagination is racing a little. Listen, Gov, this rapture was true, and we're both losers for it right now. The earthquakes and the terrible nuclear things have already taken place. I imagine, the government has better things to do than get that paranoid. Now, Mr. Governor, don't we need to contact your angels to figure out what to do next?"

"You mean, you really believed me?" he asked, shocked.

"Of course! I never said I didn't believe you. I only said I didn't like it. I felt cheated. Actually, I feel cheated more by my Uncle Pendwight's influence over me than by God, now. I know. I'm mellowing a bit."

"A bit! A bit! By Sam's, how about enough to bound over a tall building," he laughed enthusiastically and reached over and hugged her in his excitement. She didn't push away from him but sank into his arms in an exhausted sigh. She started sobbing with small sniffling noises that broke into waves of emotion. This was the first time since the rapture that she had allowed herself to give in to her own inner damage. She needed someone to hold her, even if he was ugly. She knew enough about Alex to know he was 100 percent safe—safer as a person than the building she was under. For that moment, Alex was her lifeline, her fortress, and her granite rock. Suddenly, she sat up, pushed him away, and ran into her own room down the hall. She had embarrassed herself, but Alex noticed that she had picked up the Kids' Activity Bible and carried it with her.

    

Apollyon's Lair

Apollyon looked at his top lieutenants staring at him blankly from around an immense rock table. The air was rank with smoke and the smell of burnt flesh. Apollyon breathed deeply, enjoying the aroma of his success. His eyes pierced the veil surrounding earth, and he took inventory of those who remained in milliseconds. He was their king and their god. He was in control more now than in tens of thousands of years. This was his time and his kingdom.

"The angels of light, has anyone seen any of them, lately?"

Tare moved within earshot of Apollyon responding, "No, they've disappeared. We know that they'll return, but they don't have the power like before. I've sent hundreds of thousands of our angels into the earth to keep the pressure on the new believers. The minute one appears or proclaims to be one; our people will grind them to powder. We have great sway over the earth right now."

"Duh! It's supposed to be that way, Tare. It's our time, now. I want to encourage anyone with our mark to abuse new believers. I want believers to become open spectacles to the world. I'm interested in Cassidy's capabilities. I doubt that Terrone will make an Anti-Christ. He's just in the wrong location for it. But, those other two are great contenders. I wouldn't be surprised if Angelica doesn't keep her promise and kill the Count."

"Will you try to stop her?" asked Tare while bowing his head near the rock ground around Apollyon. His cowering pleased Apollyon.

"No, only the strongest will win. I designed it that way. I even had Dar-Raven mate with that witch to make sure they had just one more to keep them all off guard. The damage that Cassidy will do can be instrumental in me winning. If she continues on her course, as I believe she will, all those believers will be dead and all at once. I keep whispering thoughts to her, and I'm amazed how responsive she is. Must be that Dar-Raven heredity," stated Apollyon, then shook his head in grateful and amused disbelief.

"Stir them up, Tare. Stir them up. The minute a believer professes their faith, have someone around to take a potshot at them. Take them down hard."

    
Chapter 9

Caleb & Sal

Caleb watched Sal and Jeff talking about the marking with keen interest. He especially zeroed in on Sal. Something about her bothered him. It wasn't an aggravating bother but an affectionate one. He felt a need to be with her—just to be near her. He couldn't remember ever feeling this way before. Suddenly, he felt a surge of jealousy and quelled it wondering where it came from. He pushed his hand away from him as if he was pushing away a branch from a tree, but it was the sudden dark thought, not a tree limb, he was pushing away. The hand movement was just symbolic act of getting it away from him.

He spoke to himself while blocking his thoughts from the others. "I think I felt jealousy over Jeff's nearness to Sal. What's wrong with me? I've never felt that way in my life. Why am I bothered about some kid and a little teenage girl on earth? I've got to get more control over my emotions. She's pretty, but what is it about her that made me feel that way?"

Beside him were his best angel friends, Aaron, Joseph, Isaac, and Irish. He stated excitedly, "Don't you admire that little Sal? She's got more spunk per square inch than all of us put together. She's refusing the mark in spite of everything—just on the chance that she'll become a believer. In addition, I think she's a knockout."

Irish turned to Caleb while squinting her eyebrows together. "Caleb, what are you saying? Are you sweet on that kid?"

Caleb blushed, and Aaron looked at him, then waited for his response. Aaron replied, "I don't think I've ever known you to say anything like that in all the thousands of years I've known you. You really do act like you're smitten with her."

Caleb awkwardly defended himself, "I wouldn't call it 'sweet' or 'smitten' just flat-out admiring her, that's all."

"Oh, so saying a human is a knockout is just admiration, right, nothing more?" Irish asked while poking him in his side for fun.

"Hey, give me a break, will you? I can like someone from afar, can't I? I just think she's striking to look at. I've never seen an heir-servant that's even close to her unusual ways, style, spunk, and yes, her looks."

"Watch it, Caleb. I have a heaven full of beautiful heir-servants that would make most humans drool in an instant, and you're hot for a little human teenager. I think you're a little off. I wouldn't be surprised if you want to go down and help her out, personally, right?"

"You could say that," he answered while being almost defiant. "Can I, Aaron?"

"Can you, what?" asked Aaron.

"Can I go down and help?" he asked, then pointed to Sal getting ready for bed while she stared wistfully out her bedroom window, praying slightly, hopefully, and considering becoming the forbidden believer—an unmarked believer.

"Maybe. Just what did you have in mind? You know that we don't have the freedom like before. The greater the darkness grows, the less hold we have on earth. There may be a time when you'd be forced to leave earth, and it may not be at the most timely moment. Like right in the middle of stopping something bad from happening to your little teenager. How would you feel about that? You know, with all the dark angels around, they'd spot you in a second. They all know Caleb. How would you handle that, morph? You know how our Master and Lord feels about that."

"I probably would have to morph, but it's the first time I've requested it since my creation. Don't you think the welfare of our best player is that important?" He spoke nervously to Aaron with the rest listening. There were some agreeing nods in his favor.

Irish asked, "What's your real reason for wanting to help, Caleb?"

Her question bothered him; and because it did, he felt even more nervous but answered truthfully. "I want to be near Sal. I admit that I like her. Something about her makes me want to take special care of her. I've got to sort through all these emotions that I'm feeling. I've never felt this way before, and I have to work through this. Hiding here in heaven is no way for me unravel it all."

"Can you do that without messing things up?" asked Aaron while shaking his head at Caleb's pitifulness.

"Maybe. Well, sure I can! I've never messed up a mission since my creation. Why would I start now?

"Because, you're acting like a kid running on confused testosterone. That might be just enough to get you in trouble. Apollyon would love to get his hands on you for a while. You know too much."

"That's why you have to let me morph when I need to. Just one character is all I ask. I won't do it right off; but as soon as I can figure out the best form to take, I want to be able to do it. Please?" Caleb was almost pathetic for a moment, and the others prodded Aaron with "yes" nods; even Irish seemed to give in.

Aaron nodded, then raised his hand with Caleb's request. Suddenly, he smiled broadly and said, "Okay, okay. It looks like it was part of the plan from the very beginning. Shows you that we're not told everything. Now, from me, if you go, you must stay with her until it's impossible for you stay any longer. It's too difficult for us to get through the darkness to help in the first place. I don't want to waste our energy on just a short visit. Don't get caught, and don't mess this up. She's too important to our plans. Do you understand? Don't let your testosterone get in the way!" commanded Aaron.

They all laughed at Aaron's last comment, but Caleb wasn't quite as amused as they were. There was something more going on in his head. He felt a little giddy, lightheaded, and dizzy about getting to meet Sal in person. Aaron had never seen him acting like this before. Could his best friend and war comrade be falling for a human? Maybe it was about time. Caleb hadn't ever taken up with any of the heir-servants, even on a casual basis—never mind a human.

"Now get to work," replied Aaron, then nudged Caleb with a small push.

"Thanks, Aaron," replied Caleb, then smiled happily.

Caleb appeared in Sal's room, then watched her sleep. He sat beside her and pulled the sheet up over her small shoulders. He reached out gently touching her soft neck hairs and sighed, then entered her dreams. In her dreams, Sal watched as a beautiful man approached her with his hands held open for a hug. She ran to him but didn't know why. She felt his arms encircle her; and noticed, his wings feathering her face with a large, soft wrap. She looked into his star eyes and melted into the warmth of his body. Something about him made her feel safe and comforted. She started to cry, weeping uncontrollably about her mother and father. He kept her in his embrace until her tears stopped and ebbed away.

Sal looked up at Caleb and asked, "Why are you here?"

Caleb answered softly, "To give you a message. You must keep considering your salvation, your promise to your mother and father. I've been assigned to watch over you. You must be ready to follow our instructions when the time comes. It will be the difference between life and death. God has great plans for you. I also want you to know that God and all his angels care greatly for you. I want you to know that I, Caleb, care much for you."

Caleb kissed her gently on her lips and disappeared from her dreams, but not before Sal woke and felt his presence sitting next to her on the bed and seeing him disappear from beside her.

There was a slight whisper that lingered behind that said, "I'll be near, Sal."

Sal rubbed her eyes in disbelief but touched her lips while still feeling the moist pressure of his kiss from the dream. Beside her, was a white lily from one of heaven's vast gardens. She jumped up with the angel realization. "Caleb, is that your name?"

She believed that this was something special. There was only silence, but she knew he was near. She felt the great comfort of crying in his arms. She also felt something tugging on her heart about Caleb that was personal, but she couldn't explain it. She felt her own heart fluttering with a warm excitement.

"What's going on?" asked Jeff as he barged into her room from her loud Caleb question. He backed off to the edge of her door, not wanting another window episode but drinking in Sal's looks like a thirsty sponge. She looked at him and pointed her finger at him threateningly for his stares while pulling the sheets around her self-consciously.

"Will you stop it with the drooling. I feel like I'm rooming with a ferret in heat. I had a visitor tonight, another angel. In fact, a pretty nice-looking guy, to say the least. He introduced himself to me in my dreams; and when I woke, he was still barely here. See, he left a white lily. Cool, huh?"

Jeff didn't believe a word and thought she was delusional and worn out from all the "marking" talk, but he couldn't figure out what was with the flower. "You're kidding. He left it for you?"

She handed it to him gingerly, and he could smell the freshness of it accenting the air around them. She put a flat palm up to keep him at a distance. After he handed back the lily, he obliged, backing and bowing in a clowning way into the front room, leaving her alone once again.

Her only response once he was gone was, "I will consider, Caleb. I promise. I really will."

Caleb walked unseen through the desperate streets of Nashville. He noticed small gangs forming on various corners. He recognized some of the individuals among them as dark angels. They seemed to be stirring up the gangs as they talked about hurting and killing believers and the unmarked. The gangs were as interested in the bounty as they were in harming them. He moved back into the night and waited outside Sal's apartment until morning. He returned to heaven for a short time to confer with Aaron.

"I asked you not to come back so soon. What part of that command did you miss?" scolded Aaron.

"I didn't have anyone to talk to, not face-to-face. I just wanted to chat. I'll go back in a minute, don't worry."

Aaron placed a brotherly hand on Caleb's shoulder saying, "I see you really made an impression, didn't you? Got to hand it to you, Caleb. You got style. A little mushy, but stylish mush."

"I learned mushy from you and Irish, Aaron," replied Caleb, then playfully slapped Aaron on his back.

"On a serious note, I think that the dark angels are on assignment. I believe that they'll start lynch mobs the second the markings are complete. There's no telling what they'll do. How are Abigail and Alex doing?"

"They're improving; getting a little bored; they'll be okay. Alex has prayed for an update on our agenda. You know the plan. When the time is right, let them know the kids are coming, okay? I believe that Abigail's salvation is very near."

    
Chapter 10

###### The Nephilim Noose

The first shipment of chips was to arrive in the Southern states in two days. The trio (Terrone, Cassidy, and Pendwight) finally decided on starting the census by using the National Guard to enforce it. National guard units were flying into Clarksville and Nashville, Tennessee, beefed up by army regulars from all the other participating states. It brought the number of Census Enforcers, CE's, up to over half a million.

It was the largest joint-peace-time exercise in U.S. history. One out of every two CE's was armed with scanners capable of reading a chip from over 30 feet away, much like what is used on electronic car locks. When they pointed the scanner towards anyone, an echo reading came back in an instant if they had a chip. The area that the chip was located glowed visibly for a second so its location could be eyeballed. At night, it glowed a bright, fluorescent purple.

Cassidy was running the show while Terrone took a reluctant backseat. There was a certain amount of wicked creativity between Pendwight and Cassidy; their minds were in complete synch. Terrone felt, more than understood, those dark vibes between Cassidy and Pendwight.

Terrone was regretting his initial cynical enthusiasm towards the new believers as well as his agreement on the marking rules. Finally, he interrupted, not giving way to another of Cassidy's to-the-back-seat hushes. "Cassidy, it seems like this show of force over the census is a little extreme. I know, I know, it's necessary to restore order to our country in chaos, but this all seems reminiscent of Communist China or old Russia. From what I've heard, we're actually going to sweep each community house-by-house and street-by-street after the initial census is complete. That's all well and good, but we're also talking about arresting the unmarked and taking them directly to prison without due process. Those who try to change their minds about the mark or commit fraud are going to a PEC facility for reeducation. Our constitution is being violated at every turn. Human rights are being thrown out the window!"

Cassidy exploded as Pendwight watched smiling, "How dare you challenge me? Do you want them to do it to us again? Do you really want anyone to have the right to disobey the law, our rules, just cause they feel like it? The founding fathers never had a situation like this. If they had, they would do it exactly as we are. They'd have to. We have to regain control over the populace. We have to do it faster than the Europeans, so we can get back the control of funds. We need to regain the dignity of America."

"You're talking about their wives like they were in charge. Don't Andre and the Count have anything to do with this? Why does this seem like competition between girls for the prom queen?"

Cassidy jumped up from her chair at the insult; and when she got to him, she picked him off the floor by his lapels, which tore from her hands in her angry clutch. "You lousy European sympathizer! You Cretan! I suppose you want to wear the mark on your forehead too, right?"

"Let me go, Cassidy! You're acting like you're God! We need to slow down! We have to protect the rights of the unmarked, those marked on the foreheads, and the others. That's all I'm saying. We can't force the U.S. back into the dark ages out of fear of what a select group of people that we call believers, may or may not do."

Cassidy tossed him back into his chair, and Pendwight pushed his own chair back slightly, and then got up suddenly to move behind it. He didn't trust Cassidy when she was raging.

Pendwight offered timidly, "Cassidy, can't we let Terrone come up with an alternative for us to consider? After all, he is the President. In the mean time, can't we at least move forward? Can't we get everything in place? To opt out now may not be a good idea. We have some momentum with the reward system in place, and especially, the new advertisement about helping America with those who commit fraud. Mr. President, when could you have information to us on an alternative plan?"

Cassidy didn't erupt this time. She seemed to read Pendwight's mind. Pendwight wanted the President to think he had input. He wanted him to think he was doing his official duty. She knew very well that Pendwight didn't expect it would happen. In fact, they would move forward with or without him, and he'd not know the difference. In other words, he was asking Cassidy to humor him rather than challenge him. They would do it their way anyway.

Cassidy smiled at Pendwight, and Terrone relaxed, having heard what he wanted to hear. "Thank you, Professor Pendwight. First, I would like some time to think this over. I guess it wouldn't hurt to keep things moving forward since the Europeans are expecting us to. Can I trust you both to ease up a little on this lynch-mob mentality? After all, this is America we're talking about, right?"

Cassidy nodded without saying a word and turned to Pendwight. "Professor, can I count on you to work with Terrone on this? He's right. This is America."

She knew that Pendwight would tell the President exactly what he wanted to hear. Nothing would change, except they would have to discuss this without Terrone around. Cassidy had already gone way out of her way to isolate Terrone from outside input. Not even the press could get to him. He was captive in her dark prison and didn't know it.

    

The First Wave

The CE's arrived with perfect military precision while setting up circus-size tents across Nashville called marking stations. The university campus of Vanderbilt, Peabody, and TSU were the first to be converted into strategic locations. The TV announced the census requirements, and within days, long lines formed as people marched into the facilities to begin answering some basic personal questions like: date of birth, address, phone number, e-mail address, social security number, and checking account numbers. Then, everyone was immediately relieved of all credit cards and cash on hand. Those with silver could exchange it for an additional credit on their chip account at a couple of local banks after getting marked. The CE's had computers generating special encoding with the help from employers. Between them, they were able to swiftly set up the chip-fund accounts for each person. No one could get paid except through this electronic system. The final questions were about their beliefs. Two lines separated those being marked on their forehead and those on their hands. When those receiving the mark on their foreheads exited the marking stations, they where jeered at and pelted with a hail of rocks and bottles. There were reports of gangs dragging them off—some died as a result.

After several days, people were afraid to take the mark on the forehead although they were new believers. Over the next week the number of believers being marked decreased dramatically, many having observed the results and changed their minds. The number of reports of fraud increased expediently. The government propaganda machine was working 24-hours a day with news announcements being posted every 15 minutes. Regardless of the programming, it interrupted all broadcasts in a news-flash fashion.

    

Little Henry

A teenager named Henry watched the TV and was about to turn it off. He had been after his mother to buy him a new 360 Game Player. Every time he asked, it was the same answer, "Henry, you know we don't have any money. You're lucky we haven't sold the TV for food as it is. "

Henry would go into another pouting fit by locking himself in his room but eventually come out to ask again. Henry spoke to himself just before starting another bothering session, "I need my own money. Where can I get some?"

That's exactly what he had said to himself when the government programming showed the reward system for turning in family members. This ad even had another encouraging aspect. It was suggesting that teenagers could get those cool gizmos, clothes, electronic games, and 360 Game Players. That was all Henry needed. He ran into his room to get a pencil and ran back to write down the toll-free number.

He was thinking about the Bible reading each night with his mom and dad. He always protested, but they insisted. They were new believers but were marked in their hands. They even made him read lengthy portions of the Bible to them as part of their family devotions.

He dialed the number and a soft-spoken lady answered. "This is Mary from the PEC hotline. Do you have a family member or neighbor to report? Please hold while we register you telephone number on our system for further reference. Thank you for calling. Our records indicate that you are calling from 615-383-9000. Is that right?"

"Yes, yes, that's right. Do I really get 500 dollars?" he asked, excitedly.

"Of course you do. Have you been marked, yet?"

"Yes, I have," he replied. "My mother and father have too—on their hands. They make me read the Bible every night and talk about Jesus. Is that enough to get my five hundred dollars?"

"Yes, we have recorded your message and are sending over a CE unit to investigate. They should be there within the next 20 minutes," she answered gently.

"When do I get my money? I have something I want to buy!" he exclaimed.

"How old are you, Henry?" she asked.

"I'm 14 years old. What's that got to do with anything?" he asked sarcastically.

"We'll have your chip account credited with the 500 dollars when you reach 18. We aren't allowed to credit chip accounts until then. In the mean time, government assistance will be available to you as with any orphan. You will be an orphan now, won't you?"

"You creeps! You suckered me. The ad didn't say anything about government handouts. I want my 360 Game Player. You lied!" he yelled as he hung up.

He went running through the house yelling. "Mom! Dad! Get out! They're coming to get you. Mom! Dad! They lied to me! I'm sorry!"

They made it out five minutes before the CE's arrived. The sergeant in charge spoke disappointedly, "We need to tell those operators not to pop their underage bubble until after we've arrested their parents. Make a note of it, corporal."

"Yes, sir," he replied while snapping to attention and saluting, then running off to have the CE unit search the neighborhood door-to-door in a five-block area.

    

Mandy

Mandy had seen her mother disappear in the rapture in the middle of baking some biscuits for breakfast. She didn't get a chance to visit her mother much but had decided to make the exception and spend the weekend with her. Her mother's fanatical believer ways drove her away from her. She never stopped talking about Jesus. She still remembered her mom singing a gospel tune as she checked on the biscuits. Mandy watched as they fell to a mess on the floor after she disappeared.

An hour later, while thumbing through her mother's worn Bible, she came across a Gospel tract. It didn't take her but a minute to read it, and less than that to go to her knees to give her life to the Lord. Her life changed so dramatically that all she could talk about was being one of the new believers.

At the Farmers Co-op where she worked, they tolerated her constant chattering about the Lord and figured it was part of working through the loss of her mom. That changed when Mandy came back from the marking station with a mark on her hand, not on her forehead. Nothing prepared her for what happened. Immediately, there was a race for the phones by several of the employees; and minutes later, the CE unit arrived. They took fast depositions from the two who had called, and through negotiation, gave them both credit for turning her in.

They handcuffed Mandy and moved her into a white Econoline Van that had on its side, CE Unit, and under it in graphic text, "Don't Let Them Do It to Us Again."

Mandy took the mark on her hand to avoid harassment, and especially the 50 percent pay reduction. She knew she'd never make it on that income. She'd be on the streets in a matter of weeks, but she just never expected this.

The CE's treated her kindly enough by trying to encourage her not to cause a scene. They kept reminding her that this was only a re-education community, and she would be well cared for. Once in the prison-like facility, things changed. She was fingerprinted and put in a 30-by-20, locked room with 50 other people—men and women, teenagers and adults.

The room was windowless and the screams of believers in other areas of the building filled the evening hours. No one could tell if they were being tortured or just going crazy on their own. There was no privacy, with barely enough food and water to go around. Mattresses were scattered from wall-to-wall on the floor. She heard several getting sick from the lack of ventilation mixed with fear. It almost made her sick too. She curled up into a protective, fetal ball in the corner of the room and hid her face into it, overwhelmed with an overpowering depression. This was prison, and she knew it. Finally, a man came over to her who tapped lightly on her shoulder, and she peeked from under her arm, then watched him with a tearful eye.

"Took the mark on the hand, I see," replied the man who wore a wrinkled, crumpled business suit from sleeping in it for the last week. "So did I. My brother turned me in. That man over there had his wife turn him in, and the lady with her teenage son was caught coming out of church—marked wrong. Those gangs grabbed her and hauled her to CE headquarters at the capitol. There were five of them. She never had a chance. Her son was traumatized by it. He saw what they did to her before they dropped them off. He hasn't said a word since. Doubt he ever will. We've had three suicides in the past ten days. It's something to think about. I do, just about every day. I just can't believe God would let this happen to his new believers."

"God isn't doing this," she responded angrily. "You know better. Nonbelievers are doing this. We messed up the first time; and now, we're just paying the price for it, that's all. We deserve this for not turning to the Lord to begin with. If I get out of here, I'm going to the country. I heard there were believer communes out there. They'd take care of me."

"Get out? That's a novel idea. If I hear about anything, you'll be the first to know. You're only the second person to say something like that since I got here. I heard you're from the Farmers Co-op, right?"

"Yes, and I do have some believer friends there too. I bet a good friend of mine is trying to figure out how to get me out. He and I were almost an item before we got saved. He just wasn't around the day they arrested me. He brings his watermelons in on Thursday. I wished I'd waited until the deadline. The unmarked aren't targeted yet, just the ones who didn't do it right. I'd at least have a little more time of freedom," she replied depressingly.

"If you want, I have a way to get a message outside these walls. I can get a message to your watermelon man if you'll take me with you when you go. Do we have a deal?" he spoke kindly.

"Yes, we have a deal," she replied, relieved that there was some hope of getting out of this trap. He was about the only one who wasn't crying or begging in their prayers for help.

    

Others

Everyone who had a fish symbol on car bumpers or wore Christian jewelry were fair game. The authorities didn't stop any of it. Gangs figured out they could put a Jesus bumper sticker on their cars that said, "Honk if You Love Jesus." They would cruise the streets and interstates waiting for someone to honk at them. Those honking were chased down, beaten, killed, or wished they were dead.

The CE's knew that when the deadline was over their real work would begin. The populace knew that the unmarked would go to prison, but what they didn't know was that prison and the PEC Centers were one and the same. The deadline was bound to increase the violence and abuse. The amount of chip credit was too tempting. Gun clubs and other new organizations formed to do their own vigilante work. They planned to start their own extensive searches before the CE's began their coordinated street-by-street efforts, even if it meant only staying a block or two ahead of them. The unmarked were worth too much money. They were putting out their own rewards and sharing with each other while trying to go for volume to increase their odds of finding them. They had stolen a number of scanners from the CE's or bought them on the black market. They also planned to set up their own roadblocks and security perimeters to catch them as they tried to run.

Just like Mandy wanted—to run. Believers were trying to leave Nashville for more secluded locations. They would cut across the countryside, avoiding the interstates, only to be shot by rogue hunters using them for target practice. Still, they were getting out. Communities were forming that started only as communal locations where people shared supplies and goods, but they were becoming more than that. They were defending themselves against the nonbelievers by using their own self-made militia, and nonbelievers were just starting to stay clear of them.

They kept saying, "Aren't they supposed to turn the other cheek?" Instead, the communes were becoming so well armed that it was as dangerous for the marked to be around them as the cities were for believers. The communes started additional groups to patrol the nearby communities to keep the CE's or anyone else from getting even close.

    
Chapter 11

###### The Marking

Jeff watched the road from Sal's apartment window as hundreds of people walked towards the Vanderbilt Census Station. He kept rubbing his hand where he knew the chip would be inserted, not saying a word. Sal came out her room just long enough to get a coke and a bowl of Frosted Flakes, her favorite snack. He knew her silent treatment was a form of protest against his insistence for her to get marked. He knew he was right. It would be safer if she did; but deep down, he felt that her considering becoming a believer would win, then it wouldn't be safe anymore. They would be like two magnets pushing away from each other because of the Lord—while all he wanted was for them to be together—somehow, somewhere, sometime. She kept telling him it wouldn't happen, and he kept his sisterly promise but always hoped.

"A guy could hope, couldn't he?" he asked himself.

"Sal," he said quietly as she started to return to her room. "You don't have to get marked if you don't want to. I'll still be your friend, Sis."

She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, "Thanks, I'd like that." She turned towards him and sat down on the couch while motioning him to sit with her and pointing to the other end. He felt forgiven. His sister was back, and that was better than a silent, ignoring sister.

"I'm going to go get marked today. The deadline is noon, two days from now. Anyone and everyone who isn't marked by then will be in big trouble. The news says that there will be a street-by-street, house-by-house search. I'll hide you. Don't worry."

"I don't know if you can successfully. I heard the radio talking about new devices that can detect body heat of humans through walls. Not exactly what I would call an easy thing to avoid."

"Maybe we'll find an iron closet to put you in," he laughed, not really knowing where they'd hide her.

"What about the communes? Can't I go to one?" she asked while scooping up Frosted Flakes with a large spoon—she hated small spoons.

"Sure, but they don't advertise for a reason, and how would you know if there was a bus leaving for one even if they did? Most of the time, people just sneak off with their families. I heard that there were hunting clubs using escaping believers as target practice."

He moved closer to her, and she stopped with a mouthful, then put a palm up facing him, a warning to keep his distance. He moved back unfazed, having gotten used to it by now. "I just wanted to make sure you heard me. I'm afraid to speak too loudly. This place might have ears. Anyone passing in the hall can hear everything we say from here. It's like not having walls at all."

"You're right. Keep it down. Either that or we move to the kitchen away from the door next time. Come on down," she motioned with an apologetic smile.

Jeff smiled and scooted himself a foot from her, then lowered his voice in a quiet whisper. "Do you remember what you told me about that angel, the one in your dream?"

"Oh, you mean, Caleb?" she asked.

"Yeah, Caleb. Well, if he was real like you said, do you think he could help you? After all, you told me that he said you were important to something God wanted to do. Do you think he'd help?"

"I don't know. But it sounds logical. How would I go about finding him?" she asked while putting her empty bowl on the coffee table.

"Not from here. You need to get out. You're the only one who knows what he looks like."

"Out. You mean out there?" she replied while pointing to the street.

"Sure. Go with me when I get marked. You can wait for me to finish and keep your eye out for him. He can't be that hard to spot. Do you think you'd recognize him?" Jeff asked as he lowered his voice even more with his hand over his mouth to block the hall side of his face.

"Are you kidding? There can only be one hunk like that. Do you realize that we're both talking about an angel when neither one of us is a believer? Doesn't that sound a little irrational?" she laughed while putting her hand over her mouth at how ridiculous it sounded.

"More irrational for me than for you. Remember, you're the one thinking about becoming a believer."

Jeff got up and walked slowly to the door after hearing a noise outside. He opened the door a little and noticed a man from across the hall was going into his apartment. He looked back at Jeff, and then put the back of his hand up in a salute to him.

"Are you getting marked too?" asked the man who brushed a little blood from the insertion area around the chip, and without waiting for an answer and seeing Jeff's "yes" nod, went inside. Jeff heard multiple locks and chains from the other side of the door. Jeff thought that this mark was more about fear than anything he'd ever known. Everyone was scared to death.

He closed the door, locked it, slammed the deadbolt in place, and hooked the chain. "It's that guy across the way. I thought I saw him wearing a minister's collar the other day. He had a mark on his hand. You see, Sal, not everyone is stupid. He's got the right idea."

"Oh, thanks, now I'm stupid again. He's a left behind just like we are. He never had what it took the first time; and if there ever is a next time, he'll be left behind again. I have more confidence in a slug using a salt shaker than those kinds of people."

"I'm sorry. You're not stupid. I'm just worried about you. That's all." His head dropped in a moment of real sadness, then Sal reached over and patted his hand just where the chip would go.

Jeff jumped again as if she was going to hurt him, then smiled and said to himself. "I'm getting a pat. I'm getting a pat."

"Actually, I think your idea isn't that bad. Since I'm so convinced that he really was an angel, I better put my actions where my mouth is. It doesn't seem like things are going to get really hairy until the deadline is over, a couple days from now, right?"

"Let me get a change of clothes and brush my teeth. Got to look my best for my angel, don't I?"

Sal ran excitedly into her room. In an afterthought, she went to one of Nikki's dressers. In a small drawer, just under some clothes was a silver, Celtic cross necklace. She pulled it out, and for luck, kissed it and put it on and stuck it under her t-shirt. She looked in the mirror and noticed that she could barely see the cross from under her shirt. She shrugged, thinking it would be okay.

As Sal and Jeff walked closer to Vanderbilt, the crowds swelled to enormous proportions. Far ahead of them, on the backside at the tent exits, could be heard a lot of yelling and screaming. It would only happen occasionally, but neither of them could tell what was going on. They noticed groups of three and four already marked individuals standing under the best shade trees while closely watching people. It made Sal nervous; she felt naked from their stares, and Jeff moved between them, trying to fend off their looks. They smirked at him, turned other directions for a moment, and looked back at her when he wasn't looking.

Sal took Jeff's hand in a protective manner and moved close to him. He was elated and took advantage by moving her arm around his waist and doing the same to her, then hung a thumb in her belt loops. She didn't resist. This whole situation was making her sick with fear; she felt like everyone could read her mind.

"This was a bad idea. These people, especially those guys under the trees, give me the creeps. What am I going to do when you go get marked?"

CE's came walking through the crowd, and those under the trees walked away to the other side of the tents. Sal felt better, and they waited in a line with several thousand. CE's came by giving out cups of water to prevent dehydration and stopped to chat with folks from time to time.

"I feel better with them around," she remarked and did a spin, unwinding herself from Jeff's belt-loop grasp that twisted his thumb painfully in her loops as she did.

"Slow down, Sal. I give. I give."

"Shussh, will you? Don't you ever give up?"

"Sometimes. It was just convenient. That's all."

"Well, it's not convenient anymore, is it?"

"No, it's not, ouch!"

A CE saw them sparring and came up. "You two act like old married weds. Don't forget about the awards for turning in those who defraud the government." The CE stared at Sal's t-shirt, then was distracted by one of his comrades.

"Sam, we have a thunderstorm coming. We need to get this line moving. Warn everyone to take cover in the tent, not under the trees. Everyone up to here can stay. The rest need to go home and come back tomorrow, unless you can find shelter."

The CE stood in front of Jeff and Sal and put a line in the dirt in front of them, "Come back tomorrow, kids. You heard the lieutenant." Sal realized that this CE was staring at her cross under her shirt. She quickly turned her back on him and pulled at Jeff's hand while trying to get away.

She kept saying to herself, "It won't matter now. It will in two days. Not now. Not now," while crossing her fingers. The CE followed them for a minute, then it started raining.

"Come on, Jeff. Let's get out of here!"

"What's your hurry? Your afraid of a little rain?" She didn't say anything to him but continued to pull him away from the crowds past the tree watchers.

"You don't understand, Jeff. I made a mistake. Look at my t-shirt," she replied without pointing.

Sal was already getting drenched, and the cross became a beacon of silver through the wet, white shirt. The wetter she became, the more obvious it was. She knew that they were being watched by too many for her to get away with pulling the cross off. It would attract too much attention.

"Normally, I'd enjoy looking at you in a wet t-shirt, but it's making me sick right now. We have to get out of here," he remarked but still took time to study her shirt.

Sal turned to him in panic, "Stop the drooling, Jeff! Let's get out of here!"

Their sudden exit attracted some attention; and with a couple of signal whistles, they were followed down Hillsboro Road past the old Peabody Educational Buildings. There seemed to be only three rough-looking men following them.

Within another half block, the three had almost caught up with them and started shouting, "Hey, you two! Stop! We want to ask you some questions!"

Sal turned instinctively with an "oh no" gesture and heard, "I told you, Butch. She's wearing a cross. She's not marked yet. Hey girl, we have some pre-education for you."

Sal didn't wait to be caught, and they both sprinted at full speed; but were headed off by another two they hadn't seen before. Sal yelled at Jeff, "If they catch me, it won't be fun, or I'll be dead."

She was talking to air. Jeff had turned to the three following them, and she looked back at him plowing through their ranks like a human freight train. He had great moves but not enough to handle all three. She jumped over the sidewalk wall and rolled on the ground. The two who had been in front of them followed her, but she knew she could handle them.

She let them get near, and then turned suddenly with artful, practiced moves shoved one man's Adam's apple back down his throat with a powerful hand-heel move. She swung around with a sidekick and knocked the other guy violently in the head. He got up and rushed her, and she knuckled him with a punch to his temple. He was dead before he hit the ground.

She had practiced for years without a chance to use her fine-toned skills. There was no remorse; she was being attacked; it was justified. Three more jumped over the wall behind her, and she out ran them and left them behind while they tried to help their friends—she knew they couldn't.

Near another Peabody building was a tall brick wall; she noticed a drain facing the common area. That meant that the drain was probably bigger on the other side. She used a tree to get halfway up the wall and did a balanced jump to the top and over. She found the drain opening and slipped into it so she could see into the common area where the others were coming from. No one could see her peering over the grates, and the drain was long enough by four times her height. Even if they saw it, they couldn't see her. She had to stay close for Jeff. She knew he might even be dead now, but she had to stay to find out. He tried to save her life. The sounds of fighting stopped suddenly, and those who had been following her turned back immediately.

She still didn't move but waited hours that seemed like eons. It was getting dark now, and she backed her way out of the drain, then moved towards the street wall. She walked down to where she figured Jeff's battle took place and peered over the top to see if he was around. He wasn't. She slipped over the top and landed quietly on the sidewalk, which was covered with small pools of blood. She still didn't see Jeff, but something moved in the gutter still trickling with rainwater from the short storm. Sal moved carefully towards it, and then noticed drag marks on the ground in five different places. Someone was dragging their friends. She knew two of them were because of her. The other three must have been because of Jeff.

"Jeff is a better fighter than I thought," she whispered to herself. There was another rustle of leaves in the gutter and a moan. Sal recognized the moan; it was Jeff. She ran to him and was in shock. He only had a black eye but nothing compared to what he should have looked like.

"Jeff, Jeff, where does it hurt? Jeff, are you alright?" She had his head in her hands and leaned over him trying to get his conscious attention while he seemed to be fading in and out.

"I'm okay," then reached up and pulled her to him, then kissed her hard on the lips. She held herself to him for a second, not knowing whether she enjoyed it, then decided not.

"Ouch, you bit the fire out of me. You just tore my lower lip off. What are you some kind of vampire?"

"You jerk, you never miss a chance, do you? I was actually worried about you," she replied as she dropped his head in the gutter, then got up and brushed herself off.

"What happened? The last time I saw you, you were acting like a human bowling ball."

He got up slowly and staggered a second. "I did okay for a minute, then they got me down. Just as they started to work me over, some black guy in a red shirt came up. I heard them say, 'It's the crazy road walker, and then I saw them flying backwards through the air. I started crawling away and made it as far as the gutter and stayed. I threw leaves over me to hide. I didn't get a good look at the guy, just his red shirt, but I think I know the guy they were talking about. You know the guy that bows to everyone. Man, he threw all three of them over 20 feet right into that wall. Their heads cracked like melons. The others on the other side heard the commotion and came back to help. I saw them dragging five guys away by their feet. I think they were all dead. Did you kill those other two?"

"Just self defense. That's all I'm allowed. It was justifiable," she replied flatly.

"No doubt. Next time, let me pick out your jewelry, will you?" He continued to brush off and opened his arms to Sal, "Sisterly hug, just one."

"It better be sisterly!" she answered as she went to him and hugged briefly.

"I still got to get marked, Sal. I guess I'll go back tomorrow. I don't think you'd better go this time. I don't think those guys who were left saw me. They came later and ran right past us after you. The others had me on the ground about that time."

"Man, what a shiner! I don't have any steak, but I have a thawed out chicken breast. Think it will work?" replied Sal laughing.

"I'll try anything right now."

They started walking towards their apartment and working their way away through the back streets to avoid the main drag.

"Sal, do you see how bad it is? Imagine what it will be like when the census is over. You've got to get to a commune. I'll take a chance and try talking to people about it tomorrow after I get marked. Maybe I can find a group going that way. By yourself, you'd never make it."

Caleb moved back in front of Sal's apartment and felt satisfied about his recent encounter. He had been watching them after following on the other side of the street. When he saw Sal and Jeff running, he knew there was trouble. He threw three guys off Jeff in one-hand movements; and after hearing them crash into the wall; he knew they weren't getting up. He didn't waste any time looking over the wall for Sal. He didn't see her, just two bodies and three guys heading back towards the street. From that, he knew she was okay. He couldn't get a message from heaven like before to find out for sure. The appearance of those others, and Jeff's gutter hiding let him know it was okay to leave. He continued to walk up and down the streets until almost midnight; he'd be back in the morning.

The next day Jeff made it all the way to the front of the marking lines. In front of him, was a young woman with her newborn. He didn't recognize her at first; but when she received the mark on her forehead and exited onto the street, he recognized her voice. This time it was the same voice as the lady he gave slices of pizza to, but in screams as two gangs fought over her.

Her screams echoed in his head, "I believe in Jesus! I believe in Jesus! I believe in Jesus!" Someone snatched her baby from her as a gang dragged her off to a van and drove away.

Jeff felt sick. That could have been Sal. He couldn't let that happen. He'd rather die than lose her. Jeff felt that his life was crumbling; and as he exited the tent with his hand bleeding slightly from the insert, others held theirs up to him in a backhand salute, and he saluted back and nodded in acknowledgment. He felt a terrible weight on his heart for Sal. He couldn't take a chance like he promised and expose himself with questions about the communes.

Caleb saw Jeff walking towards him and thought this was the guy who saved him, but he was unsure. He noticed that he was wearing the same red shirt. As they slowly approached each other, Caleb bowed to him and threw imaginary flowers towards him. He sang a little song in a cracked, crazy voice, "If I were Sal, I'd leave tomorrow. If I were Sal, I'd help her go. If I were Sal, I'd find a way. If I were Sal, I'd hitch a ride. If I were Sal, I'd look for farmers. If I were Sal, I'd look for watermelons. If I were Sal, I'd go to Woodbury."

He kept repeating it as he walked past Jeff while completely ignoring him as he did. Jeff turned back towards Caleb after he heard the song the third time and stared at Caleb's back as he continued to bow and accept imaginary applauds from an imaginary traffic audience. He remembered what Sal said about the angel. She had called him Caleb.

Just about the time Caleb was too far away, Jeff shouted to him, "Are you Caleb?"

Caleb was caught totally off guard. He turned instinctively, stopped all his antics, and just stared at Jeff. He nodded "yes," turned, and started singing again. He wasn't sure if Jeff would be quite that astute, but he hoped. He loved it when a plan came together and hoped that no dark angels heard it. They wouldn't put it together right away, but how many people are called Caleb. Jeff was the only one on the street, and he breathed a sigh of relief while continuing to walk away.

Jeff smiled and thought about the verses. He sang the jingle over to himself to help him remember. As he walked up the apartment stairs, several men passed him, and he held his hand up in a salute, which they returned immediately. He reached to open the door and found it unlocked. There were scrape marks around the doorsill, and he panicked. When he entered, he didn't see Sal anywhere. Where was she? He went to every closet in the house—no Sal.

He remembered something about those men he passed. One was carrying a stolen scanner. They were the vigilantes. They were starting a little early, he thought. Sal wasn't with them, but where was she? He returned to his door, locked it, and put the security chain and dead bolt in place. He noticed mud on the rug, then thought. Those guys were looking around his place. But why? How could they know about Sal? How could they know she had decided not to be marked? He turned off the TV, stood in the middle of the apartment, and listened. Slightly, just above a whisper he heard a sniffle. It was Sal, but where was she? He moved towards the sound; and as he entered her bedroom, he saw a four-foot redwood chest at the foot of the bed. He dived for it. When he opened it and pulled off a blanket, he found Sal curled up in a ball trying to keep her crying quiet. When she saw it was Jeff, she jumped out of it and into his arms, crying hysterically.

"They came here. They said they were CE's from the other side of the door, but I knew they weren't. CE's start tomorrow. They cracked the door open with something. I heard them. I also heard them take the safety off a gun. I hid here. They opened the chest, but I was praying to the Lord for help. I could barely keep my crying down. They never found me. I think they heard you down stairs. How did they know? How did they know? They said to each other that they would come back tomorrow. They thought I had jumped out the window."

"Oh, Sal, they didn't know. It was just bad luck. They're looking for easy marks. They'll be back tomorrow for any number of reasons. They probably saw that Bible on the dresser. You've got to get out of this town! You've got to get away." He held her tightly until her sobbing stopped.

"I saw Caleb today. You didn't tell me he was a crazy black man."

"What are you talking about? He's not. He's a beautiful white guy with blonde hair. He's gorgeous!"

"Not anymore. He's a black man who sang this tune." He repeated it twice, and Sal just stared at him.

"He's talking about getting a ride to a commune, isn't he? Are you thinking what I'm thinking, a farming commune, right? A truck loaded with watermelons? A ride to a commune in Woodbury?"

"It's 50 miles from here. It has to be tomorrow. I really believe those guys are coming back. The census ends at noon tomorrow. All hell will break lose."

"Listen Jeff, you don't have to go with me if you don't want to."

"Are you crazy? I'm with you, girl, whether you want me or not," he replied and thinking how goofy it sounded. "I mean whether you want me to go or not."

"Actually, I think you mean both. It's okay, Jeff. I overheard some people walking by on the street talking about the communes. They said that they wouldn't let those with chips in their hand get in the communes. What are you going to do?" she asked while looking up and down the street from her bedroom window.

"I don't know. Take it out, I guess."

"Jeff, do you know the punishment for removing a chip? I heard that you'd go directly to prison. It's against the law. They said the reward was double for people caught like that. It would be too obvious."

"I'm not leaving you, Sal."

"You're not my boyfriend, Jeff. I'm sorry, but I just don't feel that way about you. I don't think I ever will. Are you still willing to put your life in danger for me?"

"Just call me an idiot, a hopeful idiot, but an idiot. I'm with you either way, like it or not."

"You're a friend then. You really are. Thanks, I'm going to pack, and you start watching for the watermelon ride, will you?"

    
Chapter 12

Babylon

"Andre, this is my Uncle Herod. Uncle Herod this is my husband, Andre Montplier." Angelica introduced them in the middle of an electronic chip plant in Baghdad. They greeted each other with warm European hugs, and Angelica glowed with a grand sense of accomplishment. This was her finest hour, and her plans were falling into place so nicely.

"Andre, may I call you that?" asked Herod.

"Of course, shall I call you, Uncle?" asked Andre, then hugged him again.

"Yes, family is family to me. After all, I've known Niece Angelica for over 5,0... Since, she was a baby. She's always been a favorite of mine. And to think, she got me this contract with you Europeans. How wonderful! How absolutely wonderful!"

Herod towered over Andre, and Andre could see where Angelica got her tall features. He figured that Herod was over seven-foot tall. He looked so handsome and highly professional that he was alluring, magnetic, and Andre had this great sense of wanting to please him even though he just met him.

"Your excitement is contagious. I'm so glad to have family helping family, don't you think?" asked Andre.

"Yes, yes, my new friend. Now, let me show you our operation. Oh, Angelica, did you know the Count and Sister Jessica were here yesterday? What a wonderful couple, don't you think?" remarked Herod while watching Angelica closely after his comment. He expected an explosion, more hoped for it, but didn't get it.

"Yes, Uncle, yes. They're made for each other. Tell me, Uncle. Have you bet on the horses, lately?" she asked while staring directly into his eyes.

Herod looked mysteriously at her, and then realized what the question was about. "Oh, my dear niece, I stopped that years ago. If I did bet, it would be only on the best and most spirited filly. I would even venture to say the filly that strikes, I mean, comes out of the gate first will always be the winner."

Angelica got the message and in a millisecond decided what to do. She would be the first to strike, and she'd be the only one standing. By this evening, the Count would be dead.

The plant tour showed Andre massive robotic machines producing hundreds of thousands of chips per minute. Herod was terribly proud of his small Babylonian kingdom.

"You see, Andre, here is the main production plant where we box and pack them; and with every box of two thousand chips, we include a shipment of 500 I.D. scanners produced from our scanner production in another building. No sense in giving out this kind of technology if no one has scanners to use them."

"Where are the shipments for America? I don't see any labels marked for them." Andre handled the shipping labels and saw labels for every country but the U.S., Britain, Ireland, Canada, and Israel.

"Didn't you tell me that you alternate the boxes between each participating country to ensure that each is given an equal allotment?" asked Andre.

This was part of the Angelica conspiracy against the U.S. and its partners. They were developing different kinds of chips for them. These chips had the capability of infecting a disabling neurological disease for its wearers. Apollyon had seeded Angelica's mind with this idea without giving her a way to trigger it. It was like one of those promises, "You build it, and they will come." So, Angelica built it based on this promise that when the time came that Apollyon would provide a way to activate the disease. The promise was to the Anti-Christ victor, and Apollyon already knew who would win—common sense and deep-seated respect for true evil made him bet on Angelica. He could always switch sides if he was wrong but knew he wouldn't be.

Herod went quiet and looked to Angelica for help. Andre noticed, being an astute reader of body language. "Uncle, is there something you're not telling me?"

Angelica stepped in, "Andre, we didn't tell you. We have a separate plant for those countries. We wanted to make sure they received special treatment. After all, the U.S. is the originator of the technology and the largest of our great financial union. Are they not? The rest have always been considered their most favorite allies. Those particular Anglo Saxons stick together, you know? We figured that Israel would feel better on the same agenda as the U.S., not wanting to be treated as the stepchild this time."

Andre didn't say a word for a moment, and then shrugged, "That sounds reasonable, but why are you two acting so mysterious about it? Angelica, don't keep secrets from me, no matter how small, okay? A marriage made in heaven can't be built on any secrets, even small ones."

Herod burst out in a suppressed laugh. "A marriage made in heaven! Oh, Angelica you really have a gem here! Oh, my, you really have a pearl!" and continued to try to contain his laughter but couldn't. He finally had to go to the lounge to get a drink of water before he calmed down.

"Andre, would you like to go see their plant. It's on the other side of our facility only three miles from here."

"No dear, but can anyone tell me when the European shipments will start? After all, just like you said, the U.S. and Anglo Saxon partners have already received their first shipments. Their first census deadline for most of their Southern states starts tomorrow. I'm sorry that I can't remember all those American Indian names they use for states and cities. I don't believe we have a single European city on schedule for our census, do we?"

"Yes and no. The U.S. has received more than enough to handle what they need to start. Their census deadlines for the rest of their country will follow every week divided between the Northeast, Midwest, Western, and West Coast states. The European chips are already on their way, and France will go first, starting with Paris in two days. The rest will follow immediately, and everyone will be as the Americans say, 'Even-Steven' within the next two weeks."

"Wonderful news! What is the drop-dead date for the completion of this?" asked Andre.

"We've calculated that it will take less than six weeks. Is that good enough? At the end of the six weeks, not a dime will flow, other than through our centralized system," answered Angelica.

"Angelica, your are a marvel. I'm so glad I assigned you the task of overseeing all this."

"Let's return to our hotel, Andre. I have some things I'd like you to go over me with," said Angelica winking at him. She didn't say it incorrectly. He knew exactly what she meant.

"Thank you, Uncle. I've got to go," replied Angelica.

She and Andre turned and walked briskly towards the parking lot. His limousine pulled up promptly, and they jumped in excitedly, giggling like two school kids. Once in, Angelica didn't wait to get to the hotel. She had them circling Baghdad suburbs for over two hours.

At one the next morning, Angelica slipped out of bed and left her exhausted Andre in a dead sleep. She needed him to stay out for a while. She moved quietly to the hotel lobby. Outside, one of her Uncle's limousines waited. She got in the backseat and nodded to her Uncle.

"I take it that Andre is a happy man?" he asked.

"He ought to be. I didn't ever let him rest. For a human, he's quite the long-distance runner—a marathon love."

"That's quite a compliment coming from you, Angelica. Driver, take us to the Embassy Hotel. I got what you ordered. This is from Sint's old private laboratory. He always bragged that he killed thousands with this potion. With the curses mixed with it, it will even work on angels if that's what you want."

"I haven't decided on that part yet. The Count is dead. I'll let you know about Sister Jessica."

They pulled up to the hotel, and the night clerk bowed ceremoniously towards Herod while immediately recognizing him. Angelica walked past the bellboy and turned to address him, "Is that you, Little Ahaz? I haven't seen you in awhile." She kept walking, not giving him a second notice or waiting for an answer.

As Angelica got on the elevator, she had a sense that Sister Jessica was not only near, but awake and waiting. This complicated things, but nothing was stopping her. At the penthouse floor, she moved into its lobby in front of a row of expansive suites. The Count's room was number 999. She noticed that Sister Jessica had turned the numbers upside down as a joke. Angelica chuckled under her breath. As she started to knock, she changed her mind. For the first time since coming to earth to be with Andre, she changed into her true angel form.

Her dark wings shot out and wrapped her tall body with their black feathers. She felt the freedom of her natural form and breathed deeply while feeling her own dark star eyes pulsating within her head. She watched as dark nails appeared with talon sharpness, and she stretched enjoying the additional height of her normal angel form. She put the bottle of dark liquid in her belted waist and pulled a long sword from a sheath on her back. It rang loudly as the metal against metal gave her away. Without a moment to lose, she kicked the door in and rolled artfully through the door while taking on a defensive posture. Sister Jessica didn't move but watched her from the back of the door while also being in her natural angel form.

"I knew you couldn't resist coming for him after our visit. You're scared of me, aren't you? You're scared that I'll win. I knew you couldn't resist doing it this way. You'll never have the patience like me to wait it out. You've killed all his competitors and anyone that came against him. I didn't. I did it the old fashion way with money and at the polls. You'll never be as good as I've been."

Sister Jessica drew her sword and lunged for Angelica. Angelica lifted herself off the floor and levitated over her head, then viciously swung her sword that barely missed Jessica's head. Sister Jessica lunged again and plunged her sword into Angelica's lower abdomen while Angelica shrieked and rolled back onto the floor.

Sister Jessica didn't attack as expected but seemed to be toying with her like a cat with a mouse. Angelica held her sword in one hand and placed her other hand over her wound to instantly heal.

"Your plan might work if I'm in charge, not you. Your Uncle Herod told me about the American alliance's plant. When I win, I will be given the trigger from Apollyon, not you: to the victor go the spoils."

They faced each other with swords poised while carrying on a conversation about end times that revealed more than just jealousy and rage but a certainty about their tasks that made the Anti-Christ the ultimate trophy.

Angelica responded, "I know what to do. I've got the guts to do it. You won't win. The Count won't win. That silly Nephilim won't win. I know what she wants to do. I saw it in her eyes. She's going to try to take back the money. She thinks that she can win by being more murderous than me. That's why I'll win. It will take a murderer to do this, not a negotiator or a politician. That's all you are. You're a stupid witch who thinks the old ways are gone; when in reality, they will be the only ways that win. I'll kill more Christians in the next six months than she's ever seen in her lifetime. Our concentration camps won't reeducate them. I'll have the Nazi ways and methods resurrected 10,000 fold. Every church building and every biblical reference to God will be burned from Europe. Nothing will be left but us. In six months, the United States and its alliances will be so disabled by those chips that they'll not even be able to fight their way out of a paper bag. They'll be out of the picture, leaving only Andre and me."

Angelica reached into her belt and pulled out Sint's bottle. She turned her back on Sister Jessica and deliberately gave her an advantage, but it was worth the gamble. While she quickly poured some of the dark liquid on her sword tip, Sister Jessica seized the moment. She raced for Angelica and ran her sword through her back exiting her stomach, but Angelica continued to doctor the sword midst her pain. She placed the bottle back under her belt while faking her anguish. It hurt, but not that bad.

Sister Jessica pulled the sword out to take advantage of the moment and knew she wouldn't be able to heal that fast from such a terrible wound. Angelica turned towards her while withdrawing just enough to get her own sword well positioned. She let Sister Jessica get the advantage again and purposely left herself open. Sister Jessica charged again and ran her sword through Angelica's chest. When Sister Jessica drew close enough, Angelica awkwardly swung her sword in a shallow semicircle that barely cut Sister Jessica's face, lips, and chin. She almost couldn't do it for the pain, but knew that it was enough, even though more of a deep scratch.

Sister Jessica thought to herself, "Why didn't she try to cut my head off? She could have at least tried. She would have. She knew that Angelica must now be in terrible pain." She got her answer soon enough. Angelica pushed Sister Jessica away from her with a swift kick to her chest, then jumped up from her supposed agony while still pushing intestines back into herself and healing as fast as possible.

"You're just not savage enough to do this, Sister. You'll have to excuse me while I go kill your husband. You're not going anywhere. In fact, if you watch yourself in the mirror, you'll see your flesh melting from your body. It's a gift from Sint Hades; remember him, Apollyon's great assassin? You're dead, eternally, little girl, forever, this time."

Sister Jessica shrieked as she felt her skin disappearing from her body. She felt the old curses of Sint's poison eating away at her and felt the terrible pain of it sucking the life from her. It was as if a bottle of sulfuric acid had been poured on her. But, this acid was full of the enchantments of the dark places, the only combination of evils that could kill an angel. She ran for the mirror, placed her hands flat on it, and watched the flesh melt from her fingers and causing her to slide to the floor in a mess. Angelica turned to see the Count walking sleepily from his bedroom after having awakened from his deep drug sleep.

"What in the heck is going on? Oh, no, what are you? What is this?"

Angelica savored the moment. She pushed some more on her stomach wound and rubbed her chest, healing both now. She danced in a circle in front of him singing, "The wicked witch is dead! The wicked witch is dead! Now, so are you!"

She jumped on him and knocked him to the floor. Sitting on top of him with her knees pressing on his armpits, she quickly got out the remaining potion and grabbed his face. Pushing his chin down forcibly, she poured the poison into his mouth and pushed his jaws closed, not wanting it spit back at her. He twisted under her weight and felt his insides melting in terrible pain. Angelica felt less of him under her than before. She stood up as he joined Sister Jessica in another mess on the floor.

    

Chapter 13

Escape

Jeff threw a couch pillow at Sal from her bedroom door. She awoke abruptly and comically realized his caution.

"Seen any watermelons trucks, yet?" she asked laughing.

"No, not a sign. You have only three hours before noon, not much time. They have to show up soon. I don't know where this commune is, but you have to get out of Davidson County before the CE's put up their roadblocks.

"I'm packed. Let me get a shower, and I'll be ready to go. Are you going to follow us in your Hummer or take your bike?" she asked while wrapping herself modestly in a blanket as she walked towards the bathroom.

"Both. Hey, I could always trade one of them for something if I had to," he commented while staring at her intensely as she walked away from him. She closed the bathroom door in his face as he followed too close.

Jeff pulled the Hummer out to the street curb and sat on its hood. If the watermelon truck came by, he wanted to make sure he could get them to wait until Sal got down. An hour passed that left Jeff saluting various circling cars and trucks he thought were staking out their territories.

It was 10 a.m. when he saw that crazy black man walking towards him. He got big-time goose bumps and thought nervously, "This has to be Caleb. He said he was, didn't he? Why not? Couldn't angels do or be just about anything or anybody?"

Caleb saw a truck full of watermelons headed his way. They would get to Jeff's corner about the same time he did. Jeff saw Caleb glance beyond him and jumped with excitement when he saw the truck approaching.

"Sal! Sal! You got to get down here now! Hurry! I see the watermelon truck! Hurry! They may not stop for a marked person!" he yelled as he started waving at the truck to stop.

Sal heard him yelling and grabbed her backpack, her sister's Bible, and stuck that troublesome cross in her pocket. As she ran out the door, the man in the apartment across the hall was leaving too. He turned towards her and looked directly at her hand—no mark. He looked at his watch and frowned.

"You're not marked. You're not going to be, are you?" He grabbed her and threw her against the hall wall that caused Nikki's Bible to fall out of her backpack.

"You're not marked, and you're a believer. Little girl, you're going to make me some money today!"

Jeff couldn't take the time to come back to get her. What happened to her? Why wasn't she down already? He was panicking. Caleb reached Jeff's Hummer and nodded towards the apartment. Jeff knew what to do. Caleb stepped out into the street directly in front of the watermelon truck.

Jeff ran towards the apartment and heard Sal screaming, "Jeff, help me!"

The man grabbed her as she tried to get past him, and this time her breath was knocked out of her when she hit the floor. He took full advantage while wrapping her hands with an electrical cord electricians left in the hall from fixing the lights a week ago. She was kicking at him while gasping for air and unable to yell.

The man kept looking for someone to come, but no one did. "Looks like your boy friend ran off on you. You're my gold mine now."

"Not likely!" shouted Jeff as he tackled him with a full-body waist slam. He hit him so hard that Jeff heard his ribs caving in as he hit the ground. Jeff unhooked his pocketknife hanging from his belt and threw it Sal's way. She grabbed at it while desperately trying to move it between her hands but could barely cut it. Jeff stood up and kicked the man several times as a warning not to get up. The man turned towards the hall wall while crying and whimpering.

He babbled, "I just wanted to make some money. That's all."

Jeff saw Sal struggling with the knife and took it from her. He cut her loose and pushed her towards the street. He spotted the Bible on the floor and picked it up, then quickly followed her, almost falling down the stairs.

Just as they got to the street, they saw the watermelon truck stopped by Caleb. The driver was standing in front of Caleb yelling at him to move. Caleb kept bowing and mimicking singing. Several others got out to try to move him out of the way. The scene they were making made them all nervous. They kept looking about them for CE's or worse.

Sal was yelling at them, "Don't leave without me, please!"

The driver stopped pushing on Caleb for a second, "Who in the heck are you?"

"I'm hitching a ride. That's what I am," replied Sal as she rushed to Caleb's side.

"Who says?" asked the man sarcastically. He spotted Jeff coming out of the apartments carrying a Bible, but noticed he was marked—the chip wound still red with a crusty scab.

"Lady, I don't know you. I don't care to know you. We aren't going to give you a ride anywhere," he shouted nervously, then looked at passing cars with people staring at them too inquisitively.

Jeff interrupted, "Yes, you are! She's unmarked. We know—who you are—and where you're going."

The man looked confused, "How could you know anything about us?"

"Because, I told them," announced Caleb, still in his human form.

"How would you know anything about us?" asked the man, still more confused.

"Get in the front seat, Sal. I'll drive. You get in the back with the rest of your group. Jeff, you follow in that Hummer thing. Here, give me your Bible. Here sir, take it. Let's get out of here."

The man was so flustered that he screamed, "Hold on! Hold on a blasted minute! Will someone please tell me what's going on?"

Caleb was frustrated this time. He couldn't show himself but felt they wouldn't believe him if he didn't. He looked up and down the street. There wasn't any traffic so he pushed the man forcibly against the truck door and changed to his true angel form, wings and all, even pulling out his massive sword from the sheath on his back. He instantly turned back into his human form again.

"Does that answer your question?" asked Caleb while watching the surprised looks from everyone except Sal.

Sal reached out and grabbed him around his waist. "I knew it was you. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"Do what the angel said, Harry," replied Mandy's voice from the truck.

"Holy Mackerel!" shouted Harry. "Get in the truck, please, drive, get in! Let's get out of here! Do you know where we're going?" asked the driver.

"Yes! What kind of angel would I be if I didn't know that?" replied Caleb laughing.

"You're marked wrong, son, but we'll just have to deal with that later. Follow us," he said to Jeff as he noticed him getting into the Hummer.

The watermelon truck was piled high with bright green watermelons, and they pushed through Nashville traffic with 15 other passengers who peeked out through the narrow side slats in a false floor. There were four families, three with newborns, and Mandy with her friend from the PEC Center. They were praying and rejoicing over their angel luck. It was 11 a.m. before they got to the outskirts of Nashville while having to follow a long military convoy to the edge of town. The Davidson County line was 15 more miles. The traffic was a snarled mess, and they sat for another 30 minutes only ten miles away from the line at 11:30 a.m.

"Why did you do all this for me?" asked Sal to Caleb.

"Because, you're part of the plan. You may not know it, doubt you would, but your mother and father are very proud of you now. They will see the glory of God sprouting trees of righteousness in you."

"Have you met my mother and father?" she asked with tears in her eyes from his comment.

"Of course! They're a great couple, don't you think?"

"Oh, Caleb, I can't thank you enough for telling me that. I am still considering, you know?"

"Yes, I know. But, it's still your decision. It has to be. I want to say something to you, but I don't want you take it the wrong way."

"What's that?" asked Sal as she stared into his crazy man's face.

"I can't tell you looking like this. Here, just let me change a little." His face turned to the real Caleb and looked mismatched on the skinny black man's body.

"You look funny, Caleb," laughed Sal.

"Well, that's not exactly the effect I wanted. Just look into my eyes, will you? Just for a minute?" he asked as he reached out touching her face and rubbing her mouth with his thumb.

The traffic was speeding up, and he looked into her eyes and back on the road again while hoping no one noticed him. "I just wanted you to know that my assignment to you is personal."

"Personal, just what does that mean?" asked Sal mystified.

"It means, since I was created, I've never bothered to take a second look at any heir-servant angel or human women, but you have my full attention. It means that I care for you far more than just an angel on a mission. I've said too much. I'm being goofy." He was embarrassed and changed back again, then dropped his hand to his lap, and then grabbed the gearshift working them down rather than braking as he came up on another slowdown.

"Do you mean that you have a crush on me? Wow, you sure know how to catch girl off guard. What in the world am I supposed to say to that?" she asked while shaking her head in disbelief.

"Don't say anything, please. I just wanted to let you know, that's all," he said as they moved within five miles of the county line.

"Look, there's men with roadblock stuff on the side of the road looking at their watches. We're on a countdown, now. Are we going to make it?" exclaimed Sal.

"We have to. Too much is at stake. Way too much. Do you see those very tall good-looking men with the military, the officers?"

"Yes, one third of them look like that."

"They're dark angels. They're pulling the strings on all this," he replied as he waved at them as they passed by them. They seemed to focus on each car while trying to see if anyone warranted being pulled aside. They were also looking for Mandy and her friend from the PEC. It seems that their escape was quite an embarrassment. With all the other activity going on, they were visibly distracted and had just about given up catching them.

At the county line, the military was starting to pull their transports across the road as the clock showed 11:58 a.m. Caleb noticed the movement and gunned the truck. Just as a transport moved halfway across, Caleb swerved to the left—his back bumper clipping the front bumper of the transport. It stopped from the small clip, and it gave Jeff just enough time to squeeze through on the left side while scraping the concrete median for over 20 feet. There was some yelling and shouting from the to-be road blockers, then a waving them off as they sped away.

The military swarmed with great efficiency with each soldier armed with I.D. scanners. Military police were standing by to take violators away as they were found. Some of unmarked that tried to get out before the deadline had stopped their cars trying to run past them. They were shot down in a hail of bullets.

The sound from the back of the truck was a crescendo of praise and rejoicing. They had made it; and now, they approached Murfreesboro. As Caleb pulled through downtown Murfreesboro, Jeff pulled beside them doing a thumbs up.

Sal moved closer to Caleb in spite of his form and put her arm through his as they drove back towards Highway 70S. Caleb was happier for his honesty; although Aaron and his old friends were talking about his Sal crush as the best gossip in heaven.

Aaron only said, "He shouldn't have told her that."

Irish nudged him in protest, "I think it was sweet, romantic. I love it."

"You would, Irish," replied Aaron as he encircled her with his arms and kissing her tenderly. "Actually, I think it was pretty neat myself. Remind you of anyone?" he asked while knowing that he did something similar to Irish thousands of years before.

The rolling hills of Woodbury appeared just after leaving Murfreesboro. As they approached, the news of the murder of the Count and Sister Jessica was filling the headlines and blasting across the radio. No one accounted for how they died, just that they had been killed in the Embassy Hotel in Baghdad.

Caleb said from a song, "One little, two little, three little Indians."

Sal asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, the Count was just a pawn in Apollyon's plans, but that Sister Jessica was another matter. She's a dark angel. She must have been killed by another dark angel. That's scary. They're murdering their own, now! I bet I know exactly who it was, too."

"Who?" asked Sal.

"Andre Montplier's wife, Angelica," replied Caleb.

"An angel is married to Montplier? How is that possible?" she was shocked and looked at Caleb's face going blank for a minute.

"Sal, angels marry humans all the time. You just don't know about it. They even have children called Nephilims. We think that the President's wife is a Nephilim. She might be even more dangerous to us in the U.S., than Angelica."

"So angels can do that? They're allowed to be with humans? That's wonderful!" her enthusiasm uncovered some of her own thoughts, and she turned ten-shades red and went quiet.

Caleb thought her reaction was like getting a presidential vote of confidence. At least, he knew she didn't reject him.

    
Chapter 14

An Odd Couple

Alex woke early, feeling a great sense of excitement without knowing why. It had only been ten days since the meltdown, but he and Abigail were finally becoming tolerant of one another. He was also starting to stay up late in prayer. He didn't really know how; and when Abigail tried to explain the dynamics of it, she couldn't. She wasn't a believer so she had never experienced its true nature. Alex thought of it more as just talking with God and listening. He found prayer best suited him by settling into a black leather recliner that was squeezed into the kitchen. He moved it back into his room every evening, but Abigail liked it too and forced him to bring it back for her to sit in each morning. He'd lay back in it with his palms up in quiet reverence. Sometimes he would fall asleep; but when he woke, he was always in his prayerful position and always felt rested and continued to say praise words like, "Praise the Lord." "Thank you, Jesus." Or, "Jesus," without stop. He was never taught to pray that way. It seemed to come naturally. He always sensed a great peace and God's presence.

When he closed his eyes, he kept thinking he saw images of people, angels, and heavenly scenes. He would hear them speaking, praying, and saying the same praise things he was saying. It wouldn't last long, but he thought he was somehow connecting to others like him. He felt like he was connecting to others who wanted to know more about God and to draw nearer to Him. There was a consistent image that kept coming back to him. It had to do with a place in Tennessee where thousands of believers were gathering. He saw a very old man praying who would always say the same things, "Lord, protect those escaping to us. Give us the strength to withstand the beast."

In these mini-visions, Alex started recognizing the surrounding countryside. It was full of rolling, interlacing green hills. There were very few homes near this place; and as his mind traveled, he seemed to be looking out a front window of a car that he was driving. Each time he had this waking dream, he got a little closer to this praying old man. He thought that the hills were too soft and gradual to be East Tennessee or near Monteagle. He was haunted by the fact that he'd seen this place before. After all, he had been just about everywhere in Tennessee at one time or another while delivering or repossessing cars.

As Alex was heading back from the kitchen, he looked over on the computer table and saw a rock. It was a crystal of some kind. He picked it up and felt its weight. It just filled his hand, but was immensely heavy. He was certain that it was a crystal.

He remembered, "Oh, yes, it's a Tennessee geode!" His memories came flooding back to him. He remembered repossessing a car in Woodbury several years ago. He had to go up Hwy 53. Off to the right just near a horse farm, he stopped to go to the bathroom. He pulled up to a white pump house beside a creek. After slipping behind the building to do his business, he looked at the creek for a moment and saw mounds of geodes. It was hard to imagine the expanse of such a scene. He had always been a rock hound as a kid. The mounds were five foot high, and the creek was full all the way to the pump house with crystal, agate, jasper, flint, and fossilized crystal geodes. He spent some time picking up some and throwing them in his wrecker before going to pick up the car.

"Woodbury!" he shouted loudly. "It's Woodbury! The man is in Woodbury!"

Abigail came stumbling out of her room and went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. "Can't sleep again, Gov?" she said, smiling at him and kept thinking how safe she felt with him. She had always been alone in the convent. That was the way it was in the silence of her sect. She felt it was her way of running away from the pain of disastrous early years in which she kept falling in love, getting jilted, falling out of love, running away, going to college, dropping out, then dropping in again. Being a nun was safe to her. It was her way of protecting herself against herself. It protected her against her own failures and inabilities to cope with the real world. That's why she liked being with Alex, the non-threatening Alex, the safe, nonjudgmental, gentle Alex.

She could rely on him never to change. He was like a human Ford truck. He was everything that she had ever looked for in a man, except for his homeliness. After a week or so, that didn't even bother her. His slight sense of humor, coupled with his naivety, challenged her well-lit humor and sarcasm. All this kept her from pushing away from him.

Alex watched her lovingly. He saw her looking at him as he studied his rock and wondered what she was thinking. He enjoyed her company and felt somehow that it would tear him apart for this hiding time to stop. He had been praying about that and for an angel to come visit. He wanted to let the angel know that he wouldn't mind if they stayed together longer.

His hunger for the Word of God kept him pestering her for answers; but now, it wasn't bothering her like it did before. He felt like she was actually enjoying God talk and teaching him things about the Lord and the Bible.

Alex looked at her pinching up her eyes and face. She reached up and grabbed her neck in obvious discomfort.

"Got a crick?" he asked as he moved to the two-cushion couch at the end of the kitchen, then patted at the cushion next to him.

They spent most of their time in the kitchen. That's where the computer stayed, always on, night and day, and logged on to the Internet. Just perhaps someone would try to get them a message. Nothing so far, but they hoped. An e-mail would be nice.

"Yeah, must have slept on it wrong. Do you have some aspirin?" she asked while walking slowly towards him and handing him a cup of coffee, then sat down next to him with hers. They both were in their bathrobes and looked like an old married couple, like peas of the same ragged pod.

"Let me help—if you don't mind?" he said nervously, not knowing what her response would be. He put a hand on the place she was squeezing, and then nervously pulled it away.

She gratefully moaned in relief, "Would you? That would be great. Oh, have we got any e-mail, Gov?

"Nothing, but remember, either we will, or we'll get a visit from an intuition soon. They said it would take some time. I think that we'll be hearing from Woodbury soon. I keep dreaming or getting glimpses of a man down there. I recognize the terrain. There are a few places that look like Woodbury. It's special like Sewanee."

"You're getting visions, now? Don't go weird on me, Gov. Woodbury, what in the world could be going on there? Here, let me make it easier for you," she replied, then let her robe slip off her shoulders down past her shoulder blades exposing a small sleeveless t-shirt.

"Are you sure?" asked Alex anxiously, never having been this close to a woman in his life. Never mind getting ready to rub one.

"Sure, Gov. Relax. I am. You know I haven't been a nun all my life, not quite as stiff as the rest of them. After all, if we can't take care of each other, no one else will. Just squeeze on my neck right here," she said as she picked up his hand and put it on her neck, then squeezed his hand against the spot in emphasis.

When he touched her neck, he squeezed it gently, and Abigail groaned and arched her neck backward trying to tense it up. "You're pretty good with those big hands of yours. You could hire out with a technique like that. Don't worry, I won't break. Do it harder." She pushed herself closer to him with part of her back and thigh parked without room between them.

Alex was blushing as he felt the smoothness of her skin and the blood rushing to her muscles under his fingers. He'd never ever had a girlfriend, and now he was feeling a rush of excitement from massaging a nun's neck. He continued to work over her shoulders and out from her spine down to her middle back as if he had been doing it professionally for years. He had seen someone doing it at an airport once in one of those chairs. He opted to have one himself while waiting on a flight connection. He was just copying what he saw the lady doing for her other customers.

"Does it feel good, Abigail?" he asked.

She gasped, "You have no idea. I feel like a ball of knots. It seems like my whole upper body has been stressed. I haven't done a thing to cause it, unless it's putting up with you. That's it. It's your fault," she laughed and turned to wink at him.

He leaned his face next to her ear and took a chance. "Abigail, I like being with you. Do you like being with me?" He was embarrassed at how hokey it sounded.

She went silent for a moment and leaned back against him. As she laid her head back on his near shoulder and looked him in his eyes, she whispered, "What if I do? Would it make any difference?" She nudged him from his trance-like state with the command, "Keep up the rubbing, Gov, and I'll like you a lot more," as she chuckled at their nearness, refusing to run this time—just enjoying it.

She thought to herself, "I do like this old goat. I can't believe it. I really do like him. I'm not running this time. Well, where would I run to anyway?"

There was a moment when Alex was moving his face close to her neck. He wanted to kiss her. He felt so compelled by it that it bothered him. He broke into an enormous sweat, and his body temperature was peaking like a furnace. Still, he drew his lips closer to her neck hairs without her knowing it.

Suddenly, they both heard, "You have mail!"

It startled them so much that he flung her from the couch as he jumped up and dived for the computer. She fell forward leaving her robe behind. She grabbed at it struggling to get it on, but Alex still noticed, and she knew it; she was blushing this time.

Recovering quickly, she heard Alex ask, "Abigail, will you do the honors. I'm so nervous about an e-mail that I'd delete it before getting it read." He sat down in the computer chair, and Abigail pulled up a kitchen chair beside him. She placed her hand on his shoulder as she leaned towards the screen with him. He reached up and patted it tenderly. Once again, their eyes met and neither of them said a word for several minutes. They just looked at each other.

"Yes, I'll do the honors, Gov," she said, breaking the moment and finding herself a little out of breath while feeling a little giddy like a school girl with the beginnings of a crush. She aptly clicked on the read-me screen, and before reading it, clicked on print. She wasn't taking any chances either.

"Look, it's from a guy called Caleb. From a website called, 'unmarked.com.' Do you know him?"

"Yes, he's an intuition," he remarked again as he saw her smile knowingly.

"Okay, okay, Alex, just call them angels from now on. Is that better?" She put her arm through his, and they both leaned over the printed transmission.

It read, "Alex, hope things are well. Got your message days ago. Heading your way soon. Sending you two kids and a dog to take care of. Prepare their rooms. Delete this transmission and turn off your computer. There will be no more contact until you hear the dog bark. Keep your oath, Alex."

"Two kids? A dog? What's that all about? What oath?" asked Abigail confused.

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I'm taking a cold shower," and he got up and walked towards one of the hall bathrooms.

Behind him, he heard her say, "You're not the only one."

    
Chapter 15

The Dark Idea

Cassidy, Terrone, and Pendwight gathered before their wide-screen TV watching the funeral procession of the Count and Sister Jessica. It was filled with a deathly fanfare of ancient Austria complete with the famous funeral dirge and horse-drawn carriages.

Cassidy watched Angelica intensely and said out-loud, "That is one dangerous lady, one very dangerous lady."

"Cassidy, are you talking about Angelica again?" he asked while angrily watching her staring at the TV.

Pendwight agreed, "Cassidy is right. Every fiber of my being gets goose bumps when I look at her. She can't be trusted. Did you hear that she opened up the old concentration camps on the very same locations as the old ones but extended the facilities for miles? They say she even has the furnaces working again. I just can't figure out who it is she could be targeting unless it's believers."

"It's the believers, professor. You can count on it. I have a funny feeling that our country and Angelica are in competition. What better way to prove that you're in control than to take out the believers? Didn't I hear it was her note on the research report that gave us our slogan, 'Don't let them do it to us again.' I can't believe she beat me to that. I thought that was my idea. It's like she thinks exactly like me. That's a terribly scary thought. That also makes her even more dangerous," stated Cassidy frankly.

"Oh, sweetie, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. You're not dangerous. You're my sweetheart, the President's love, right?" he said as he kissed her forehead and went to pour himself a double finger of Jack Daniels.

"Oh, Terrone, I think you have to be the most naive man on earth. You've lived with me all these years and have seen me in action time after time. You mean, you still think of me as that pretty little girl you married? Can't you understand that in spite of what you may think, I'm one of the most dangerous women on earth?" She looked at Pendwight as she said it and saw him nodding in agreement.

Terrone started to protest, shocked by the obvious confession. "Don't Terrrone, let me finish. This whole thing is a battle between Angelica and me. I know it now. I know without a doubt that she killed the Count and Sister Jessica—uno on uno. I would've done the same thing if I were her."

She continued, "It's too bad we have such a distance between us. If she were here, it would be her or me, rather than Sister Jessica. Or should I say, you and me versus her and Andre. Terrone, you are in the right place and time to influence the whole world. You have to claim your right to that kingship."

"I'm not a king! I'm just an ex-boxer who got into politics because my wife asked me to. It worked, and it was practically a fluke. You know that. If it hadn't been that my only competition died unexpectedly, I never would've made it. Then, there was that accidental death of that news guy who was giving me such a bad rap about my stand against organized religion and their tax breaks. I've had all the breaks. You know that. Now, here I am. And, you aren't that terrible person you're describing. I know you aren't."

Cassidy got up and knelt before Terrone's lounge chair looking up into his face. She reached up and placed her hand tenderly on his face. He took it and kissed her fingers affectionately.

"You're meant to be the king of this world. Don't ask me how I know it. I just do. Angelica and those Europeans won't stand in our way. I'll prove to her who's strongest. We'll outmatch her with more ruthless ways."

She continued while pushing her face within an inch of his, then speaking without breathing, "Now, listen to me. I am that dark witch you don't want me to be. My mother was a witch. My grandmother was a witch. My father was a dark angel named Dar-Raven. I killed your competition and that bothering little news guy. You still are the most naive President in existence, but I'm not going to let it stop us from taking our place in history. In spite of it, you will rule!"

Terrone started trembling from her talk. He believed her, and there were facts that were lining up in his mind. Event after event that used to be coincidences weren't now. There was her abnormal strength and abilities beyond what any human had. He was counting them up and the sum total was scaring him. He jumped up, pushed her aside, and ran into the bathroom to throw up. He came out a minute later, grabbed his whisky bottle, went back in, and locked the door behind him.

"Pendwight, you've always known, haven't you?"

"Yes, something deep down within me, even some dreams. I can't explain it, but I believe you. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Without hesitation, she stated, "What can we do to prove to the world that we're in control of things? We have to better than that dark witch. What can we do?"

She talked excitedly as she walked around the room, "I don't think that even she has the guts to kill all the believers. She's just trying to show us up, doing one better. If we did something to kill a thousand, she'd only kill five thousand."

"There's only one alternative," he interrupted while feeling exhilaration from the dark idea racing through his mind.

"I think I know what you're going to say but go ahead." She closed her eyes preparing to hear what she expected.

"We'll kill them all. We'll kill every single one of them. We'll do it in one day, one afternoon, one hour, all at once. Angelica will think that we are weaker while we restrain ourselves. It will slow her down a little. When the time is right, we'll strike."

"Let the communes continue to form, right? Don't stop them, right? Watch them. Count them. Locate them. Do we have the capacity to take them all out at once like you said? Can we target them so specifically as to not suffer heavy casualties from our own?" she fired at him while accenting each statement with a fisted blow into a couch cushion.

"Yes," answered Pendwight. "Haven't you seen those proposals from Britain? They're talking about pulling away from the European Union, including Canada and Ireland, supported by some non-EU countries like Israel, Mexico, and a string of other Scandinavian countries. They don't like Montplier's bunch having complete control over their money. They think when we all pull away from the EU group that we'll be attacked by them. They want to throw the first punch."

See!" he said as he excitedly waved a three-inch-bound document in her face.

He continued to rattle on, "They've developed the world's smallest nuclear-carrying aircraft. It's a one-man job. It's only ten-feet long. The pilot lies on his stomach. It looks like a little dragonfly. It can handle one nuclear warhead, just a mini one, kind of like a 1,000-pounder. Here's a picture of it. See!"

Cassidy grabbed at the document and thrashed through the pages at an accelerated rate. She was memorizing every detail and soaking up the information while calculating the possibilities.

"What do they want from us?" she asked sarcastically.

"They devised a plan for all the countries to help build and store them until they get enough to overwhelm the EU. They want us to manufacture the nukes, and they say together, we can have millions produced in a matter of months, even weeks. With this kind of plane, they can fly an armada of nuclear missiles right on top of the enemy site way below radar. With this kind of craft, we could win back control over the funds and dominate Europe ourselves. We could eliminate every single believer's commune within hours with just under a hundred thousand of them!"

"Why are the Brits so concerned about what they look like?" asked Cassidy while pointing to a drawing of one.

"They do? Who cares? What is it they want it to look like, anyway?" asked Pendwight as he peered at a colored drawing.

"A grand English Lion's Head decorates the whole front of the plane. It looks like something from a British circus," she replied mockingly. "Look at the colors, Professor. They have the lion surrounded with a bright, red shield. What is that, anyway? An air brake in case they get going too fast?" she replied sarcastically, then slung the plan to the floor disgustedly. After a minute of silence, her mind started putting something together as she replied, "Wait, that's exactly what it is!"

Something else bothered her about the way it looked. It looked familiar like something she had seen or read about long ago, but she just couldn't place it. She remembered something about the heads of the horses were like the heads of lions; and out of their mouths came fire, smoke, and brimstone. Still, she couldn't remember why this was so familiar, and finally, she just shrugged.

She picked the plans up and turned to where she left off. She studied silently and noticed the rest of the plane with its bright-blue-yellow racing stripes, then she pointed to a picture of a small nuke laying just under the nose of it. It stuck out in front of the nose of the plane like a big, overgrown lip. She was already developing a plan but couldn't resist another British slam, "These guys must have gotten drunk when they put this together. It looks ridiculous! Then, why not drones instead of manned?"

"But who cares? It's just what we need. According to the figures, they can build 10,000 of these for the same price as a single F16! It's pure genius, pure genius!"

She actually agreed with Pendwight but wasn't letting on so easily. She had to seem wise and deliberate. In her mind, she already saw the Christian communes covered by mushroom-shaped clouds. She commented to herself, "These are reusable for another time," then she continued to go through the document page after page.

"Yes, and they even use some new nuclear-laced fuel. One pound of the fuel can carry a vehicle 1,000 miles. That's from Mexico. Our NAFTA financing paid for all that. We're just getting a return on our money now."

He continued, "Mexico added themselves in for a big stake in the profits, but the fuel is about all they can handle. Canada has already volunteered to help in building the planes. Britain can't produce nukes or the planes because of their close proximity to the EU. They know they'd get caught. They need us all working together to pull this off. They can send us plenty of financing and come up with the design, but that's as far as they can go. It's up to Canada and us to build the plane, us to provide the nukes, and Mexico to bring us the fuel."

"Pendwight, did your read how many of these things they want to build? My Hades! They have to be kidding! They must be making enough for every soldier in service. There won't be an infantry left. They'll be flying these little dragonflies, instead," she spoke more from admiration of its scale than doubt of its success.

"Actually, no, how many?" asked Pendwight, almost afraid Cassidy was getting ready to ridicule his suggestion, which could mean she was ready to go into one of her fits.

"Two hundred million. I want you to call the Prime Minister and start production as soon as possible," she replied very calmly, then noticed a sigh of relief from Pendwight. Then she recalled something else that talked about horsemen again. She thought she must going crazy. Where did all these thoughts keep coming from?

A small insert fell from the British document, and Cassidy bent down to pick it up. "What's this, another British circus plane?"

Pendwight blushed and shyly answered, "No, it's just something else they want us to help them with. Don't pay attention to it. It costs too much money."

"Since when do you make decisions like that?" she answered curtly. Cassidy sat in the sofa chair, and between paragraphs, could still hear Terrone throwing up. She thought, "He'll get over it," and continued to read.

Thirty minutes later, she screamed, "Pendwight! Pendwight! Get your scrawny butt in here!"

Pendwight came running out of his office suite with his cell phone in one hand and a portion of the British plans in his other—the part with the Prime Minister's phone number on it. As he came towards her, he said loudly, "Hold on a minute, Prime Minister. The President's wife is speaking."

Pendwight made sure Cassidy heard, "Prime Minister," and watched her carefully as he handed her the phone and retreated several chairs away as a matter of safety.

"Prime Minister?" asked Cassidy while keeping her tone down on purpose.

"Yes," Pendwight answered quietly.

"Prime Minister, has Pendwight given you the good news? He has? Then, we will start production immediately. Have the blueprints brought over by courier as soon as possible. Are you willing to train our pilots too? Yes, here in the U.S., of course."

"Now, let's talk about these satellites. From the information you gave us, all but three communication satellites are still operational. Two of those will be removed from service in the next 90 days. You want us launch two of your own satellites to replace them, right? For this, we'll gain control and first-right's usage above everyone else, right? I noticed that these satellites could be used offensively too. They seem to have the capability of launching missiles from space. I don't suppose you've told the EU about that? No, I didn't think so. We would arm them? I don't suppose you have blueprints on the missiles that would work on this system, would you? We can use standard inventory with slight modifications? How convenient."

"These satellites are capable of overriding any and all communications in existence. Isn't that true? As well as, listening to an ant farting? Especially, a French, Russian, Arab, or Chinese ant?" She laughed at her fart humor.

"What makes the material of these satellites so different? They look like you're making them from the same dark-black metal that we use on our own stealth bombers. Can't be seen by radar. How is it that you think the U.S. could benefit? You mentioned a P.R. move?" Cassidy was weaving a network of information into another plan.

"We offer this as a peace offering for the benefit of the world. A grand gesture to the world, but all the time it's a way for us to keep watch on our enemies. It also looks like we're able to protect ourselves from a particular, unreachable vantage point. Quite a good idea. Why do you British have all the best ideas, lately? I like it."

She continued, "I just want to know one thing. If we launch it successfully and arm it, can we dictate the first-strike targets? Rome, maybe? Or maybe, even Israel? Just a joke, Prime Minister, just a joke."

"What are these symbols that you have on the drawings? One looks like a tree and the other a candlestick? An olive tree is the sign of peace and plenty. The candlestick is the sign of light and unity. How quaint. It's better than that racing car with wings we're going to build. Who said you British were humorless? From what I've seen, you might bleed ice water, but you've got a flair for the dramatic. Don't have a queen anymore to make over so you express yourselves through your weapons. Not a bad creative outlet. At least you're not coloring them pink and calling them the Barbie's," she laughed at her humor and fell back into her chair, which she had been circling like a caged tiger.

All of a sudden Cassidy had a phrase that flashed in her subconscious: "The two witnesses." It was gone as soon as it came, and she smacked her face with the palm of her hand to bring herself back to the task at hand. This bothered and confused her more than anything. What did those words mean; can't I just talk to someone without all this trash in my mind? She never got an answer.

"I'm in. I mean the U.S. is in. I'll have Terrone send you the appropriate letters of intent tomorrow morning. Let's get this started. Oh, how is the census going? Haven't started but will soon. Good. We got our first shipment from Scorpion International in Baghdad yesterday. It's going to be hard, but stick in there. It'll be worth it in the end. My best regards, Prime Minister."

After hanging up, she stared at Pendwight, who kept especially quiet, not knowing what to expect. "Don't you ever shortcut me again! I make the decisions around here! I have the vision, and you're just piggybacking on them right now! I want to see everything you get in from now on, no matter how ridiculous it seems. Do you understand?" she glowered at him and seethed from the opportunity she almost missed. When the time came, she'd launch the first strikes directly into the heart of both Rome and Israel. Andre would be gone and so would the apple of Gods eye, Jerusalem itself.

    

Apollyon's Chamber

Apollyon watched Cassidy with great pride. He saw the pieces of his dark puzzle falling quite nicely in place. He couldn't have done it better himself. The competition between Cassidy and Angelica would cause the death of more believers than all his own attempts. Cassidy's brutality was the crown and glory of her Dar-Raven genes. Once believers were out of the way, God would be unable to mount an offensive against him. With the Holy Spirit gone along with His believers, the world would be an empty wasteland of spiritually bankrupt humans. Just the kind of wasteland he wanted, and he'd rebuild it his way this time.

With his dark angels, he would take the remaining humans and repopulate the world with dark Nephilims just like Cassidy. He would build an empire based on his own worship. He would resurrect the ancient ways of wizards, warlocks, and witches. He would continue to corrupt the earth until God left it alone and abandoned it to him. Then, he would mount his own attack on the heavens with his Nephilims and dark angels fighting side-by-side against the light. Nothing would stop them. They would rule heaven too. They would ruin it so God would leave forever. Apollyon would rule the high places and turn God's angels into his slaves for eternity. He laughed out-loud and continued to send more dark thoughts to both Angelica and Cassidy.

"That group that just left for Woodbury, was there an angel with them?" he asked, sensing it more than knowing.

Tare recalled the thoughts and sights from other dark angels that had been on I-24 when Caleb made it through. He replayed the scene from their thoughts and vision. "No one can tell, Dark Master. It looks like it was a small black man. You know the crazy man that kept bowing to everyone in Nashville. There was a Hummer that made it through behind him, but the boy driving was marked. One of our men saw his hand scabbed over as he turned the steering wheel. Would an angel have a marked person in their group?"

"Not likely. It was just a feeling, that's all. That crazy black man must not be all that crazy to be driving away from the Nashville. Probably being made to, I imagine. They probably offered him a watermelon for his trouble. Forget it. Just make sure that Cassidy and Angelica continue to make progress."

The void of Apollyon's chamber went black without even the eyes of other demons to share the emptiness with him. He melted into the fabric of the air and lost himself in the silence for a minute. He was awakened by the cries of millions of dark angels begging to be set loose on earth. Without answering them he said, "Soon, oh great scorpions, soon. Your own brothers are preparing the poison for you to inflict the earth. Your torture will reign supreme. The United States with all its Godly trappings and its allies will curse God when we get through with them. They'll fall on their faces to worship me. They'll do anything to have relief, and none will come until I'm ready. This is their penalty for honoring God so much. This is their punishment, and the world will watch." He drooled in the pleasure of his poisonous trigger—his scorpion tails.

    
Chapter 16

The Woodbury Commune

Do you know what you're doing?" asked Sal while leaning over Caleb's shoulder as he sent an e-mail.

"Well, not exactly. I know the basics, but it can't be that difficult since you humans do so much of it," he laughed. Sal put her hand on his shoulder as they sent their message and sat down next to him on a wooden bench as the robust Pentium squelched its message to Alex.

Caleb was still in his human form; and twice already, Sal asked him to change. She got a glimpse of his beauty earlier, a full-length view of him in her dream, and when he talked to Harry. Caleb refused to change, believing it was safer this way. He knew that every dark angel of hell knew what he looked like. Even here at the commune, there could be spies.

Sal pointed to the e-mail asking, "That isn't me and Jeff you're talking about, is it?"

"As a matter of fact, it is. You'll be leaving in about two weeks for Sewanee. God has a something for you to do. Isn't it nice to be needed?"

"I'm not even a believer, and you're asking me to go to work for God?" she asked, completely confused.

"You may not be a believer, but that doesn't mean you have to stay that way. Answer me this. Who do you think created me? Well, do you like his handiwork?" he asked without waiting for an answer and saw a shy "yes" nod.

"Then, if you can't do it for God, then do it for me. Would you go to Sewanee if it was important, and I asked you to?" he asked while reaching out and holding her hand tenderly, then looking directly into her eyes. He looked around carefully, then changed for a second into his angel form to make his point.

"Are you going too?" asked Sal, trembling with giddy emotion.

"I'm assigned to help you on this journey. I will always be near. That's my job. Remember, it's a job I asked for so I could be near you. I'm speaking the truth Sal, the honest-to-God truth."

"I believe you, Caleb. Yes, I'll go. If working for you means I'm working for God, then I guess I'm working for God now too," she answered and hugged him lightly around his neck, then kissed him on his cheek near his lips, having changed her mind at being too bold. She turned red in embarrassment for her thoughts and stood for a moment, then stepped back while breathing heavily.

"I don't have a dog, Caleb," she commented while still standing quietly in front of him and touching her lips self consciously as she spoke.

"Don't worry about the details. You'll meet the dog soon enough."

From the hall, Jeff passed by looking at them, then felt a rage of jealousy over Sal's kind Caleb ways. He could tell she liked him. He thought she liked him too much. There was too much giggling when Caleb was near her. That couldn't be a good sign. A man in camouflage prodded him with a M16 and motioned him to continue down the hall.

Jeff wasn't having a good day. He had followed the watermelon truck to Woodbury and watched as the gates of the commune opened wide for them. It closed instantly behind them, not giving him a chance to get through. He continued to honk outside the ten-foot wall of plywood and barbed wire they used to encircle themselves. It stretched for several miles around them. This was a sorting commune that took in everyone and determined which trade commune believers wanted to go. Their open-door policy extended and stopped at believers.

They wouldn't let him in. He hollered and yelled at them, including running his Hummer into their makeshift walls until Caleb and Sal made them realize he was with them. They let him in, but they put an armed guard on him who followed after him everywhere he went. They were leading him to a private room without windows and a fulltime guard. They weren't taking any chances; after all, he was marked. Just before he reached the room, a fragile, old man approached him from behind, and the guard ordered Jeff, "Stop, Jeff! The pastor wants to talk with you."

Jeff turned to see the pastor shuffling closer. He could tell he must be the pastor since he carried one of those white, leather-bound, family Bibles you get from mail order—the kind that always sits on a coffee table whether someone is a believer or not. He acted as if it was difficult to carry because he was listing to its side. Jeff saw his bony elbows and knees pushing under his wrinkled suit coat and clothes.

"Son, do you mind if we sit and talk a minute?" the man said gently. Jeff felt as if he had known the man all his life. He warmly remembered his own grandfather.

"Sure, Mr...?" he replied as he sat on the wooden pew bench in the hall. This building was like the town hall, but it was part of maze of Sunday School rooms at the Hilltop Nazarene Church.

"Just call me, pastor," responded the man in his quiet, raspy voice. "I know who you are. I've talked to Caleb." The guard drew closer trying to hear.

"You can go now, Jack. I don't think this young man will bother anyone. Let's let him be. Thanks for doing your job, though," he motioned to Jack with a back-a-way hand movement.

Jack shrugged and moved away obediently and reluctantly out-of-hearing distance, but looked back over his shoulder several times trying to figure out what was so special about this marked teenager.

"You talked to Caleb and Sal?" asked Jeff.

"No, only Caleb. He explained some things to me about you and Sal. God thinks you're pretty special. I want you to know that. He's got something very important for you and Sal to do. You'll discover it soon enough. By the time you get the job done. I'll be gone. Don't have much time left. Eat up with cancer. Had it 40 years. Keep praying and getting healed, then it comes back. I was supposed to have died 39 years ago. Guess God beat those odds, right? But, I'm glad I was able to meet such a brave kid like you. We won't ever forget you. Nothing you do will be forgotten. It's just like our Lord to pick a couple of unlikely teenagers to take on such a momentous challenge." He reached over and hugged Jeff, whose mind was reeling with the mystery he had just been handed.

"What challenge? What job? What are you talking about?" he was almost shouting.

The pastor put his finger to Jeff's lips to keep him quiet. "Quiet down, son. You'll find out soon enough. Probably said too much. Just enough to aggravate your curiosity. Sorry about that. But I need your help too. I have a favor to ask you."

"Wait a minute, pastor. You opened up this big can of worms about something great Sal and I are going to do. You won't tell me what it is, but everyone but me knows about it, then you ask me a favor? What kind of person are you, anyway?" asked Jeff, stupefied by it all.

"An old pastor who shouldn't have said anything, but no one knows but Caleb and me. Not even Sal, yet. Could know now, but that's up to Caleb. You'll find out soon enough. Stop whining and let me tell you what I want you to do," he answered while patting Jeff's nearest shoulder in a "be patient" movement.

"Okay, pastor. How old are you anyway?" he asked, thinking he looked to be over a hundred.

"Old, try 125 and counting," he answered and watched Jeff's shocked expression.

"No wonder he looks like he could break into pieces at any minute," Jeff thought to himself.

"Alright, what do you have in mind?" asked Jeff as he surrendered more from respect for his age and frailty than wanting to be nice.

"My dog. I want you to take my dog with you when you leave," he replied while picking dog hairs from his suit sleeves.

"Your dog? Leave? Where are we going? Why do we have to leave?" he asked in staccato fashion.

"You'll only be able to stay here for a couple of weeks. Then, you'll go with Sal to Sewanee. We have two friends waiting for you. They just found out about it themselves. By the time you get there, they'll have instructions for you. Will you do it?" asked the pastor.

"Do what?" forgetting about the dog.

"Take my dog?"

"Pastor, whenever that time comes, it will be Sal's decision. I'm not an animal lover. They don't like me much, either. You'll have to talk to her. Not that it makes any difference, but what kind of dog is it?" asked Jeff out of polite curiosity.

"He's hard to describe. Stay here. I'll be right back."

The pastor got up slowly while his joints creaked and groaned. They sounded like rusty hinges needing oil. He turned and shuffled off. It took him 15 minutes to get to the end of the hall some 30 feet away. Jeff thought he moved in micro inches rather than inches. He saw him pull his dentures from his mouth and put them in his pocket. He pulled another set out of his other pocket with a gap in the two front teeth. With his whistling dentures and his fingers in his month, he made a high, shrill whistle blast that Jeff thought would shatter his eardrums. He immediately took the dentures out and put the others back in and seemed to be waiting.

Moments later, a four-legged shape tackled the pastor to the floor while licking at his face while the pastor laughed and wrestled with the dog's ears in play. Several uniformed guards were following the dog in anticipation of what they had to do. They helped the pastor to his feet and brushed him off. One had a small sponge and was cleaning dog spit from the pastor's suit coat.

The pastor pointed his finger at the excited dog and commanded, "Company!"

The dog immediately sat still with his head up in the air. A guard leashed him and gave him to the pastor. It took him another 15 minutes for them to get back to Jeff. Jeff watched them closely as they neared. Something was peculiar about the dog. Jeff finally realized what it was. First, he was terribly ugly, although he didn't look that old. He was a motley color of browns and blacks with white spots decorating him—a more colorful hyena. Suddenly, Jeff saw the white-spot pattern. It was in the pattern of a cross. It looked more like a constellation until he got closer. Then the points drew his attention to the cross on his head, the base of it following the top of his face and snout. He looked like he was marked on the forehead for lack of better words—then that mouth. He had white hair around his mouth all the way to his ears. It made him look like he had a permanent smile. It was so strange that it gave Jeff goose bumps.

The pastor said quietly, "This is Nicodemus. Nicodemus, this is the boy I was telling you about." Nicodemus moved in front of Jeff and bowed his head to the floor at Jeff.

"What's he doing?"

"He's paying you respect."

"Why didn't you just use a whistle?" asked Jeff, sarcastically.

"Not the same. More fun this way. Means no one can copy my whistle. He only responds to me. Kind of like it that way."

"Oh great! You want us to take care of a dog that won't come when we call. That sounds like a deal."

"He'll come, won't you Nicodemus? Just not as fast."

"Is that a cross on his head? Did you paint those spots on him, or did he come that way?" asked Jeff as he reached down and petted the outline of it gently. He felt a surge of power from Nicodemus when he touched him and jerked his hand back.

"Oh, forgot to tell you. He's a Holy Ghost dog. In fact, he didn't come with that cross pattern, just that stupid white smile." Nicodemus looked back and growled at the pastor for that remark.

"I baptized him myself, in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The spots appeared on his head after he was baptized. Kind of strange, isn't it? Had to be God. He used to herd goats and sheep on a farm not far from here. I saw that silly white smile of his and had to have him. He was just a pup, then. I just didn't expect the smile to get as big and goofy as it is now. The kids think he's cute. I just think he's Nicodemus. We put up with each other."

"Just promise me one thing, pastor. When we leave, whenever that is, and take this mutt with us, don't donate your whistle teeth to us, will you?"

"Not me. Going to be buried with my teeth, both sets," he said chuckling.

"Why did you call him Nicodemus?" asked Jeff while thinking he had heard that name mentioned at the Lord's Chapel, but not remembering the details.

"Chapter Three of the Gospel of John. It's about being reborn from the Spirit of God. I thought about calling him Jesus, but figured I'd aggravate everyone when I called for him. Can you imagine? Where's Jesus? Here Jesus! Get the rabbit, Jesus. Changed my mind. Nicodemus works better. His nickname is Nikki, for short."

"Nikki! Sal's Auntie was named that. Man, she's going to freak!"

"I'm going to freak about what?" aske Sal as she walked up behind the pastor with Caleb.

"This dog goes by Nikki for Nicodemus," he laughed, "and look at that white smile of his. He gives me the creeps, pastor. This is Sal's pet not mine. Okay, Sal, he's all yours."

"All mine. Is this the dog you were talking about, Caleb? You're giving him away? Why wouldn't you give him to some kids?" she asked, then reached down to pet him, then jumped back, as she felt that same surge of something coming from him. "What was that?"

"The pastor baptized him, and the cross showed up on his head. He said he was a Holy Ghost dog. He felt like electricity when I touched him. What was it again, pastor?" asked Jeff, who had moved to the ground in front of Nikki and peered into his eyes.

"I believe this dog is full of the Holy Spirit. You're feeling it coming from him. Hey, the Holy Spirit stayed in Elijah's bones after he died enough to raise a man from the dead. Why couldn't the Holy Spirit saturate anything He wants? He sleeps with me, and I'm anointed with His spirit. Maybe, it's rubbing off."

"Come on Nikki. It's time for a nap," he replied. The pastor looked sneakily at his guards standing nearby and winked. They smiled slightly and nodded in approval. "Say good night, Nikki."

Nikki turned to Sal and Jeff and bowed towards them saying, "Good night, kids."

Sal screamed in shock and stepped back several feet. "He talked. The dog can talk! Oh! My heavens! The dog can talk!" Jeff never said anything, especially when he saw the guards and the pastor laughing. Caleb was beside himself and grabbing his sides and heaving in uncontrollable giggles.

"Oh, get over it, girl. It's part of the ventriloquist routine I do for the kids. That dumb dog can't talk!"

Nikki turned again at that "dumb" statement and growled back at the pastor, then they both turned slowly around and walked away with the guards following.

Sal looked at Jeff still on the floor, back to Caleb, then shook her head. "Is everyone around here a little touched? Or something?"

Caleb answered, "Yes, touched by something. Jesus," then he disappeared.

"Man, he just vanished. Wow, what a trick!" commented Jeff.

Sal didn't say a word, only went to the girls' dorm quarters to her own assigned bed and began crying into her pillow. Jeff shook his head about everything that had taken place and went to talk to the perimeter guards. They had orders not to bother him. The guards told Jeff about the commune. He found out there were over a hundred a day coming from every direction, mostly from Nashville. Many had lost loved ones from the sharpshooters while they tried to get here. Most decided to split up and go in every direction crossing the most dangerous stretches, especially interstates and main roads. There was jubilant reunions and terrible grief as they arrived to find out those who made it and those they had lost.

Jeff talked to guards for a long time, and they let him handle their weapons when he asked nice. It had been a long time since he held a gun. His sharp-shooting days were long behind him.

"Don't fire a round, son. We need every round we can get," commented the soldier. "I don't know exactly what's up with you and the girl, but the pastor seems to be taken with you both. I heard some pretty strange things from the others on the watermelon truck. Was that guy with you really an angel?"

"Seems like it. I just saw him disappear before my eyes a second ago. I think that Sal has a crush on him," he answered while looking dejectedly at the ground.

"Oh! That crazy man from Nashville? You have to be kidding! A cutie like that falling for him? You must be dreaming," he replied in shock, not knowing the real Caleb.

"Not the way he looks now, but the way he looks in his true angel form. Sal says he's completely different."

"If an angel can change into someone like that, he can be anything or anybody."

Jeff, answered, "Like a dog?"

"Don't go there, son. We all think the pastor is off the deep end with that mutt. We don't touch the dog anymore, either, but the kids love him."

    

Chapter 17

The Scorpion Strikes

Cassidy turned to Pendwight and asked, "How many states have been converted by the census program, now?"

"We've accelerated the program, and the South is done. We'll have the Northeast completed in the next two days and be finished with the U.S. in another week."

"How have the electronic transmissions been doing?" she asked as she pondered stacks of figures and documents on her husband's desk, which she was signing and executing on his behalf. Terrone had been sent off for some private R&R after discovering her new or true nature. He also needed drying out and rehab would do it. Two weeks of no President was just the chance she needed.

Pendwight was becoming more scared of her each day. She was inexhaustible; and at his age, he was having problems keeping up. He was up to ten Tylenol and five lower-tabs a day to help his body aches and pains, along with a gallon of Maalox to settle his stomach. Her dark nature was far more powerful than he ever imagined. It seemed to be gaining momentum. Her ideas were darker, and her taste for believers' blood was surpassing his. He just wanted to pay them back for their righteous arrogance, but she wanted them to pay with their lives. Even though he had suggested their total annihilation, he blamed it on something beyond him. He wasn't himself when he suggested it. It was as if he had been taken over by something dark within him, and he kicked himself for making that terrible suggestion now. He kept thinking, how many people would die, and how many newborns would be among them. He was in too deep now. If he walked away now, he knew she'd have him tracked down and killed because of what he knew.

She asked him to give her a detailed plan on the execution of the commune attacks. He spent days making arrangements for timing of the attacks on paper and had an immense clay-and-plastic model of the United States with every commune pinpointed with small flags. He was barely able to keep up with their accelerated growth. Thankfully, the new aircraft were being built at a phenomenal speed. They would have enough to handle 200 million by the end of the next three weeks.

"We've added a hundred new communes to the charts yesterday, Cassidy. Look how populated the South is with them. Tennessee is the worst. There must be a thousand in Tennessee alone. Some aren't that big, being very specialized."

"Cassidy, have you heard any rumors about a new neurological disease that affects the motor functions and is terribly painful to the muscles and joints?"

"What? Do we have an epidemic going on or something?" She was thinking about not wanting to lose her most important pilots for the commune attacks. She couldn't afford to have that happen, not now.

"I'll tell you what you do. Call the Surgeon General and have him get me some research labs to check it out. Where is it mostly concentrated, so far?"

"Funny, it seems to be following the census kickoff. It started showing up in the South last week and is moving to the Northeast at an alarming rate. It literally disables anyone who gets it. It doesn't seem to be fatal, just terribly painful. The hospitals are full."

"Britain, Canada, and Israel are being hit with it at about the same rate; 10,000 new cases per day are showing up."

"This sounds suspicious, but I bet we can turn it to our advantage. Can anyone tell if the communes are affected? You know, those with a mark on their foreheads?"

"That was mentioned on an e-mail from some spies we put into some of the bigger camps. The communes are fine. They're thriving. The marked believers seem to have only migraines every once in a while but none of the disabling pain affecting everyone else. Are you feeling okay, yourself?" he asked while watching her carefully to see if he spotted any symptoms. He wouldn't mind her being out of it enough to slow these murders down a little.

"I guess you'd be the best person to ask about that, wouldn't you?" she asked, then picked up the phone to call London.

"I want to blame the believers for this outbreak. I want everyone to believe they've done something to poison our water. Tell them that they have the antidote and aren't sharing it with the rest of us. That should send everyone into a killing orbit."

    

Releasing The Scorpion Tails

Apollyon took a key from his pocket and flew down to the vast, dark abyss that housed the scorpion tails. He turned the key while he listened to the quiet anticipation of his sharp-tailed hordes. This was the promise he had made to Angelica.

He shouted a victorious scream, "The Jehovah One has said the time is here. You are free, my great scorpion tails, to torture the earth and any of those marked for me, but you cannot touch those with the seal of God on their foreheads. Go my winged menaces. Fly to the ends of the earth. Pay mankind back for making me stay just the Prince of the Earth! I will give you five months to torture its peoples! Start with America first!"

The angels spread like a silent, vast army into every home, and every hiding place in the United States and its alliances—no one was spared. The sickness they brought went from 10,000 to millions per day. The EU watched as America and its allies were brought to their knees by this terrible infliction. The scorpion tails followed the census and located the marking stations, then struck people down minutes after they were marked. Some couldn't even make it home after receiving their implant. Cars littered the streets as people dragged themselves into hospitals unable to do the simplest tasks without doubling over from the spasms and torturous pain.

Nothing prepared the alliances for this disease. Even Pendwight finally fell under its curse. He could barely drag himself from bed, and the President's doctors finally had him drugged with mega-doses of morphine. He felt like he would die, wished he could, but didn't.

Cassidy, Angelica, and the EU countries outside of the American alliances weren't affected by it. It was as if special attention was on the American alliances. This was by Apollyon's design. He'd get to the rest of the world later after he'd had his angels inflict his primary targets first. When the participants could get enough street drugs to overcome the abusiveness of the disease, attacks on the communes became more regular. Government scientists and biologists were working 24-hour shifts to come up with a cure for it. They had finally named it simply the Plague 2000 for lack of a better one—nicknamed P2.

The Scorpion International manufacturing plants continued to ship and supply the alliances at a record rate while meeting and surpassing all the goals. The money was flowing, and there hadn't been any problems yet. There were now 95 percent of all commercial stores and retail shops manned with scanners for accepting the funds. Cassidy had finally made a drop-dead date for the attacks on the communes. With the new Olive Tree and Candlestick surveillance capacity, they now were able to track every movement to and from the communes. They found that Sundays were the best day of the week for an attack. They had to increase the original number of reserved nukes because of the alarmingly accelerated rate of the commune populations, which was doubling each week. Now, they made arrangements for one million new aircraft to hit all the believer communes at once. Two attacks were ordered on each commune—one missile with another for back up. They picked a date coordinated with the soon finished census in California. Extra morphine shipments were brought in to inoculate the pilots to carry out the strike. They would do it a 12 p.m. Eastern time, 11 a.m. Central, 10 a.m. Mountain, and 9 a.m. Pacific. Top military commanders agreed that this purging was necessary for the prosperity of the nation. Nothing like it had ever been done on earth, and everyone doubted if it would ever be done again. They would relieve the world of what they considered to be millions of new believers nationwide.

    

Chapter 18

Preparing For Sewanee

Believers in the cities were preaching and witnessing door-to-door and street-by-street, in spite of the persecution. Now, it was becoming quite evident that this was part of a major revival, and the odds were leveling out a little. Believers were smart enough to continue to carry weapons and band to gather in military fashion to protect their own—and they did.

The marked were backing off in spite of the propaganda. They were having trouble just functioning from the P2 problem. Employers were hiring believers to fill in the gaps in defiance of hiring freezes for believers. They at least could get a believer to show up for work. They were paying with barter, providing them food and other goods in exchange for work.

Just after Caleb left, the P2 started hitting the South. It helped the believers coming to the communes since the marked were too busy living their own hell on earth. They were now taking in over a 1,000 per day. It became standard practice to send hundreds of believers back into the communities to preach Jesus. They were getting unbelievable responses. There were even some ads from believers on TV and radio. The believers were coming into control of the most important parts of the working community. Still, they returned to the communes each evening, not taking any chances.

Jeff hung out with the guards most of the time, and they finally let him stand on night duty. He was able to fend off several attacks just prior to the P2 rolling through Tennessee. He taught the others a thing or two about marksmanship and was becoming sort of a folk hero to the commune. Jeff started showing signs of the P2 almost immediately. After one terribly painful night, he crawled out to the pastor as he walked by. He was barely able to walk. The pastor turned to him and pushed his hand towards Jeff, and Jeff passed out. Others would call it being slain by the Holy Spirit, but it was different. There wasn't any Holy Spirit dwelling in Jeff. It was the pastor's Godly authority over sickness and disease that enabled him—in spite of the lack of miracles left in the world. What bothered most commune dwellers about the pastor was that he was still among them and not part of the raptured. He explained it to Jeff while visiting him after his bad P2 night.

"I've been a pastor for most my adult life. I relied on the Holy Spirit to anoint me for years of miracles, healings, and marvelous works of God. I made a mistake. God asked me specifically to become a missionary. I didn't want to. I just wanted to build this big church, and I gloried in it success. I refused to do what God asked. After 30 years of conviction from God over my rebellion, he stopped bothering me about it. I figured He changed his mind. Actually, He gave up on me and got someone else to do it. Sure, people got saved and healed by my ministry, but inside I knew I was dead; deader than that doorknob over there. That show's how God can use anyone, strong, weak, good or just plain bad, to do what He wants when He wants to. That should give you an idea that it's not impossible for you, either."

When he spoke, tears ran down the pastor's face in grief and remorse. "That's all behind me now," he perked up smiling. "I'm doing what God wants now. Just what He wants. Because of it, you won't have to worry about P2. God has even taken care of that for you."

The pastor shuffled off and left Jeff thinking about the lack of pain. He shook his head in disbelief but kept whispering, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

The pastor finally told everyone that Jeff and Sal were asked by God to go on an important mission but never would say what it was. There were lots of congrats and handshaking when they heard about it. There was also a lot of conviction taking place in both Sal's and Jeff's heart. They were finding it difficult to stay around so many believers without it bothering them. They both yearned to turn their lives over to God but just couldn't make the move.

It had been ten days since Sal had seen Caleb. After his disappearance, she went into a depressed recoil. Nothing anyone could say helped. She missed him and replayed every word he said to her in a continuous cycle of mind torture. Sal felt that if she gave her heart to the Lord that Caleb might come back sooner.

"Pastor," Sal whispered from behind him, and Nikki turned to bow to her as the pastor looked back.

Sal heard Nikki say, "What can I do for you, Sal?"

"Will you stop that stuff?" replied Sal, not amused anymore.

"Sorry, I thought all kids love that kind of stuff."

"I'm no kid. I'll turn 18 in two weeks," she hurled back at him.

"I see. Well, let me say it this way. Age is relative. Since I am 125 years old, I've been alive for 107 years waiting for you just to be born. You'll be a kid to me for quite some time. How's that?" he said while smiling lovingly at her and went towards her to get a hug. She turned a cold shoulder into his advance.

"What's wrong, Sal?" he said, seriously.

"I believe I want to become a believer," she replied, very unemotionally.

"You do! Why?" he asked as if he knew something he shouldn't.

"What do you mean? Why? Isn't that what you people are all about?" she answered curtly.

"You people, huh? I see. Does any of this have to with Caleb?" he asked.

Sal stopped and stared at him. She felt his old eyes piercing right through her. It was as if he felt the fraud and wrong motivations in her. She answered in a beaten down tone, "You're right. I can't do it. I just can't do it. It's for the wrong reason. I won't bother you anymore. I'm sorry."

"Sal, don't be so down on yourself. It's just that this decision for God is too important to do it halfway. Why don't you and Nikki go for a walk? He needs the exercise. Isn't that a good idea, Nikki?" he said, and Sal saw him start to throw his voice and put her hand up to stop him.

"Don't do it, pastor. Just give me his leash. Can he stay with me till morning?" she asked.

"Sure, soon you both will be spending a lot of time together. Why not start now?" he turned and shuffled off, leaving them together. He stopped and commented in an afterthought, "Oh, Sal, not that it means anything right now, but later it will. Nikki can't swim."

"You're right, it doesn't mean anything. I'll remember it anyway," she replied as they walked away towards the front gate.

"I wish you really could talk, Nikki. Come on, let's get away from here for awhile," she said while pulling on his leash, but he started pulling her. Sal noticed that he seemed to know exactly where they were going.

"Can I go out for some air?" she asked the guard. He turned around, and it was Jeff.

"Hey, Sal, got the dog today. Sure, I'll watch over you. Don't go past that pole with the flags on the top. You have 100 yards of safety zone and plenty of quiet space, okay?" he pointed as he spoke.

"Thanks, Jeff. I just need a break from all these Christians," she said while looking at the ground dejectedly.

"I know what you mean. You know, Sal. I've been thinking about becoming a believer. Can you imagine? Do you think they're rubbing off on me?" he confessed and laughed uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I have too, but for the wrong reasons. I think you're a better person than I am for it," she answered as she walked through the partially open gate while being pulled through it by Nikki.

Once she was far enough away, she started talking to Nikki. He turned his head and paid attention as if he was listening. It gave Sal a funny feeling. "Nikki, can I tell you something?" she said while sitting on a high bluff overlooking the Woodbury hills. It was quiet out here, and she could barely hear the commune crowd, only some wind chimes from the open kitchen area blowing in the breeze.

"I really think I love Caleb. Isn't that the craziest thing you've ever heard? I was going to become a Christian to please him. That was wrong. That was very wrong. He wouldn't want me to do it that way. I don't want to do it that way. I want it to count. I want it to matter. I want to understand what it's all about. I want to experience it the right way," she rambled as Nikki sat in front of her staring without blinking. He moved closer to her and licked her hand resting on her knee, almost like a gentle kiss. It shocked her, and she felt that something move from him to her when he did.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she bowed her head for a moment. Finally, her heart heavy with a burden she couldn't explain, she said, "Lord, I really am new to all this. Help me to understand. If this was so important to my mom and dad, and I really can't deny that You exist with Your angels so obviously near, then help me. Help me to become a true believer. Yes, that's it. I want to have the real thing. I want to do what they say. Forgive me for my sins. I want to receive You into my heart. Please, come into me. Please, I accept You as my Lord and Savior."

Nikki howled repeatedly. It sounded like a grand trumpet of victory. She knew that he understood what was happening. She stood up and howled with him. Both of them bayed at the sky; and after they stopped minutes later, her depression was gone and replaced with a grand peace. She felt like everything was right with the world. This was the best she had ever felt. She danced in one place for a minute, a little dance of joy, and Nikki continued to run around her while barking and yelping.

The pastor heard the baying and smiled. He knew what had happened. "I knew that old Holy Ghost dog would help. He's led more children to God than a whole army of preachers." He did a dance of his own, then fell down. Several guards came rushing over to help him up.

As Sal entered back into the commune, Jeff smiled at her, then asked loudly, "You didn't, did you? You look so different! You look happier! You look changed! You really did give your life to Jesus, didn't you?"

Sal ran to him and hugged him, which surprised even him. "Yes, yes, yes, you have to do it too, Jeff! You've got to do it! Please, think about it, will you?" her speech reminded her of her dad's months ago.

"Of course, of course," he said, then squeezed her to him because of the advantage, but she pushed him away.

"You never miss a chance, do you?" and laughed at his surprised face for being caught. "Okay, then here's another hug anyway." She squeezed him enthusiastically; and after she let him go, he reached out for another one, and Nikki bared his teeth and growled at him, making him jump back.

"Man, Sal, you got the dog trained now. That's unfair."

"What's unfair?" asked Caleb as he appeared from behind Jeff, scaring him into a high jump. Jeff accidentally discharged his M16 pointed skyward and brought a whole team of camouflages.

"An accident!" he yelled, and they stopped and went back to their various chores.

"Oh, Caleb, how I missed you!" exclaimed Sal as she ran to him and jumped into his arms.

"I heard you're a believer now. How wonderful. How absolutely wonderful! I guess you two need to start packing. You'll be heading for Sewanee tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I've brought an old friend with me. Irish, you near?"

Irish appeared behind Caleb and walked slowly towards them. Jeff was amazed how beautiful she was. Nothing prepared him for her magical, multicolored, rainbow aura, but she couldn't stay in this form for long. Even Caleb changed back into his human form just after arriving.

"Who's she!" asked Sal while being threatened by her looks and familiarity with Caleb.

"I'm Irish. I'm an heir-servant angel. I've known Caleb for thousands of years. He's best friends with my own love, Aaron, commander of the angel legions."

With that last statement, Sal relaxed. "Is Aaron your husband?"

"Oh no. Angels aren't allowed to be married or be together until the New Jerusalem. Although, we can take on human wives and husbands, right Caleb?"

Caleb blushed, "You should know. You've had a least 20 or 30 of them."

"Twenty or thirty?" replied a shocked Jeff.

"And, I'm sure I may have a few more if they're part of my Godly assignment. You married, Jeff?" she asked tauntingly.

For a minute, he thought she was serious and stuttered out, "No, no, not even a girlfriend," then looked shamefully at Sal.

"That's not what I've been hearing since I met you, you gigolo," she answered in a tease.

He realized they were all having fun at his expense and started laughing with them. "Are you going with us?"

"No, I'm here to visit the pastor. It's time for him to come home. If you don't mind, I've been given permission to change for this mission," she stated while she changed into a very old woman who looked at least a hundred.

"Who are you supposed to be?" asked Sal and feeling sad about the pastor, then suspecting that Irish's new form had some significance.

"I changed into his wife. She died 35 years ago. I just wanted to make him feel comfortable before he left. He'll see her soon enough. I'm going to let him introduce me to all his friends. He'd like that. He's been missing her too much lately and does want them to meet her. It's just a little present for him. I see you have his dog. How's it going, Nikki?"

Nikki bowed to her and replied in a woman's voice, "Fine, it was fun helping Sal become a believer." He jumped around and started howling again while Irish giggled with her own voice trick.

The pastor heard it and something within him made him turn to see the four of them with Nikki. He dropped his Bible and started trembling at the sight of his wife. How he missed her. He knew it wasn't her, but it was so wonderful to see her again. Irish was like a living picture. He ran best he could to her.

"You did a great job looking like her. Who are you, really?" he said as he reached Irish and took her hand to hold for a second before embracing her.

"I'm Irish. I just thought you'd like to introduce me to all your friends. You've been wanting to do that for awhile, haven't you?" she asked, then hugged him back.

"Yes, yes, I have. How much time do I have?"

"As long as you want. No one's forcing you to go. It's up to you. We know you're tired. We know you're ready to see your wife and family. It's completely up to you. We're just trying to answer your recent prayers."

"Can I be young again?" he said, pitifully.

"You can be as young as you want. It's all up to you. I have an angel named Grace who will take you through Heaven 101. She's one of the best."

"Used to be pretty goofy," replied Caleb sarcastically.

"Used to be was a long time ago, Caleb. You know better. She's a great asset to heaven. These older angels get such an attitude once they get some seniority. Once they pass the 5000-year-old mark, they're hard to handle."

Sal looked astonished, "Did you say 5000 years? Caleb are you that old?"

"Don't look so shocked. Age means nothing in heaven, not a thing. You are all making me feel like an old man now. You two go talk and introduce. I need to go visit a couple at Sewanee. I'll be back, then we need to get you two squared away for your trip."

Sal's lip quivered slightly in an almost pout just as Caleb disappeared. The commune reacted explosively to Caleb and Irish's appearance. Many had seen them appear and change. There was a momentous excitement that caused Sal and Jeff to become surrounded by questioning believers who wanted all the details. It was just enough to distract Sal from her little mood.

    
Chapter 19

The Deadly Assignment

Alex heard the TV come on early in the morning. He thought how strange it was for Abigail to be up so early: it was 3 a.m. He thought through his sleepiness just how much he liked her. It was compelling. The e-mail about the oath was cold water on his own emotions, but it didn't stop him from enjoying being near her. They hadn't had another time like that since. It was if they both wanted to forget about it—but knew they couldn't. There was a softness in their talk and actions, now. There was extra care, even about making a cup of coffee for each other, which included cooking or cleaning up the kitchen together. They participated in small courteous things but no more shoulder rubs, although Alex thought about it a lot.

Alex knew how he looked; reality was always a mirror away. He also knew that Abigail was very attractive, even though her pagan ways aggravated him. He admired her strong individualism, and she wasn't about to be pushed into anything; Alex knew it. He never did, and this attracted her to him. He had been thinking about the possibilities of Abigail and him as an item. He daydreamed about what it would be like to have her around all the time. Unknown to him, Abigail was thinking the same things.

"Hey, you old goat, what are you doing up so early?" yelled Abigail while walking past Alex's room, then watching him stumbling towards the door wrapped in his bathrobe. Abigail took the time to slip into some jeans this time, not wanting to take a chance losing her bathrobe again.

"I'm not. I thought it was you," he replied. "Does it have a timer on it?"

"If it does, I don't know how to work it. Must been have triggered by accident. Since we're up, you want some coffee or hot cocoa, Alex?" she asked as she smiled at him. Saying his name was her way of saying "dear," but he never knew.

Alex noticed but shrugged it off as incidental. He was actually getting used to being called Gov. and kind-of liked the pet name. They walked towards the kitchen, which was across from the room they called the lounge: it was a small room with an extra TV in it.

Alex saw Caleb first and commented, "Oh boy, intuition is here."

"What did you say?" she asked, and then saw Caleb sitting in the recliner in front of the TV while watching the three stooges.

"Hey guys, you got to see this show. I love these guys. Heaven doesn't have much humor like that. Come on in and sit down a spell," he said with a perfect Southern drawl.

Alex walked in leaving Abigail standing in the hall peering in. She couldn't believe her eyes. Caleb was sitting with his wings expanded looking a little uncomfortable but enjoying its effect. She moved to the edge of the door and passed out. The next thing Abigail knew was a cold washcloth on her face, and both Caleb and Alex staring at her as she came to.

"I think she'll recover although that bruise on her face needs to go," said Caleb as he reached for her face with his hand. She pulled away from him and felt a sharp pain shooting up her face to the top of her head.

"Please, Abigail, give me a break. I'm not here to hurt you. Just let me touch your face for a second and the pain will stop."

She relaxed only slightly and jumped as Caleb touched her, then felt the peace of God rush over her. She had never felt that way in her life. She didn't want it to go away; and when he removed his hand, it did. The pain was gone.

"You're an honest-to-God angel, aren't you? You really are," she replied as she sat up staring with some embarrassment for her fainting spell. Caleb sat back down after turning the TV off, and Alex continued to sit with Abigail.

"Are you okay?" asked Alex.

"Yes, yes, in fact I feel quite well. Mr. Oral Robert's Fingers could go into business with a touch like that. So, you finally came to visit Pendwight's niece? Aren't you a little nervous about that?" asked Abigail sarcastically.

Caleb frowned in disgust, and Abigail noticed. "Uh, oh, what's my uncle up to now?" she asked while thinking that a frown like that couldn't be good.

"You have no idea what terrible harm that man is doing. He's working for Apollyon now. He's going to have a lot of blood on his hands soon. More than he wants. He's joined up with the President's wife, Cassidy. Let's just say that's the main reason I'm here," he replied seriously, and Abigail got a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew exactly who Apollyon was; and wondered, why her Uncle would go that far astray.

"Why would he do that? I know he didn't believe in the fanatics. Why go so far as to work for Apollyon? Does he know that he is? Could he just be naive?" she said while shaking her head in dismay.

"He knows. A dark angel helped him get into the position as the President's advisor. He knows exactly what he's doing and who Cassidy is too."

"Cassidy, the President's wife? What does she have to do with anything?" asked Abigail, mystified.

"I can see that we have some additional briefing to do. Let me say that there are two contending for the Anti-Christ position, right now. Their wives are instrumental in trying to get their husbands to be the one who wins. The President is one, and Montplier is the other. Cassidy is a Nephilim born of an angel and a human. Angelica is a dark angel who's over 5000 years old. They are competing for the prize. That's why I'm here. The way they are competing is with the blood of the saints. They are killing and will be killing more believers."

"My uncle is working for a witch? A witch who is trying to kill people? Man, has he ever slid down that slippery slope. Can't anyone stop him? How about you angels doing it? Can't you stop it?"

"Not exactly. We don't have authority and power like before. Darkness has fallen. The Holy Spirit has pulled back. It can save believers, but the total freedom of the Holy Spirit is gone now. We are restricted. Kind of like having our hands tied. Tied by Apollyon, and he knows it. I'm having difficulty staying on earth, even now. I feel the darkness pushing me back into heaven. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hold on."

He continued, not losing his concentration while rocking easily in the leather recliner. "The only reason I've been able to move so freely is because I took on another shape and look. I have to stay incognito as much as possible. But, that isn't the case with humans. They can move about with proper discretion and get to where we can't. Our presence would be noticed if a dark angel got close enough to us. Both sides put out a certain aura, dark or light. Does that make sense?"

"So you can use humans to get the job done, right?" asked Alex while putting the pieces together as his business mind worked all the angles.

"Yes, that's right. Abigail, we've chosen you and Alex to help two young kids and a dog on their journey soon. They will be here in a couple of days. I'm going to give you instructions for them and let you explain the mission. Don't be surprised at their reaction. Just trust the Lord that it will work out. I know you haven't given your life to the Lord yet, Abigail. I want you to seriously consider it. Only one of the two coming your way is a believer."

"Which one is the dog?" chuckled Abigail. "Man, you must be desperate, using us heathens too," she replied, then laughed even harder.

"We are desperate. The dog, Nicodemus, is a Holy Ghost dog according to everyone who knows him. He's as important to our plan as the kids. See, we are using just about everyone or thing."

"What's the mission?" asked Abigail, almost afraid to ask.

"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you," he responded, then turned away from them as he laughed. "Isn't that a human joke? Did I do it okay? We angels don't have a good sense of humor."

Abigail laughed; and finally, Alex joined in while getting it a little late, "Yes, that was fine, Caleb. Are all angels as good looking as you?" asked Abigail seductively.

"Hey, I'm jealous. You're flirting with him," Alex replied, then poked her in her ribs and watched her giggle, then turned red faced.

"Don't worry, Gov. I'm all yours. You know that," she said, then put her hand over her mouth and gasped at what she had said. It was her own secret, and she just blew it. "You know what I mean. No one else around, right, Gov," she replied while trying to recover from her mistake; but noticed Alex smiling in loving recognition.

"You two are definitely an item. More importantly, you have to get ready for the kids. They'll need at least a week of rest before they head out again. Just take care of them. I don't want them to know about their mission until just before they leave. I don't want them thinking about it too much. We just need them to do it."

"You didn't say what it was," commented Alex as he took out a pad of paper to take down notes.

Caleb went silent for a moment. He raised his hand with his palm upward. He was asking a question and getting instructions. He put his hand in his lap and continued to sit in silence. Abigail started to dread his response. Alex couldn't imagine what could cause Caleb to act so serious. It was scaring him too.

"God wants these two kids to murder Cassidy, the President's wife," he said flatly and leaned back into his chair while waiting for the response. There wasn't one. Both of them were so shocked that they couldn't speak.

Finally, Abigail said in a whisper, "God wants us to be part of killing someone? What kind of God would ask us to help do something like that?" She put her face in her hands and shook all over. This was scaring her way too much. She got up to go to her room when Caleb stopped her.

"Abigail, you're not killing a human. You're killing a dark Nephilim. It's not the same. Cassidy is half dark angel. What's worse, she is half Dar-Raven. Dar-Raven was the most evil and cold-blooded dark angel in existence. His blood rages through her veins. She is planning on killing millions of believers all at once. She is going to try to nuke every believer commune in the United States within the next month. Do you understand? One Nephilim dead will save millions of lives. Don't you think that's a fair exchange?"

Abigail sat down and continued to shake. Alex reached over and held her as she sobbed into his chest. She never answered, but the fact that she sat down again was the answer Caleb needed. She had agreed.

Alex was struck by the mention of Dar Raven. Dar Raven was a personal plague to him not too long ago while Apollyon was trying to kidnap thousands of children in Nashville.

Still, Alex asked so pragmatically, "How?"

"Think about what is in each of the rooms we prepared for you. There's a Colt 45 with two bullets. There is specialty supplies that doesn't make sense. The expandable raft is for a river crossing. There are maps of West Virginia and a detailed map of where the new White House resides. There are a hundred pairs of jeans for bartering. There are also several items for the dog, which I'm sure until now you couldn't figure out."

"What if they don't want to do it?" asked Alex flatly.

"They have to. Explain the odds. I can't be involved in it too much. I'm too close to the girl, Sal. It has to be her decision. I've probably influenced her too much already. It must be a human decision. Jeff won't care. He'll think it's a great adventure. He'll go just to protect Sal. Nicodemus is just going along for the ride. He'll be important later."

"Millions of people?" replied Abigail while acting rather pragmatic herself for a moment.

"Many newborns?" whispered Abigail and saw Caleb's affirming nod.

"I'd kill her myself to save a baby," and she pulled her finger up and made a sound like a gun going off.

"You don't have to. The pieces to God's puzzle are already figured out. Well, I think I'm going to drink some coffee and stay awhile. I'd like to watch some more of the three stooges. Do you mind?" he asked while watching them nod "no" and remaining quiet.

Caleb left at the end of the day, but remained in his angel form without his wings expanded. He was enjoying his normal form and not having to be the crazy black man for longer than he wanted.

    

The Kids

Sal enjoyed watching the pastor introducing Irish to everyone. He would approach his friends and say, "This is an angel named Irish. She looks just like my wife did when I last saw her. Beth, meet my friend John. John meet my wife, Beth." He was like a little kid again. Nikki didn't stay with the pastor anymore but followed Sal everywhere. It was obvious that she was his new owner. The gauntlet had been passed. Nicodemus seemed to sense the change, the plan, and the reality of the pastor leaving. Sal thought about that for a moment and shook slightly while getting spooked by it.

Jeff was gathering things to put into his Hummer, and the guards had put together enough gas to top his tanks out including giving him three 20-gallon army gas containers full. Jeff didn't like rushing and felt like getting a head start on preparing for the trip. He was able to hide his hunting knife strapped to his pant leg and borrow a couple sets of camouflage fatigues. He also stole a M16 from the supply hut with three cartridges of ammunition. His fatigues were almost too big, but they made him feel a little more macho than usual. He liked the fact that he was traveling with Sal. He didn't care one way or another about Nikki. He just made sure he didn't touch him.

"Well, Jeff, you look like you've got it all together," replied Caleb in his crazy man disguise.

"Holy cow, you scared the life out of me. Don't you ever knock?" asked Jeff while grabbing his chest and faking a heart attack.

"I need to be more careful with that, don't I?" he replied, then looked around for Sal.

"I have a map of where I want you to go. I want you to leave at one tomorrow morning. The roads should be clear. When you get to the Dechard exit, head through Cowan and up Monteagle to Sewanee. There's a cathedral on campus that is barely standing—All Saints. Don't go into it. It's dangerous. Where you need to go is directly behind All Saints off of University Avenue. You'll need to put on these oxygen masks when you get near Cowan. The livestock clutter on the road smells terrible. It will keep you from throwing up, unless you want to."

"That's a pleasant thought. What about radiation?"

"You won't be above ground that long. The Reims have already been significantly reduced. We still cause easterly breezes to push back a lot of it. We'll continue. Alex and Abigail are hiding under an old church and have your instructions with additional supplies. Jeff, I'm depending on you to be strong during this. When you get your instructions, Sal will be very upset. You've got to help her through it. We angels are having more and more difficulty staying on earth. The darkness is accelerating into every nook and cranny of earth. It's keeping us locked out many times."

"So you won't be around much, huh?" he asked and felt better about this trip already. "Not as much competition," he thought.

"I've got to go say goodbye to Sal. You two need to get some sleep. You have a long night ahead of you."

Sal saw him walking towards her and even his disguise didn't prevent her from running into his arms. He kissed her forehead very politely, and she grabbed his face, "Change your face, Caleb. Just your face." He obeyed, and she planted a passionate kiss on him. Nikki started baying again in response.

"Sal, you're sure making this very hard. We're having trouble staying on earth. I'll be a little distanced from you two for the next week or so. Once you have completed your mission, the darkness will ease up a little, and I'll be able to appear more frequently. I've got to go. Can't you see me losing my image a little? This is very difficult for me. I've got to go," he said as he felt his angel form disappearing.

Before he disappeared, he whispered to her, "I love you, Sal. I love you."

Sal was as shocked at his disappearance as his declaration of love. She said with her hand moving through the air where he had been, "I love you too, Caleb."

Nikki grabbed her pant leg and pulled her towards Irish. Irish was also feeling the darkness pushing at her angel form. As Sal approached her, she could tell from the look on her face that Sal was more than just a little infatuated with Caleb. She was hook, line, and sinker in love with him. Thousands of years of learning human body language taught her that much. She was a little disappointed in Caleb, but it didn't last long. After all, Caleb hadn't taken a human wife since he was created. Just because this one was a teenager was insignificant. He was over 5000 years old, and she was 18. Couldn't get much more different than that. So, what's the deal if she had been 30, the difference was always too great anyway.

"What's wrong with Nikki?" asked Sal while being pulled towards Irish and the pastor.

"He knows I've got to go. So do you, pastor. The darkness is pushing me back into heaven. Nikki just wanted to say goodbye. That's all."

The pastor knelt down and hugged Nikki, "My wonderful Holy Ghost dog. You've been such a joy. Keep Sal safe for me, will you? You know how important she is," he said as he continued to rub his ears with tears running down his face.

Irish pulled on the pastor's shirtsleeve. "No more tears pastor, ever. Your Beth is waiting. It's time to go."

"Aren't I going to die, first," he asked.

"Not necessary. You've been living a continuous, new sanctified life for God. Let's do an Enoch, okay?" she announced, and they both disappeared together. Sal ran towards Jeff after having seen Irish and the pastor go.

"What happened to them?" asked Jeff.

Sal rather perky answered, "Irish said they were going to do an Enoch. Whatever that is. I'll have my stuff packed in a second. We're off on a great journey. Isn't it exciting?"

Jeff was still puzzled by it all and remained serious. "I have instructions from Caleb. We can't leave until one tomorrow morning. Take your stuff and put it in the Hummer. We're gassed up and ready to go. Why don't you get some rest? We have a long night ahead."

Sal thought, "Rest, sleep? I've just been told by a beautiful angel that he loves me. How can I rest? Although, I could dream. He could come to me in my dreams. He did it before."

"Yes, you're right. I think I'll get some sleep," she replied as she skipped towards her room.

    

Dangerous Ground

The commune stretched beyond some rolling hills to the main Woodbury road. In a ditch facing the commune, were three hunters with scoped deer rifles. They left their own families at home writhing in pain, unable to eat or hold anything down because of P2. They couldn't even afford the gas to take them to the hospital. They just wanted some easy marks. They had gathered a toxic mix of Tylenol and painkillers from a medicine cabinet left over from oral surgery years before. They found a syringe and injected the dissolved concoction. It helped, and they had just taken another dose. They planned to sneak into the commune, get food and supplies, then kill some believers as trophies before they left and escaped unnoticed.

Sal and Jeff moved quietly out to their Hummer. Nikki sat in Sal's lap and watched intently. They rolled out of the gates, pushed by a dozen guards, not wanting anyone to be awakened from the start up. After they were through the gates and had rolled down hill 100 yards, they started their engine, turned on their lights, and bounced easily over the rugged terrain towards the main road.

The men in the ditch saw the lights and flipped off their safeties, excited over an easier mark. As Jeff wheeled out onto the road, shots peppered their windshield that exploded the glass. Nikki scrambled into the back seat howling, and Sal rolled back with him as they hid on the floorboards. There were more shots and commanding shouts to stop coming from the side of the road.

Jeff gunned it and reached back onto the floorboard under an army duffel bag for the M16, then grabbed an ammunition clip from the glove compartment. He swung the Hummer around and headed back towards the commune. He was now 100 feet away from the hunters.

"What are you doing!" screamed Sal. "Let's get out of here! You hear me! Go, go, go!"

"No, they'll pick off someone else if I don't take care of it! Keep your head down," he screamed defiantly back at her.

He slammed the clip into place with his right hand and laid the barrel across the open window towards the hunters' side of the road. With his left hand, he held the steering wheel and from a dead stop in high gear, not able to aim, drive, and shift; he moved slowly towards them while letting the gears work on their own as they picked up speed. The Hummer almost stalled several times, then finally got going. More bullets hit the car, but he was going over 60 mph, now, over a dirt road that made him bounce over three feet in the air at times and crashed over potholes, mostly making the hunters miss.

Just as Jeff approached them, he pulled the automatic trigger. A whole magazine fired off its rounds peppering the hunters. They weren't expecting a counterattack; and thought Jeff was injured and trying to get back to the commune. They found themselves stupidly standing fully exposed and mowed through their midsections with a series of ripping, flesh-rending rounds. Jeff was 50 feet past the hunters looking back at them as they moved spastically on the ground in their pain, dying one at a time.

The commune lights came on, and there was a loudspeaker question, "Are you kids okay? Honk if you are!"

Jeff honked loudly and heard a grand applause over the megaphone from the commune. Jeff gunned the gas and hurriedly moved out towards the interstate. He was to use the interstate to the Dechard exits. The rest was all back roads.

Sal started yelling and hitting him over the head with a small duffel bag while Nikki barked in his ear. "You macho creep! You could have got us killed! I didn't give you a choice over my life! You understand? This is a democracy, isn't it? Well, act like it!"

She jumped back into the front seat while brushing and picking glass off the seats and throwing it out the side window. Nikki calmed down and went to sleep in her lap. Fortunately, the roads were abandoned and quiet. Jeff kept rather quiet after his Sal scolding and felt ashamed for taking such a chance with her like that.

He finally apologized, "I'm sorry, Sal. I shouldn't have been so full of myself. I'll be more careful from now on."

"Let's forget it. By the way, where did you get the firepower? If you hadn't had it, you wouldn't have taken a chance. I hate guns and killing. It makes me sick."

"There's the Dechard exit. We're getting close, now." They finally made it to Cowan around 4:30 in the morning and moved slowly through the town square. The smell of the dead livestock saturated the air.

"Oh, my gosh! It's terrible! I think I'm going to be sick. Look, there are dead people on the road. Don't run over them, Jeff. Oh, gross, you just ran over that lady. What's left of her."

"Just shut up for a minute and get out the oxygen masks in that other duffel bag. Adjust the one with red markings for you. The other is already sized for my face."

They both looked alien, driving down the road with their masks. They did thumbs up to each other after having solved the smell problems. They continued to dodge dead debris, which included a carnage of horses, cows, and humans."

They made it to Sewanee at 5:00 a.m. and pulled up to All Saints. They took off their masks, not seeing any farm animals, just dogs, cats, and some left-behind dead students leaning against trees, but it wasn't as bad as Cowan. They took turns, anyway, taking their masks on and off to speak.

"Where are we supposed to go?" Sal asked.

"To another small church just beyond All Saints," answered Jeff.

They drove through the campus lawns and rolled over short shrubs and curbs without any problems. They passed the cobblestone church, not seeing it, then Nikki started baying.

"Whoa, we almost missed it. Wow! It looks like it's going to fall down. Do you think it's safe?" asked Sal, fearfully.

"Caleb said it was okay in the basement. Shall we honk?"

"I think Nikki is doing that for us," she said as Nikki continued to howl and bark, then ran through the church doors but waited for them to catch up. They saw him go down the basement stairs and stand in front of a heavy metal door.

"Who is it?" asked Alex, his ear against the inside of the door.

Sal yelled, not knowing he was so close, "Caleb sent us. Are you two Alex and Abigail?"

The door flung open, and Abigail fell out onto them. She was so happy to see someone after weeks of isolation that she was beside herself. It was just too much for her, and she bawled and hugged them all, including Nikki. She pulled back from Nikki, but Alex didn't seem to mind and carried him below.

"We've been down here for almost two months, now. Caleb said you two were kids, but I guess I forgot just how young, young kids looked. Would you like to have something to eat, drink, a bath, sleep?"

"Slow down, Abigail," commanded Alex. "Give them a moment to relax."

"Oh, hush, come on Sal, let's go get some coffee and do some girl talk," she replied as she grabbed Sal's hand and dragged her to the kitchen.

Sal laughed at their bantering. She liked Abigail from the instant she met her. She felt that they were linked like two old souls to be friends the rest of their lives. She even liked Alex even though she didn't know anything about a governor, but Jeff explained it later, and she thought how humble he was for such an important person, and she liked his simplicity.

They all crammed themselves into the kitchen and talked for hours. Alex and Sal talked about how they came to know the Lord. As a result, Jeff and Abigail were under tremendous conviction to give their lives to God. Abigail's lips quivered with emotion, just thinking about it. She had been thinking about it a lot lately. Around ten that morning, they all four took six-hour naps, then got up and continued to talk, including playing 15 games of Monopoly. This place was even more like a safe haven, than the commune. It was a place under the palm of God, and they all felt it.

They turned on the TV; and when the news came on, Cassidy and Uncle Pendwight were making announcements and discussing economic progress.

"That's my uncle and his witch. I'd like to reach out and pull her heart out with my bare hands!"

Sal exclaimed, "Abigail! My gosh! All this violence from a nun! I would have never imagined! You've been watching way too much TV"

"If you knew what I knew, you wouldn't be saying that. You murderer of babies!" she screamed as she pointed at the TV screen. Alex reached up and pulled her pointing hand down to the kitchen table and tried to calm her. She bowed her head and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'll tell you more about it later, much later."

    

Chapter 20

The Great Revival

Cassidy watched Terrone carefully at breakfast. He had just returned from his two-week dry out at the West Virginia Rehabilitation Center while under private security and having a whole wing to himself. He may be drying out, but he was still the President. Terrone never said a word as he poured more sugar on his cereal and looked up blankly at Cassidy from time to time, not smiling, just staring. Cassidy thought something was missing; like no one was home.

She wondered if his withdrawal was a pretense or the real thing. Was he hiding from her in the deep recesses of his mind? Was he just unable to accept her dark nature that left his mind totally blown away? Or, was he pretending, just trying to pay her back? She needed him, and she believed he knew it. Without Terrone, she'd have no power. Without him standing beside her, she'd lose to Angelica, to leave Montplier the king of the world. She couldn't take a chance like that. She had to do something to keep him on her team, whether he refused to be interactive or not didn't matter. She couldn't have him committing suicide or resigning as President.

"Terrone, did you have a nice rest while you were away, sweetie?" she asked while smiling at him lovingly. "You know I missed you, don't you?" she continued and smiled seductively this time.

He dropped his spoon in his cereal bowl with a clatter and stood up while squeaking the chair across the marble floor of their dining room. He walked to the bay window facing the river and stared, not saying a word.

"Have you seen the new designs that believers are wearing around their marks? It's reminiscent to the hippy days of the 60's, almost psychedelic, with different fish shapes and crosses. They're actually very pretty. Takes a lot of guts to do that with everything going on," he said. He still didn't turn to look at her but continued to stare out the window.

"Where did you see that, honey?" she asked inquisitively. She hadn't heard about such defiant boldness. It was Pendwight's job to keep her up on things like that; she'd talk to him later.

"The nurses at the hospital. Two of them were believers. The P2 disabled most of the employees, and the hospital hired believers since they don't seem affected by it. Isn't that ironic?" he turned to her and smiled sarcastically while watching her mouth twitch with the barb. He knew she couldn't control it, and it happened involuntarily when she became upset.

"Darling," she replied smoothly as she got up and walked towards him. "We're all doing what we have to do. I'm just glad you got some help, whether it was from believers or not. You're feeling better, aren't you?"

He turned his back on her approach and continued to talk. "Yes, I did get a lot of help. I guess you don't mind, but I brought home this Gideon New Testament that was in my bed stand at the hospital. I spent a lot of time reading it lately. I read through Revelation three times. Did you know that the devil is going to inflict the earth after the rapture with pain without death on anyone who has the mark except those who have the seal of God on their forehead?"

Cassidy stopped and started trembling all over. She had never read it, but started remembering it from Dar-Raven's dark inborn knowledge. She had forgotten about it lately, being too busy living it. He was right. This was part of Revelation.

"Don't let your imagination work overtime, sugar. It's just make believe, a fairytale."

She got his rejection message when he turned his back into her approach. She returned to the breakfast table and picked up a piece of toast while running her fingers around its crusty edges—her mouth still twitching.

"I guess you don't know what comes next, do you?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "Let me see if I can remember it. 'Now the number of the army of the horsemen was two hundred million, and I heard the number of them. And thus I saw the horses in the vision: those who sat on them had breastplates of fiery red, hyacinth blue, and sulfur yellow; and the heads of the horses were like the heads of lions; and out of their mouths came fire, smoke, and brimstone.' I believe, if I'm not incorrect, these guys whip the bad guys' butts."

"That's just a bunch of garbage written by a drugged-out prisoner on an island. He was losing it. You can't believe that kind of junk, can you?" she protested as her voice climbed higher in excitement, not liking any of the Word spoken around her. It was like knives slicing at her heart and soul; she felt pain with every word.

She reflected a minute. Two hundred million and those colors were exactly the same colors of the new aircraft they were building, even the lion shield covering the face of the plane. She felt betrayed by the British. She shouldn't have let them keep their design. She felt plotted against, and her anger started surging.

"Are we the bad guys, Cassidy?" he asked while letting his question sit like a landmine in front of her. He turned to face her while enjoying her obvious anger and the pained look on her face. "I think we are."

He continued, "I saw those pictures from Britain before I left for rehab. I saw the suggested number of those aircraft; but if we're the ones to build them, and they're ultimately used against us—that means something changes. Something is going to happen to turn the tables on us bad guys, and that includes Angelica and her puppet too. I'm not quite as naïve as you take me for. Had a lot of time lately to think and pr... about these things. Someone else will be in charge. My little Cassidy, it won't be you."

"How dare you threaten me? How dare you challenge my plans, and what we've been able to do while you were away drying out! How dare you!" she screamed and marched towards him, then stopped. She wanted to hurt him, to kill him, but she needed him. Something deep within her, the Dar-Raven blood, brought her to an immediate halt.

"Well, Mr. Prophet of Doom, do you have any wise suggestions, seeing that you think you know so much?" she said calmly without the twitching face anymore.

Terrone noticed the change. It gave him the creeps. She seemed to morph into another person. A person completely under control, but he didn't understand who it was. Still, he had something to say and continued.

"There's a revival going on, Cassidy. Everywhere I traveled coming back from rehab, tents were being set up on street corners and in parks. Believers are preaching Jesus, and people are listening. If we're the bad guys, it's going to be those believers who will somehow turn the tables on you. I don't know how, but I know in my heart that they'll do it."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," she replied viciously. She knew that within a week the strikes against the communes would end whatever coup they had planned.

"Oh, tell Pendwight that I forgive him. With you, that's another matter, isn't it? How can I forgive something or should I say someone who actually isn't all together human?" he replied while taking off his suit coat and flexing his well-conditioned muscles through his dress shirt, almost punching out of the fabric. It was on the order of an animal's defensive posturing. Like an animal puffing up to show the potential enemy how much stronger and bigger they are.

Cassidy instantly got the message and remained calm. She knew exactly what he was talking about with Pendwight. Someone on staff had leaked their little indiscretions. She knew Terrone wouldn't commit suicide or quit. In fact, she knew she'd have to kill him herself when the time came—after Montplier was out of the way. She couldn't afford a reversal right now. She could take his place herself if she had too. She would just have to tolerate his being a thorn in her side. She wondered where he got his new boldness and strength. It seemed to come from within him. It was different, and it frightened her a little.

"Where's your mark? Where's your mark on your hand?" she asked accusingly.

"I took little Eddie's advice. I wouldn't let them mark me. At least, I'm not sick now, either. You wouldn't want your President to be sick, would you?"

"Why did you say forgive? You sound like a believer with that kind of talk." she continued while shaking her finger at him.

"My, my, Cassidy. Aren't you the sensitive one today? Afraid I'd become a believer. Now that would be a reversal, wouldn't it? How in the world would you deal with that one?" he responded without answering her question.

"Oh, I just wanted you to know that one of those believer nurses told me about a new Christian Alliance Party being formed. It looks like they're trying to have political clout now too. It seems to have international ties to Britain, Canada, and Ireland. Almost like a consolidated front of some kind. Next November might prove to be quite interesting. You don't mind a little competition? Do you, Cassidy?" he laughed, then watched her erupt and slam her fist into the breakfast table, then sweep all the dishes onto the floor; her old anger had taken control again.

Guards burst into the living room from outside the doors while shouting for confirmation, "Are you alright, Mr. President?"

Terrone looked at her and whispered to her as he walked towards his study, "Am I, Cassidy?"

"For the time being," she hissed back.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'll be in the West Wing reading. Hold my calls, will you?" he continued to walk away from her, then heard her pounding the table several more times.

As he entered the study, Pendwight was pouring over books, researching geographical maps for Cassidy while trying to verify exactly where additional communes were located, more strike targets. Pendwight broke into an immediate sweat while he carefully watched Terrone's face for an indication of his mood, and especially, if he knew or didn't know about him and Cassidy.

"Doing some research, I see? Take your stuff and get out of here! This whole West Wing is off limits to you and Cassidy!"

Pendwight rustled up his papers and maps too slowly for Terrone. "I don't believe you understood me! I said get out of here, now! You and Cassidy make quite a pair. I believe there's a special place reserved in hell for you two," he fired at him, then he grabbed Pendwight's red-flagged table and pushed it end for end out the door, almost landing on Pendwight's heels as he escaped.

Pendwight was an emotional mess with maps and books dropping out of his hands with each step. He tripped over printouts from his Internet searches and left a trail of paper falling behind him like a roll of toilet paper. Cassidy met him just before he entered the dining area.

"He threw me out! I was right in the middle of finishing this research. Believers have added another million and another thousand communes this week. I can't believe how fast they're spreading."

Cassidy just smiled at him; and when he got near enough, she punched him hard in his mouth and kicked his stomach as he tried to straighten up.

"I told you never to keep things from me. What do you take me for? Don't you think, I can handle a little or a lot of bad news if I have to? Why do you think you're here?" she yelled as she grabbed his bleeding face in one hand and flipped pieces of his front teeth from his face and dress shirt.

"You mean the revivals going on?" he said sheepishly while waiting for her next swing.

"Yes, the revivals. Yes, the Christian artwork on their foreheads. Yes, the Christian Alliance Party. How could you keep all that from me? What's worse is I had to find out from Terrone. He wouldn't receive the mark, and he's acting a little like a believer. He even has a Gideon Bible on him. Here in my own throne room, a Bible!"

"Immediately, you creep, I want to order the rehab place shut down. I want to have searches of every hotel, motel, school, and hospital in the U.S. I want every Bible confiscated and burned. Angelica is already doing it, but I just didn't think it was that necessary. If Terrone can be infected by it, so can someone else. Do it! It's more important than ever to keep to our schedule. Soon I'll be totally in control again. By the way, I want you to move your things over to this wing, but you're sleeping on the couch. I want to keep an eye on you. If you fail me one more time, you're dead. Do you understand?" she said, then let go of his face and watched him topple backwards while dropping all his research and documents this time.

    

The Christian Alliance Party

Monica sat in the executive boardroom with 15 other professional-looking business people. She felt out of place. She was marked on her hand, but these professionals weren't. They were marked on their heads with bright aluminous colors and designs decorating the marks on their foreheads.

"Monica," a white-haired gentleman replied. "We've asked you to come here today to be our candidate for the Christian Alliance Party. We hope that you are in good health, considering the new epidemic, because we need you."

"Actually, my husband is a doctor and provides me with several series of drugs and sedatives that control the symptoms of P2, which he calls the Devil's Curse. My husband is a believer, as you know. Gentleman, I'm not. Why are you picking me to represent your party?"

An enthusiastic young man with a bright red fish on his forehead responded, "Because, you're a most experienced political figure and an outspoken advocate of human rights well beyond Title VII boundaries. You can represent both the Christian Alliance as well as draw votes from the disenchanted. The disenchanted wouldn't be as threatened by a nonbeliever. If you changed in the future, which is your decision, even more people would listen. There are millions not buying into the Presidential propaganda being dished out by the present administration. You can bridge the gap for us."

"A gap filler, right? The bridge to a new administration for the new world. That has zing to it. I like that. Well, as you may know, I'm one of few senators left from the D.C. nuclear attack. I was giving birth at home in Kansas at the time. As a survivor, I'd like to try for it. But, I must admit being the only nonbeliever among such a party, as well as being married to one, is making it very difficult to stay a nonbeliever. I'm considering my options," she confessed.

Another woman in a dark business suit held her hand up to speak. She continued to rub her forehead decoration nervously by following the lines of the bright-yellow Celtic cross surrounded by a dark blue circle with her fingertips.

"Yes, ma'am, you have a question?" Monica asked while pointing to her.

"I'm Sanda Lee from the New Montana Christian Tribune. We have a growing grassroots movement, call it a revival spirit taking place from communes all across the West and throughout the United States. We have calculated that our numbers are in the multimillions in communes and millions more who have accepted the seal on their foreheads in the metropolitan cities. The communes are sending out teams of evangelists to the cities, and thousands are coming to Jesus every day. Even though the persecution has increased, the P2 has allowed us to make headway. They actually need us now to keep things working. This is a window of opportunity to turn things around."

"I'm in favor of that," replied Monica. "I need a vice-president. I don't think we should have another nonbeliever, do you? Do we know of any new believers that were in politics?"

"Maybe," replied a woman from Nashville. "We've heard from a commune in Woodbury, Tennessee, that a man called Alex is holed up somewhere nearby. We think it may be our governor, Alex Tabor. We thought he was dead. We've sent a delegation to Woodbury to check it out. He would be perfect. They wouldn't know about him unless he was a believer. Last time we checked, there was talk about a young couple sent to visit him in Sewanee. We're following the information trail as we speak. Also, this commune has been visited by angels, lately. That seems very unusual. All our studies indicate that the greater the darkness the less ability angels have in staying on earth. We hope that with so many turning to Jesus that it will counteract that"

"Let me know about Alex. I'll fly down there myself if it's true. I remember that guy. He was the one who made such a good deal working with kids at car lots or something like that. He was a real down-to-earth guy. He got mixed up with something about using prisoners as militia or something," she commented while pushing at her temples trying to remember.

Another older gentleman stood up. His forehead was decorated with an artfully done picture of Jesus with children all around Him. "I don't think any of us can judge what someone did before they became a believer. All is forgiven. If he's a believer now, he's a new man and recreated in the likeness of Jesus."

"Here, here!" they all shouted. "Praise to our Lord and King!"

    
Chapter 21

Kill The Witch

"Okay everyone. Time to eat. The master chef conquers!" hollered Jeff to the others.

The rest of the crew stumbled out of their rooms while rubbing their eyes and grumbling about the noise, but intoxicated by the aroma.

Sal looked blurry-eyed at him and smarted off, "I remember the last time you cooked for me. You ended up hanging from a window ledge three stories up. Enough with the noise, will you!"

Alex didn't make a sound but pushed his way between Sal and Abigail while heading for the coffee pot and trying to get the first cup. He commented, "He does make a mean cup of coffee."

"It's more like syrup than coffee," replied Abigail while sitting down at the breakfast table and staring at a plate of country ham covered with grits, eggs, and Santa Claus gravy.

"No, it's not. Your coffee is just like weak tea. Anything would be syrup to you," shot Alex.

"You never complained before, old Gov," she responded and shook a finger at him.

Sal looked at all of them in bathrobes, except Abigail. "How come I never see you in a bathrobe in the morning? Afraid someone's not going to catch you at your best?" Alex spurted coffee from his mouth, gagging with the thought of the last time he ever saw her wear one.

She responded, "Not a word, Gov, not a single word. Sal, it's just a newly acquired habit of mind."

"Habit, that's a good word for a nun. Habit? She's just scared to death that she'll lose it again," laughed Alex.

"I told you not to say anything, you rat!" she exclaimed and punched him in his shoulder, then watched him trying not to spill his coffee in his other hand. He didn't. Nothing got in the way of his coffee.

"Okay, okay, we, I accidentally lost it one morning. I turned into an accidental exhibitionist. He didn't even turn away, you gawker!"

"Hey, give me a break. You didn't seem to mind at the time," he replied, still laughing.

"If I wasn't so hungry, I'd tear your crooked ears off!" she returned while laughing herself this time.

"You know, guys," said Jeff as he pointed at both of them, "If I wasn't so dumb about these kinds of things, I'd swear you two had a thing for each other. My parents used to spar like that all time. They were crazy about each other. Of course, they always hugged a little afterwards."

"We haven't evolved that far yet. I guess. Right, Gov?" she said, then winked at him.

"Not yet," he replied, winking back.

"I thought so," said Jeff and Sal together.

Alex and Abigail blushed and looked away from each other for a moment, then smiled slightly.

"Jeff, tell me how best to eat this stuff. Is there an art to it?" asked Sal, not knowing quite what to think about the grits.

"Sure there's an art to it. You take the eggs and cut them up letting the yokes bleed all over the plate, then cover the plate with pieces of biscuits. After that, pour the Santa Claus gravy and the grits on it and mix it all up in a pile, peppered and salted down to taste. Ymmm," he answered as he licked his lips and rubbed his stomach.

"Why is it called Santa Claus gravy?" asked Sal, the only non-southerner at the table.

"It's white, thick, and fluffy like Santa Claus' beard. Don't you know anything, Sal?" he answered.

"Okay, round-eyes, like I'm supposed to know all your Southern traditions all at once. I'm just lucky to know about American shopping habits, not the particular weird eating habits of American society—the Deep South."

"So would you like it better if you mixed it up with sushi?" replied Jeff sarcastically.

"Hey, look who's sparring, now. Do we have another team forming right before our eyes?" asked Alex, not aware of the Sal-Caleb connection like Abigail did from all their girl talk.

"Gov, why don't you pour me some of that black syrup for your sparring partner and stop messing with the hired help, okay?" He got a glimmer that he had said something wrong and mouthed "okay" without saying anything more.

"Abigail, we've been here for almost three weeks, and you two haven't said a word about what we're to do on this mission Caleb talked about. Isn't it about time you shared your secret with us?" she asked, her mouth full of Jeff's suggested mixed breakfast pile.

"Maybe, but not while you're eating. You have to leave in two days. We figure that it will take you at least ten hours to get to one of the biggest West Virginia trade communes. Let's talk about it later, okay?"

"While we're eating? You make it sound like it will make us sick. How silly. What would be that bad? You're so funny," giggled Sal, then looked at Alex staring at her quietly.

Jeff was even quiet. He was never told the mission, only that Sal would be upset about it. He turned and started scrubbing a cooking pot and filling the dishwasher up with dirty dishes.

Sal was about finished with her food while just gobbling it down and said, "You're right, Jeff. That was yummy. Better than the first one."

Abigail sidetracked her for a moment. "Did I hear you say something about Jeff hanging from a window ledge."

"Oops, did I say that? Well, I just got confused one morning when the chef decided to wake me. I threw him out the window."

"Threw him out the window! That's a little violent," laughed Abigail.

"She killed two grown men with her karate hands just after that!" exclaimed Jeff.

"Jeff, that was self defense! You know that!" she shouted, defensively.

"No wonder Caleb picked you for this assignment. You're perfect," spouted Alex, then got kicked in the shins under the table by Abigail.

"Okay, enough is enough! What in the name of Zeus is this assignment about? Stop with all this secrecy! Tell me now!" demanded Sal while starting to lose her temper.

Jeff interrupted, "Caleb said you wouldn't like it, Sal. I don't know what it is, but you might not like the answer."

"Well, if we're to leave for West Virginia in two days, wouldn't it be a good idea to tell us what we're going to do?"

Jeff agreed, "She does have a point. When were you planning on telling us?"

"The day before you left," answered Abigail, then got up and walked out of the room. She walked into Nicodemus' room and let him loose. "I hope you're as good at comfort as at getting people saved. I think Sal is going to need some help."

Nicodemus jumped around at the attention while Abigail avoided touching him, and he ran into the kitchen when he smelled all the food, then yelped for some just before Jeff put down a large bowl of leftovers. Abigail went into the supply room, picked up the Colt 45, and put it under her loose-fitting shirt. She picked up the two bullets and put them in her jeans pocket. She marched into the kitchen with such deliberateness that she caught everyone's attention, including Nicodemus. He stopped eating when she entered and stood before her growling. He seemed to know exactly what she was going to do and that it was a day early.

Sal scolded him, "Nikki, stop that. Go eat your food. So why are you looking so serious all of a sudden?" asked Sal.

Abigail sat down, pulled her chair close to Alex's, and put her arm through his in a surprising show of deliberate affection. It was more for moral support. With her other hand, she pulled out the heavy Colt and placed it in front of Sal.

"It's not loaded," announced Abigail.

"Cool, can I handle it?" asked Jeff.

"No. It's for Sal. Here are two bullets. That's all they gave us."

"I hate guns. Why did you give it to me? Give it to Mr. Academy Macho Automated Fire." she replied while recoiling from it and pushing it away from her with her dirty fork and pointing at Jeff.

"Doesn't work that way," replied Abigail coldly.

"What doesn't work that way?" asked Sal still confused.

"It's yours. You're going to take it, and you're going to murder the President's wife, Cassidy. I don't know what the second bullet is for."

"Oh brother!" said Jeff loudly.

Sal slowly got up from the table and ran to her bathroom while heaving her breakfast into the toilet for over five minutes, then ran to her room. Everyone heard her crying, and it sounded like she was throwing a fit, as if she was kicking and thrashing the bed with her legs and arms.

"Wow," said Jeff. "That's heavy!"

Alex asked, "What do you think she'll do? Hadn't you ought to explain to her about the babies?"

"Later, let's let her get it out of her system first. It has to be her decision. We really can't interfere."

"I want you to start packing. There are certain things you'll need. We have them in the supply room. I don't want you to take that M16. You'll take just what you're supposed to take and nothing more. We are all on orders here. Do you understand?" commanded Abigail.

Jeff whined but nodded "yes," then protested, "Why does Sal have to kill that 'witch' you called her. Why can't I do it? I'd do it in a flapjack minute."

"I don't know, Jeff," interrupted Alex, "You're both in it together, anyway. She just gets dibs on the first shot."

"I'm ready. What else do you know about Cassidy?" asked Jeff while hoping there was more logical reasons why she should die.

"She's not human. Only half of her is. She's part dark angel and part human."

"That has to make a difference. I'll kill the human side, and she can kill the dark angel side; two bullets, right?" Jeff proclaimed loudly.

Sal interrupted, "I'm not going. I'm not going to kill anyone. Forget orders," she said defiantly as she walked into the kitchen and sat down again.

"Tell her about the babies. Tell her!" ordered Alex.

"What babies? What's he talking about?" she asked angrily.

Abigail fired her baby bullet, "The witch is going to nuke all of the communes, shortly. You've been at Woodbury. That's a lot of newborns. We figure that millions of babies will die."

Sal got up and ran to her bathroom again, dry heaving this time, then came walking back despondently. She sat down without a word, and Nikki nudged her leg to let him put his head in her lap. When she did, she felt better for a minute.

"Why, me? Why us? What makes us anymore capable to get to Cassidy than anyone else? I don't understand. I don't understand at all," she whined pathetically.

"I don't know, Sal. I figured it was because you both look so unlikely—two teenagers and a dog. Who would think?" remarked Alex pragmatically.

"And a letter from Pendwight's niece," interjected Abigail.

"When did that come about?" asked Alex.

"Just now. I just thought about it. It's the perfect introduction. They'll have to let them in close. He's always with her anyway. I don't want to think what else he's up to. He's in deep, and it bothers me too much. Let's just leave it at that."

"Why were you two going to tell us the day before instead of now?" asked Jeff.

"I think that makes common sense. Sal won't be sleeping very well the next two days. Now, she'll start out tired. Otherwise, she'd only lose one day," answered Alex.

"I'm not going to murder anyone, not even for Caleb. I'll do it for the Lord, and my heart is sick with this, but I feel Him giving me peace about it that is beyond me. I'll do it for Him. I'll do it for the babies. Other than that, I'd be telling Caleb to go to hell in a hand basket," she replied defiantly again.

"That's exactly what Caleb wanted. He didn't want you to do it for him. He wanted you to make a decision just like you did," Abigail replied while patting Sal's hand across the table.

"I guess I did make a decision? But you're wrong. I'm not losing sleep about it. I really believe God wants this done. When and if I pull the trigger, I'll aim at what Jeff called the dark angel side. I've never handled a gun in my life. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

They all answered together, "Point and pull the trigger!"

"Oh, okay. That easy, huh? Jeff can tell you. If that doesn't work, I can just throw her out a window," she giggled a little while easing the tension they all felt. "Jeff, sweetie, can you make me some more breakfast. I'm terribly hungry," she asked, then seductively ran her hand up his near arm.

"Don't do that, Sal. I have enough problems keeping my distance without you encouraging me," he replied, then moved to the stove to cook up another batch. Nikki moved towards his food growling protectively.

"Don't worry, Nikki. Jeff is fixing me up some more," she laughed as she pointed at Nikki.

    

Two Days Later

The Hummer was packed, and instead of the motorcycle in the back seat, they had it strapped to the back bumper for more room. Abigail was so upset at their leaving that she had her hugs below and let Alex handle it from there. Sal was like an old girlfriend to Abigail, now. They had spent the time confiding in each other all their special secrets, bonding them way beyond just friends. They were each other's cheerleaders for the future. Sal now knew about Abigail's fondness for Alex, and even though Abigail already knew some of how Sal felt about Caleb, she felt her passion for him was like a wild flame. Abigail also began to hunger to become a believer, especially from repeatedly hearing Sal's salvation story. It was beginning to keep her awake at night. She found herself praying for Sal and Jeff. She only wished her prayers counted more. She knew the only way that would happen would be if she turned her life over to God 100 percent.

Sal and Jeff had their maps to West Virginia with special notes on places not to go. They also had every commune marked with additional notations, like which types of artisan work and products they were known for. When Jeff asked about the jeans, he was just told they would need them. He figured it must be because the trade commune he was going to was a clothing commune of some kind. They had a hundred pair of them wrapped tightly in four rolls stuffed in the wide back seat. Jeff jumped into the driver's seat and started the engine. Alex started to wave goodbye, and then stopped them.

"Wait a minute. Did you give me that M16, yet?" he asked.

Sal looked into the glove compartment and found two ammunition clips, "Jeff," she said slowly, "where's the gun?"

"Oh, guys! You can't be serious. You're only giving us a Colt with two bullets with what's going on out there. Please, give me a break," he whined.

"You play by God's rules around here, Jeff. Christian or not a Christian," he replied in a fatherly tone.

Sal got a hold of the barrel of it, stuffed under all the jeans, and pulled it out, then handed it to Alex. Jeff pounded the steering wheel in frustration.

"You guys are so hard and stupid," then he fondled the hunting knife strapped under his pant leg with some comfort.

"Get out of the Hummer, Jeff," commanded Sal. "I'm driving!"

"No way. A guy has to have some fun. Give me a break!" he whined louder this time but got out anyway.

As Sal got in, Nikki jumped in the front seat beside her. Jeff ordered Nikki in the back, and he growled at him bearing his teeth.

"Man, oh man! This is not starting out to be a good day at all," and jumped into the back seat while moving supplies around just to find a place to sit.

"Grumpy, isn't he?" announced Sal in a Steve Erwin accent, then laughed and watched him sitting in the back seat with his hands folded across his chest, not saying a word. She thought he might be holding his breath. "Poor boy," she thought, then laughed out-loud.

    
Chapter 22

The Countdown

Angelica was sitting with Andre watching the news about the P2 epidemic that had devastated the American alliances. He wondered how something like this could be so isolated, not affecting the rest of the world. He felt lucky but suspicious, especially when he heard that P2 didn't infect any of the believers.

"Can you imagine that? This terrible disease doesn't infect the believers who are marked, only those who are marked on the hand. There is something terribly inconvenient about that, but I don't know what it is."

"Andre, don't worry yourself so much about those countries. After all, Britain, Canada, and Ireland are threatening to pull out of our group. You know they must be influencing America to do the same. They're renegades. We don't need them. They deserve to rot for all I care. Don't you think?" she asked while kissing at his neck and playing tenderly with a slight touch on his face.

"I guess you're right. Tell me, have all the shipments of the chips been made on time from your uncle at Scorpion International?"

"Yes. We made sure that America and her alliances were taken care of early. They were completed within six weeks. The electronic funds are working rather well, aren't they?" she asked while gently blowing on his near ear.

"Yes, splendidly. In fact, we just made a change, lately. We lied to the U.S. and told them that we had transfer problems and picked up an extra day's delay in distributing the funds back to them. They bought in on it. The sweep float has made us millions. In fact, if we ever had too, we could capture their funds and keep them. We'll do that if they try pulling out on us. It would be the most expensive betrayal in history. It would devastate them financially."

"Did you hear about the U.S. revivals? Seems they can't control their believers like we can. I heard that they've sent missionaries to Israel. It's causing quite a stir. Millions of Jews are turning to Jesus," she said disgustedly.

"Another one of those American propaganda schemes. They're just trying to get Israel to stay on their side. Now they are converting them to their own fanatical side. I won't be happy until the U.S. and Israel are completely out of the picture. I'd like to steal their money and dare them to try to get it back."

"You know that our own re-education camps are working rather well. We've not had a problem one from the believers' side. We have them locked down tight. The minute believers show their face for whatever reason; they're reported to authorities and moved to re-education. It was my uncle's idea," she said enthusiastically.

"Have the believers returned to live productive, marked lives after receiving our treatment?" he asked, ignorant of their fate.

Angelica laughed to herself, "My foolish, naive Andre."

"Oh, we've never had a problem from any of them once they go to the camps. Not a one," she answered triumphantly. To herself she added, "Because, they're all dead."

"You know America wouldn't have a problem if they'd take decisive measures like we have. They just tolerate them. Believers have set up communes all over their country. By some counts, the believer population is multimillions and growing daily."

"We didn't have many to begin with, Andre, only about a hundred thousand. How lucky we are," she continued gratefully. "They just don't have the guts to handle their own problems. You're the only one who has done that. You're the only one that deserves to rule. You know that, don't you, Andre?"

"I'm beginning to. I'm beginning to."

    

Ready, Set, Go

Cassidy looked at the map and the last count of the believers in communes, then angrily slammed down the report. "I can't believe how fast they're growing. It's ridiculous. Did you see that last count? They're more like an epidemic than P2. By the way, have we found out what is causing P2? Have we a cure, yet?"

"Nothing. It's not viral or bacterial. It's something else. It's like we've been poisoned. If it weren't for the manufacturer of mass quantities of morphine and other painkillers, we wouldn't even have a work force, barely do now. It's slowed down the manufacture of the aircrafts. Our date is still this Sunday when most are at worship. An ironic twist, don't you think? Just think, only three more days," replied Pendwight while feeling the victory of the accomplishment but not feeling the guilt and sickness about it anymore. He felt he was finally getting used to the idea.

"How many aircraft are ready?" asked Cassidy.

Pendwight proudly announced, "A 150 million with the last 50 million by the end of this week, but 150 are already armed and ready to go. With the new believer numbers, it will take us a total of 10 million armed craft to destroy the communes, then the rest will be ready for step two, right, the EU Block, starting with Rome. None of them will ever know what hit them."

Cassidy smiled at Pendwight's intuitive understanding of her major objective. It seemed he had picked up very well on heard unspoken agenda without being specifically told what she had planned.

"I've had some bad dreams lately, Pendwight. They keep coming back over and over again. Someone is going to try to kill me. I don't think Terrone has the guts to do it, but someone is on their way here right now. I can feel it in my bones. I've been trying to conjure up an image of them using my grandmother's tricks of the trade. I keep seeing a dog, an ugly, smiling dog with a white light around it. I just can't make any sense out of it," she spoke with her voice drifting away while looking out over the river.

"Are you sure you aren't being paranoid?" he asked nervously, then waiting for a rebuke which didn't come.

"Humans get paranoid, angels have clear premonitions and visions. Nephilim's, I guess, are somewhere in between. We need to expect the unexpected. I don't want anyone in these suites unless you approve of them first. You're in charge of this. Don't screw it up!"

"On second thought, until this is all over, close the bridges off coming and going from here. Put extra guards on the interstates coming from the South. I want there to be blockades and checkpoints set up every 50 miles for 150 miles south of the city. They're coming from the south. My voice just said so."

    

West Virginia Commune

"Chuck, we just got an e-mail from Sewanee. A man named Alex just sent us two kids and a dog. They will be arriving within the next day. One kid is marked on the hand, but we're to help them. Do you think it's for real?"

"Ask him his full name. I heard that the Nashville Christian Alliance just sent some of us to go to Woodbury looking for a guy named Alex. Ask what his full name is," replied a young man in a khaki uniform wearing an Australian military hat and colonel pins.

Five minutes later, the answer came back, "His name is Alex Tabor. Do you know him?" he asked the colonel.

"Alex Tabor? Yes, that's the guy. That's the guy they're looking for. He's the governor of Tennessee. They thought he was dead. Contact him to stand by. Contact the Alliance headquarters and let them know we've found him. Monica should be told about this as soon as possible. I want to send this e-mail. I'll give you credit, corporal. This is important, very, very, important. That man may be our next Vice President!" he shouted and was so excited that he could barely key in the words.

"Corporal, I just asked him where on Sewanee he was, and he wouldn't tell me. I got it. Let's tell him to stay put. Let's tell him that a Christian Alliance helicopter will be arriving bringing Monica Johnson, our presidential hopeful. You send it this time. I've got to catch Monica to let her know about this. Tell him that the copter has a big red fish on the side with a cross through its middle. He can't miss it."

Alex leaned over Abigail's shoulder, excited about the last message. "A Christian Alliance helicopter! That sounds exciting! They have to be the good guys, Gov! They have to be!"

"I believe you're right, but why are they coming here? It's almost like they've been looking for me. Once I told them my full name, I could almost sense the excitement coming from the e-mail."

"But I've never heard of this Alliance before. Is it because we've been so isolated, Gov?" she asked while she danced in small circles. "Oh, Gov, we've got to clean up this place. We have company coming. Do you think we can leave now? We've sent the kids off and now this. I think we can. Please, let's go with them if they ask," she pleaded.

"Abigail, I'm going to miss having you all to myself. I guess a good thing had to end," he remarked sullenly and walked towards his room.

"Not so fast, you old goat," she yelled while running after him. He turned to her, and she jumped into his arms and planted a big kiss on him. Neither let go just enjoying just holding each other.

"You can't get rid of me that easy," she whispered.

"You mean you want to stay with me? You want to stay with this old, ugly goat? Really, to stay with me? Tell me. Is that what you're saying?" he asked between another passionate kiss.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. I may be a pagan, but I want to be your pagan. I may be a heretic, but I want to be your heretic!" she declared as if she was announcing a grand proclamation.

"The pagan and heretic can change, but being with me is a no brainer. I can't imagine not having you around. You want to make this permanent, real permanent, Abigail?" he asked, then holding her to him again.

"I want more than that. I want to make it permanent right now. I want to seal this the old fashion way. Come on old goat," she said, then pulled him towards her bedroom.

He pulled back and stopped, "I can't do that, Abigail. I've sworn an oath, the one Caleb mentioned in the e-mail. I want to, but I can't. I've never broken a promise in my life, and I'm not going to start now."

Abigail lowered her head with tears in her eyes, then her face lit up. "Hold on a second you super honorable, Mr. Ethical, old goat. I have an idea."

She ran to the computer and replied to the last e-mail. It read, "Send us a preacher, a priest, a ship's captain, a judge. Don't come without one," and she clicked on the send button.

The answer came back, "Sounds like someone's hot to get married, right?"

She answered, "Yes, the governor wants to marry a nun."

The answer came back again. "Oh, boy, wait till the guys hear about this. You got a preacher on the way with Monica Johnson right now, your luck."

"Abigail, this is happening awful fast. I'm sure about how I feel about you, but I'm concerned about you being unsaved. I don't think it's right."

"Don't back out on me now, Gov. I've been praying about this in my pagan way for days. I'm just need some time alone. I believe it's time for me to fix this unsaved problem permanently too," she said as she ran into her room and closed the door.

Alex was still in shock by all this. He had never been irrational in all his live. He had never done an impulsive move, ever. This was way over the edge. He was one of the few that had made a deal with the devil himself to keep Dar-Raven off him. He was way out there this time, but he knew he couldn't let Abigail slip away.

Minutes later Abigail walked calmly out of her room into Alex's where he was packing a few things, mostly his Bible study notes and some extra clothes.

"I did it, Alex. I gave my life to Jesus. Why in the world didn't you push me harder? It's great! I've never felt this way in my life! I'm so ashamed of how I've believed and acted. I'm also so grateful those sins have been forgiven," she came to him and hugged him without the passion this time.

"I suppose you changed your mind now that you're a believer?" He didn't know where that depressing thought came from, but it was out before he could stop it.

"Are you crazy? I love you more than ever. I feel that our hearts will be like bright lights for the glory of God together. I wouldn't think of living the rest of my life without you," she answered, kissed him again, then held him tight.

"How soon before the Alliance copter gets here?" she asked.

"About two hours, I imagine. You have plenty of time to pack. I'm almost done," he answered nervously, not knowing why she asked. He was afraid of another bedroom suggestion, but easily forgot it when reminding himself of her new nature.

"Okay, then. Now you have time to rub my shoulders. I promise not to bite. Come on Mr. Magic Hands help me get rid of this aching neck."

"You're bad, Abigail, just plain bad," he laughed as he squeezed her neck and shoulders as they walked to the kitchen.

"Not bad, righteous, right?" replied Abigail, then affectionately patted his hands on her neck.

    

Road Blocks

Nikki whined about every hour to be let out, and they'd pull over nervously letting him do his business.

"Well, he might be a Holy Ghost dog, but it sure doesn't help his bathroom problems. Man, he has to go more than you women."

"We've been traveling for seven hours, and you've not heard a peep out of me. If my memory serves me correct, you took a whiz with him twice already."

"Oops, I've been caught. Okay, you win. Look up ahead. Do your see all those bright lights? Some of them look like they're on the bridges. We're only 150 miles form Wheeling, and I have a funny feeling about this. Check the side roads on the map. Do you see any way around them?"

They both stared at the map and back up to the lights ahead. They both shook their heads "no" at the question.

"Let's do something silly, Sal. Climb in the back on the floorboards, and I'll put all this stuff on top of you. It's just clothes. It'll be hot, but you're not marked, and I am. Then, we'll put the hound on top of it." Nikki barked enthusiastically like he understood and jumped in the back continuing to bark. "I think he understands what we say sometimes."

"Me too. Actually, I agree with you." They spent 20 minutes unloading the back seat. Sal settled in with her face pointing under the front seat for air. She was covered so completely that even without Nikki, she doubted she'd ever be found. Nikki jumped up on top of her pile and laid down.

"Nikki, what will you do if someone tries to mess with the back seat?" he asked, not expecting an answer, but got one. Nikki growled and snapped at the air while baring his teeth. It scared Jeff just to look at him.

"Good dog" was the muffled sound from Sal. "Let's get this done with. I'm suffocating down here," then she sneezed several times in a row.

"For goodness sakes, don't do that when we get there," he warned.

"Got it, chief! Let's go!" her muffled voice ordered.

The lights were spotlights like those used for foggy days at airports. The line wasn't that long, being about two in the morning. The National Guard corporal stuck his head in the window and looked around. He had Jeff get out and scanned his hand. He read the information on him and said, "What's a kid who's been in so much trouble doing out wandering around. You're just who we need to join us. You're even wearing fatigues like us."

Jeff lied, "I am. I'm going back to Wheeling for a couple days, then joining myself. Do you like your job? Do you get to shoot guns?"

The young corporal begged him. "Please put me down as the one who referred you. We get extra passes and a 100-dollar credit to our chip account for getting someone to join. Please do it for me, will you?"

"Sure, but I don't have a pencil. Maybe I can remember your name," he answered.

"No need, let's just make a note in your chip information. I'll put my name in beside your comment in the notes section. There, it's done. Thanks a billion, Jeff. There are two more checkpoints 50 miles apart, but the bridges are closed going into Wheeling. You'll have to wait until next Monday morning before they reopen. Good luck and thanks again."

Jeff saluted him, and he saluted back, then counted his good luck and thought where he would spend his money. Five miles later, Sal crawled out.

"Didn't even have to use the dog. Might have to next time. How's it feel to be a human duffel bag?" he asked laughing.

"Stop it. I was scared to death. All I could think about was getting caught and all those babies dying."

"We're not done, yet," he warned.

The next checkpoint was more severe. They saw the chip notes and frowned. "Wish it had been me who you referred, son. Missed that one, I guess. What do you have in your back seat?"

This corporal shoved his face in the side window, and Nikki went straight for him. The guard fell back in fright. Nikki just missed his face by a quarter inch. The corporal smelled his breath when he did.

"Man, Jeff. You need to keep a chain on that mutt. What have you been feeding him? Liver? He stunk like a garbage pit. Nikki heard the comment and lunged through the window, snarling at him again.

"Get out of here, man, before that dog jumps out. Get out of here!"

Sal got up again and hugged Nikki thankfully and agreed with the guard, "Your breath stinks bad, Nikki. Have you been eating road kill or something?" Nikki growled at her, then licked her face.

"Good dog, Nikki," commented Jeff. "Lick her again. Sal likes it, Nikki." Sal just about threw up from the second series of slobbers.

The third and final checkpoint was even more serious. The marines handled this one. They made Jeff get out, and a Sergeant pulled at Nikki's collar without regard for his snapping and growling, then rolled him out onto the ground. He was a big man with mountainous shoulders standing about 6'5". Nikki kept snapping at his ankles, which didn't faze him.

"Son, I want this car emptied out, everything. If you don't quiet that mutt, I'll shoot him." Nikki heard, whimpered, and went to the other side of the car.

Jeff said to himself, "This is it. The babies are dead."

"Hey, what's this back here?" the guard shouted while prodding at the motorbike. Its red racing stripes shined from under the heavy canvas as he threw it off. "Jeff, isn't that your name? I've always wanted one of these. This is a heavy duty one, isn't it? It's got that extra horsepower on it. It looks brand new. How does it handle?" he asked, then pulled it off the back and put the kickstand down to look at it.

Another marine came up and asked, "What's the problem, Sergeant? Is there a problem?"

"No problem. This guy is clean as a whistle. He just sold me his bike, didn't you, Jeff?" he replied as he winked at him.

Jeff got the message. He needed the break. "Yep, you got a good deal on it too. Hope you enjoy riding it as much as I did."

Jeff jumped into the driver's seat and geared up with Nikki jumping back through the passenger's window. "Get out of here, son," he ordered.

Jeff saw him riding it around the interstate and trying to do a wheelie, but missed. It threw him on his back with the bike landing on top of him. "Serves him right," replied Jeff. "That thief!"

"Saved by greed! That's a fine 'howdy-do,' as you Americans say," Sal replied and crawling out for what she thought was the last time. "That was too close. Way too close."

Not more than ten miles down the road, another roadblock appeared. This time they weren't soldiers. They were civilians in hunter camouflage. Nikki saw them first and barking furiously as Sal dived into the back seat and covered herself with gear.

"Who are they, Jeff?" she asked, petrified.

"I don't know. They're blocking the road with pickup trucks and from the scopes on their rifles; they've got deer rifles. Some have shot guns," he replied as his headlights lit them up for a good look.

He pulled over and ten of them surrounded his Hummer. He got out and stood in front of them while watching their every move. Nikki started the racket, and they brought out several of their own—one was a full-grown German Shepherd and another was a Doberman. They immediately sicked them on the car. The dogs stuck their heads in the back windows snapping and snarling at Nikki.

"What do you guys want? We're tapped out. Those other roadblocks took everything," he replied.

"Who's we? I just see you. You have someone else with you?" one asked, and they took a more defensive posture around the car. They didn't want any surprises.

"Just me and my dog, that's we!" he commented and acting almost submissive.

"You have to have something held back," replied a teenager who was trying to look in the back seat from the front passenger's side.

The teenager exclaimed loudly, "Hey, I think he's got jeans back there!"

"You have some jeans, son?" an older white-haired man asked as he pointed his shotgun at Jeff's face.

"Okay, okay. I got jeans. How many do you want?"

"We'll take them all. How's that for negotiations?" the same man replied, then laughed and pushed Jeff against the car with his double barrel.

"Get that dog calmed down, or we'll shoot him!" another man said as he pulled his Doberman off the driver's side of the Hummer.

"Hey, you look like you've had some action. Look at all the bullet holes. Where did you come from, anyway?"

"Woodbury, why?" asked Jeff nervously as men walked continuously around his car. He kept an eye on them as much as he could.

"Woodbury! I had a cousin get shot down there a month ago. They were doing something with the commune. Someone shot him up real bad. Those believers are getting better armed every day. You're not armed? Are you, son?"

"Yes," he replied and several backed away from him.

"Here, I've been saving this. It's the only weapon I got," he replied as he pulled the hunting knife from his pant leg and handed it to the nearest man by the blade.

"Wow, cool knife! Hey guys, did you see this?

"Alright, boy, you get us the jeans, and we'll take this knife too. Take those gas cans while you're at it, guys. Son, you going to Wheeling?"

"Yeah, can you leave me enough gas to get there? Going to join the militia," he replied pathetically.

"Fill his tank up, guys. Take the rest. Need kids joining the militia with all the believers taking up arms now. We need all the help we can get."

Jeff reached into the backseat pulling out all the packages of jeans and throwing them onto the ground. Sal kept moving slowly into the floorboards, and she carefully pulled a blanket over her. Nikki noticed and decided to stop barking,. then sprawled out over the top of her. She reached a finger through a blanket opening and touched Nikki. She felt the power of his anointing comforting her. The hunters dived on the jeans and divided them up like they were gold.

"Get out of here, son. Hope you don't meet anymore of us. You really are down to the bone, now."

"Yeah, thanks for leaving me enough gas," he replied but wanting to shoot them all rather than sucker up to them but feeling God's presence holding him together.

Miles down the road, he heard Sal crying and spoke gently to her, "It's okay, Sal. It's over. We only have another 20 miles to go. I'm sorry but that scared the pee out of me. Come on out, Sal. It's okay."

"Don't worry about that. I about did the same. I've never been so scared in my life," she commented while climbing back into the front seat.

They continued with their fingers crossed. "Any more checkpoints, we'll be walking. I was praying for you, Sal. I was praying for myself too. I almost broke down in front of all of them," he said while pulling off at an exit just ten miles from the river.

"Well, we don't have anything to give the commune, now. God is in charge, now. His mercy will have to take care of us from here on in," replied Jeff, then saw a questioning look on Sal's face at his God talk, but hopeful for it. Maybe, Jeff was coming around.

"How are we going to get across the river to the capitol?" asked Jeff.

"That's what the boat is for. Must be. There are even some life jackets. Good thing I had them strapped to the undercarriage, or we wouldn't even have those."

Minutes later, they saw the commune at the top of a high hill near the river. They honked outside of its tall walls until guards came up from out of nowhere. The guards stuck rifle barrels in their faces. They looked more like soldiers with dark-black marks on their faces and wore striking, dark-green uniforms with a uniform badge made up of a red fish with a cross through the middle.

"Get out, both of you, with your hands in the air. Don't make a sound. Don't make a move," a tall officer ordered.

"Who are you two? What do you want?"

"To kill the President's wife," said Sal, confidently. "Let us in. You had to be told that we were coming."

"She's right, two kids and a dog. I didn't know about your mission until now. Remind me not to let you join the secret service. You give out information too easily."

"Got your attention, didn't it?" replied Sal. She just knew God would handle this. They hadn't come this far as a joke. This was the end of the trail.

"The boy is marked," announced another.

"Alex Tabor said he would be. So you're Sal and Jeff, and this is Nikki, right?"

"Yes," answered Sal. Jeff relaxed a little.

"This is Saturday morning, isn't it?" asked Jeff.

Sal panicked, "We have to go across tonight. There's no time. It has to be tonight." She had no idea where that came from. It was out and out of her before she knew it.

"What's the hurry," asked another guard.

"Millions of children will die Sunday morning if we don't," Sal heard herself say it again surprised when she said it. How did she know that Sunday morning was the time? She thought it must be God speaking through her and got chill bumps all over her.

"Get these kids in the commune now! Get them in. I want a full briefing in an hour. Tell our men to start gathering up all available manpower. This is the sign we've been waiting for!"

"What about notifying Monica Johnson? Shouldn't we let her know what we're up to?"

"She's already on her way back with Mr. and Mrs. Tabor. They'll be arriving at our Eastside Camp where we have all our TV and audio units set up."

"Mr. and Mrs. Tabor? What are you talking about? Alex isn't married," Sal stated, mystified.

"He is now. He married a nun by the name of Abigail just yesterday evening. Alex is Monica Johnson's new running mate, right guys? He's our new Vice President." They all shouted in agreement and showed victory symbols with their fingers.

    
Chapter 23

The Assassination

The briefing started a mobilization of a well-planned attack on Federal offices and strongholds. It was meant to be swift and decisive with minimum damage. They had been waiting for a sign from God on the right time. The murder of the President's wife was that sign to them. It was just disruptive enough to cause the U.S. to fall apart and give believers a chance to regain control over important and strategic points of power.

Most of this had to do with the radio, TV, and newspapers. They considered them the seeds of power. Wheeling was considered the most important place to start such an attack. No troops would engage, just a mass of firepower at the right places to control government long enough to get God's message and the truth out to the general public.

When Jeff walked through the commune, he worried for a second that he didn't have any jeans to give them, but suddenly forgot it. This wasn't a trade commune. This was a military base. All he saw for miles surrounded by the high walls and covered with camouflage material, were tanks, troops, heavy artillery, including a fleet of Apache helicopters. This whole base was part of a civil defense center for the National Guard Army that was abandoned years ago. It was so covered with overgrowth that the camouflage was almost not needed.

Sal felt her heart jump into her throat. All this firepower scared the "willies" out of her. This was like the beginning of an Armageddon. The total number of troops located in this small area and in its underground bunkers was 250,000. This was something neither of them could imagine. Here was all this firepower, and two teenagers were going to save the day.

Jeff spoke first, "I never realized that this was going on."

"No one did. We aren't stupid. Just because we're believers doesn't mean we don't know how to protect ourselves. This country is worth fighting for. Nothing will stop us. We're proud of you two. You're the trigger to regain the U.S. The minute after Cassidy is dead, our new candidate will announce the Christian Alliance's intention of running for office in November, and beside Monica Johnson will be your friends, Alex and Abigail. This is a great moment for the world," replied a general wearing a decorated marine uniform.

"As soon as the broadcast is live, other Christian Alliance forces will be moving in Britain, Canada and Ireland. This is a consolidated front. We can't pull out of the EU conglomerate yet, but we'll have to eventually. When we do, we have to be strong enough to withstand an attack from Montplier's group. They won't stand by and let us fall away that easily. We have to be ready, and we will be," replied another Air Force general, continuing the speech.

Sal and Jeff slept until near five that evening and were awakened in a start, then taken out into the compound by separate units of a well-equipped militia. A colonel with a redfish on his ball cap and one on his forehead talked to them after handing them sandwiches and some Gatorade. "You have exactly 30 minutes to get to and across the river. We can't help you. Your raft is inflated, but you can't afford a small motor, too much noise. You'll have to row. Too many of us will draw too much attention. They probably won't bother with two civilian teenagers on the river, especially after what we have planned. They'll think of you as insignificant."

"We've set up charges all over Wheeling. The bridges will go first, then we've set up explosives all over town in empty buildings to keep casualties down. They'll be so busy that they'll never notice you. Even if they did, they'll not bother with you anyway. The charges will start going off 15 minutes after you leave shore. You'll have just enough time to get to the capitol before they close; and about the time that the security guards change their shift. The sun is going down directly in their eyes. Even if someone could see what's on the river, the sun would blind them."

"I hope what you call insignificant, and what I call it means the same thing," remarked Jeff sarcastically.

Other marines helped them carry the boat down to the river. Nikki jumped in first, then Sal while Jeff handled the rowing. The marines gave them an enthusiastic push and saluted them in respect. The marines pulled back from the bank and hid in the bushes. The current was running slowly, which helped. They started upstream by a half-mile to compensate for the current, and it seemed that the calculations were on the money. They could see the capitol with its wide bay windows facing the river just ahead of them. The lights showed the shadows of several people pacing back and forth in the upper stories.

Cassidy asked Pendwight, "Were there any catches from the Southern checkpoints?"

"Yes, there were a hundred who weren't marked, and we've taken them to our PEC Centers."

"What about that dog?"

"Twenty of them had dogs. We put them all to sleep, already. Is that sufficient?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I still have this feeling, and it's getting stronger."

She approached the window, but the sun was so bright she couldn't stand to look out just now. "Why in the world did someone build a view of the river facing the sun like this? It's blinding this time of day."

"Guess you can't have it all here in Wheeling. I used to get away from the evening glare by moving to the other side of the suites, at least, before Terrone came back. Have you seen him lately?" he asked.

"No, he has room service bring him his meals and just reads all the time. I haven't seen him in a week. At least he's out of my hair until this Sunday's event is over. We're counting down now, aren't we?"

"Yes, the planes are on alert. We're ready. Nothing will happen until you give the signal. This red flash drive contains all the passwords and orders with all the targets. Once you send the e-mail with the attachment, the deed is done. It will go simultaneously to all the headquarters in each state."

Explosions rocked the bridges on both sides of the capitol. Concrete and metal fell into the river completely disabling one bridge and part of another. The kids kept rowing until they were across the river. Just then, ten different explosions took out harmless but effective abandoned buildings on the far side of town away from the capitol with only two nearby, but enough to shake the ground around them while they ran for the White House.

"What in the heck is that?" screamed Cassidy while trying to see. The screams downstairs had people running from the building into the streets.

Terrone came from his wing and looked out at the mayhem and only said, "I told you we're the bad guys," then went back into his study and closed the door.

"Ignore that idiot! Find out what's going on! Do it now!" she screamed at Pendwight. He tried to call down to the guard station, but it was busy, and he hung up angrily.

"Give me the flash drive. I don't trust anyone with it but me," she commanded as she grabbed it from him.

"I'm keeping this one close to me," she said and sat down watching the clock and wishing the hours would slide by. She wanted to do it now, but held back. Timing was everything.

Jeff and Sal walked up the steps to the first checkpoint. "We're here to see Professor Pendwight. Here's a letter from his niece in Sewanee."

The guard had already made a bad mistake second guessing Eddie not long ago. He cautiously regretted having to bother Pendwight at all. He nodded in courtesy and reluctantly said, "Just step through this metal detector, and I'll buzz him. Hey, do you know what's going on out there?" he asked nervously, then watched fire engines and rescue crews flying in all directions to numerous but unimportant fires.

"Got me, come on Nikki," said Sal.

"Your dog going too?" he asked. Nikki scampered under the metal arch without a hitch. He was wearing a cute little vest, which had a Teflon-covered case with the Colt hidden in it strapped to his stomach.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll have to leash him. Is he a favorite of Pendwight's? Dogs can be family too. I have a basset hound called George, myself."

"Professor Pendwight, this is the down-stair's guard, Donnie. There are some kids here with a letter from Abigail. They said she was your niece. They've come to see you."

"They picked the wrong time. Tell them to come back," he said, then slammed down the phone.

"Tell him she just got married to the governor of Tennessee, Alex Tabor. Tell him we just came from Sewanee where we spent weeks with them."

"Okay, but I hope he doesn't fire me?" said Donnie still shaking in fear.

"I'm sorry, Professor Pendwight. They said your niece just got married to the governor of Tennessee, Alex Tabor. They just spent the last couple weeks in Sewanee with them." There was silence on the phone.

Pendwight remembered the man at All Saints. It clicked, "That was the governor. I thought I recognized him from somewhere. Then, we couldn't find Abigail. I bet they were both hiding together. No wonder, Tare couldn't find her."

"Send them up, Donnie. But only for five minutes," he replied cordially while Donnie wiped the sweat from his face and neck.

"Whew, I thought I was a goner. Just go up the stairs to the right, then through the big doors. The second set of doors is where he'll be. Here, take these Presidential passes. His bodyguards won't bother you. In fact, there's only one on duty right now. We're changing to the night shift in a couple minutes. I won't be here when you get back."

As they walked up the stairs, Sal thought she'd start throwing up again. She had never been so scared in her life. She just knew they wouldn't make it out alive. Jeff felt the same way, but he was more afraid for Sal than himself.

"Pendwight, I'm ordering the strikes on the communes early. I can't wait till tomorrow," she proclaimed and went over to the computer with her back facing the double doors.

"You're kidding. You've come this far to panic at the last minute. You might be a Nephilim, but you're acting just like a woman, a fickle woman," he said challengingly.

"Watch it, Pendwight. Don't step across that line!"

He backed down, then realized two kids were standing behind him. Jeff felt like something was terribly wrong. He saw the panicked look on Pendwight's face and saw Cassidy putting a red flash drive into her computer. She was totally absorbed in her task, not turning around, not wanting to be distracted.

"Oh, kids, you must leave right now. A grand event is taking place, but we grownups need to take care of it without distractions. Give my regards to Abigail. She was always my favorite."

The pain in Sal's chest was a Holy Spirit alarm, "She's doing it, Jeff! She's doing it! Sal reached and pulled on Nikki's vest, then pulled the Colt from the Teflon case. Nikki charged past Pendwight almost knocking him down. Before Cassidy could turn around, Nikki gripped her arm in his jaws. She had just put the flash drive in place and was getting ready to send. When she felt and saw the dog, she screamed, "It's the dog from my dreams! Pendwight stop him! It's God's dog! It's Jehovah's dog!"

Pendwight ran back towards Cassidy and tried to pull Nikki off her, but Nikki had Cassidy's arm clenched in a death grip. Cassidy raised her other hand getting ready to bring it down on Nikki's head when Sal screamed, "Leave my dog alone! Leave my children alone! Leave my people alone!" she commanded in a voice, not her own, but full of a Godly authority that sounded like God's voice Himself.

Cassidy stood up with Nikki hanging from her bleeding arm just as Jeff reached the double doors locking it securely in place. Cassidy felt the Godliness from Sal, and her hair stood up on her arms. She started to levitate above the floor, and Nikki dropped off with a thud.

Sal ran up to Cassidy; and as she looked up at her, she screamed, "For my children!" again in that voice. She fired once hitting Cassidy through the front of her head that threw her back with a fierce impact against the wall that left a wide blood streak down the wallpaper. They all watched her slide to the floor, then twitch several times before she died.

Pendwight crawled in a panic for the top drawer of a small desk. Sal looked at Jeff, and he looked at her with a questioning shrug.

"Let's get out of here!" Jeff shouted as the guards started banging on the front doors and firing on the lock.

Sal heard the shot and watched as it burst out of Jeff's back. She saw him fall and hit the floor. She ran to him, but changed her mind and turned to Pendwight before he could get off another round, then fired her final bullet. It hit him in his throat, and he gasped in surprise as warm blood flowed through his fingers. He couldn't hold on to consciousness, but heard one final despairing comment from Sal.

"Abigail got saved and married to the new Vice President of the Christian Alliance Party, yesterday. Burn in hell, Pendwight. Burn in hell."

Sal bent down over Jeff while trying to lift him up, but couldn't. "Oh Jeff. Oh please, don't die. Please don't go. You never did give your life to Jesus. Please don't go," she said repeatedly while sobbing hysterically.

"I did, Sal. I did. I just didn't tell you. I did it while standing with all those hunters on the last stop. God gave me his peace. I couldn't have held together without Him. You have to believe me. I did...," he died while patting at her face and letting her slip from his touch.

"I'll take care of him. You need to get out of here," said President Terrone, "That was a brave, wonderful thing you did. I just didn't have the guts. I knew God would send someone to do it before it was too late. I've been in my study praying for that someone since I got back from rehab. Yes, I got saved in rehab. Now, get out of here. There's a rope ladder for fires in the bottom drawer of that big desk. Go, go," he said. He picked her colt and threw it out the window as he watched her unravel the ladder.

"Come on, Nikki. I'll carry you down."

He wouldn't budge. He was staring at the red flash drive. Sal ran to it, pulled it out, put it in her shirt pocket, then saw the send command still flashing. She looked at the list of e-mail addresses. She did a control print. Somehow she knew this list would be useful to the Alliance. She pressed escape and pulled the power cord out of the wall, then took the printed copy and wadded it up to put it in her back pocket.

Nikki jumped into her arms; and as she lowered herself over the side, she mouthed to Terrone, "Thank you," who nodded and winked to her at the same time.

As she hit the ground, Caleb stepped from the building and caught her as she lost her balance. He had the Colt stuffed in his own waist belt. If she hadn't been in such shock over Jeff, she'd be overjoyed to see him.

Her only comment was, "I have to get back across the river."

"You can't. The banks are covered with capitol militia and marines. You're not immortal, yet. Come with me. This is a little trick I learned from Isaac thousands of years ago. Step close to me, as close as possible. There, perfect, now hold on."

He pushed his wings from him and surrounded her completely. Nikki followed as if he was on a stroll. Then Caleb disappeared completely with Sal under his wings. She couldn't be seen either.

"Keep very quiet. Don't make a sound." They walked for blocks down side streets and through several parks. Finally, they came to a Catholic Church five miles from the capitol. Caleb opened the doors and walked with Nikki following them down the center aisle.

A priest was having his evening prayers when he noticed Nikki sitting beside him staring at him. "Hey fellow. You lost or something. Want a bite to eat," he asked, and Nikki bowed to him.

"That's a respectful trick. Who did you learn that from?" he asked, not expecting an answer.

"Your grandpa taught him that," replied Caleb as he reappeared with Sal tucked under his wings.

"Whoa, Holy Mary, Mother of God! Are you who or what I think you are? You have to be. If you know my grandpa, you have to be."

"The pastor was your grandpa? The pastor that did the Enoch with Irish and disappeared?" Sal replied flatly.

"So my grandpa finally did an Enoch. Well, if anyone ever deserved to do that, it was he. He brought me to the Lord after the rapture so I wouldn't miss the next time, but what can I do for you two?"

"We need shelter. We need a place to stay for a couple days in privacy. Can you help us? I need something else. I'm taking a chance now. Give me your prayer book. Sal, look at page 433 through to 438. Do you see what that's about?"

She nodded with tears in her eyes, "Yes."

"Will you?" he asked, still holding her close to him.

"Yes," she answered quietly.

"Will you perform this blessing and give us the Eucharist."

"Yes," said the priest, overwhelmed by the significance of this moment.

"Is it allowed, though?" asked the priest.

"I'll ask to make sure if it will make you feel any better," replied Caleb, then holding his hand in the air in a praise gesture.

"It's okay," replied Caleb. "I've never taken a human wife since my creation."

The priest prepared the Eucharist and performed the blessing and order of marriage. It was all a blur to Sal, but a loving one. When she came to the communion, she confessed, "Lord, I have sinned. I murdered a the President's wife, a Nephilim, and Pendwight, tonight. Please forgive me."

The priest stopped, "Is she okay?"

"No, she's just seen her best friend murdered, and she really did kill those people. Our Lord has it under control, and she's covered by the blood of Jesus. She can take the communion."

Afterward, the priest took them into a private place deep inside the church basement. He bowed to them, gave a blessing on them and around the door. For the first 15 hours, Caleb held Sal, and she never said a word. She was so stunned by the look on Jeff and Pendwight's face. It just wouldn't leave. Two days later, they got up to leave.

"I have to go for awhile, Sal. There is no other way to the commune except by swimming. I'll take you to the river. Can you make it across by yourself? The darkness you removed allowed me to stay these extra days, but I'm losing my hold on earth again. I will come to visit you soon. I love you, Sal."

She spoke for the first time since the communion and marriage vows, "What's my new last name, Caleb?"

"Angels don't have last names," he said while holding her.

"That seems a little unfair. Well, then it will be my name, then, I guess. I'll make you take on my last name when you are with me, okay?" she laughed and hugged him, still feeling dazed by all of this.

Caleb disappeared at the river. Sal looked at Nikki saying, "Well, let's go for that swim? Oh no, the pastor told me. You can't swim."

Sal grabbed Nikki and put him around her neck, along with her tied together boots, and jumped in. Marines on the other side saw her and watched apprehensively while she carried her head barely above water while doing powerful breaststrokes. Halfway across the river, she started losing momentum, and the current pulled her down several times. The marines pulled boots off and jumped in after her. Five of them made it to her as she gasped in exhaustion, which was as much emotional as physical, and they swam Sal and Nicodemus to shore.

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Chapter 24

Restoring The God Of America

The commune was a buzz of activity. There were Apache Helicopters whirring through the air with their big red fish symbols and looking like loud proclamations of Jesus. Troops in Alliance uniforms were pouring out of underground bunkers.

As they carried Sal through the controlled mayhem, she finally asked. "What's going on? What's all the excitement about?"

"Well, little hero, we're pulling out of the EU's group. Look," a lieutenant said while pointing to a wide screen TV. The scene was astounding. On stage in front of hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians were waving Christian Alliance flags next to Old Glory, were Monica Johnson and her husband with Alex and Abigail. Their hands were held high in a victory posture. Each of them had the Alliance's red symbol painted on their foreheads, including Monica. As they raised their hands in front of a cheering crowd, Sal noticed a white bandage wrapped on Monica's hand where her own marked chip used to be. Monica had given her life to the Lord from the witness of Abigail on the copter ride back to headquarters.

Monica stepped forward and shouted, "We have taken back America for God. We are the Holy Ghost nation, and we will stand and fight against any monsters that try to take this Godly nation away from us. I ask that everyone remove the chips from your bodies and crush them. We are broadcasting the Word of life through Jesus 24 hours a day all over the world from our Olive Branch and Candlestick satellites. We are calling our satellites our two witnesses to the glory of God. We won't stop until the Anti-Christ and his witch are dead. We are free! We are free! Praise to the Lord and King! Praise to the Lord and King!" she chanted and the crowds joined her in a glorious march that was a robust sound of glory, "Victory in Jesus."

When the crowd settled, she turned to behind her, and Terrone walked up beside her. He bowed his head with emotion with tears rolling down his face, and said, "I too am now a believer. This nation, with the help of my wife and Professor Pendwight, was about to murder millions of believers, which included many newborn babies. Thanks to Sal Nakada and her friend, Jeff, this didn't happen. They came to Wheeling to kill our U.S. witch and did. They stopped this great holocaust. I have given her Presidential clemency for her first-degree murder charges. There will be a statue of these two with their dog Nicodemus that will be on the front lawn of our capitol to remind us of how God uses ordinary people to do extraordinary things." He broke down for a moment with his face in his hands crying, and then he straightened up to continue with Monica patting his shoulder in reassurance.

"Our scientists have found the cure for P2. We have discovered that the chip was laced with a neurological bug that caused anyone who had it implanted to suffer greatly. We believe that having it removed will stop the suffering, but the residual effects of it will go for another three-and-a-half months. The believers are spared from P2 because it couldn't be planted deep enough into the muscles in the forehead to let it work. We know what happened now. The Scorpion International Plant in Baghdad produced these kinds of chips to deliberately disable the American Alliances. We still were unable to understand what triggered the bug.

Right now, as we speak, our new aircrafts built by the American Alliances, with the help of our neighbor Mexico, are on their way to attack Baghdad to destroy those plants. In turn, we have ordered the attack on Montplier's headquarters in Rome. We have ordered the destruction of any and all resistance. We have two-hundred million aircraft on the way right now!"

Angelica ran past Andre's bodyguards into his study. The TV was broadcasting the Christian Alliance's attack. "What have you done, Angelica? What have you done? We're dead! We're all dead! The first wave will be here in ten minutes according to our radar stations. They called me the Anti-Christ, Angelica. Is that what I am? Is that what you've made me? Am I that great beast of Revelation?"

"You are what I made you for the glory of Apollyon. You are his Judas pawn. You can live if you want, but you have to leave with me now. China has offered you asylum. Guards, guards, get him into the chopper waiting out front. If you want to leave with us, you can. We have room." They nodded thankfully and picked Andre up, then carried him out to the waiting chopper.

She ran out to them as they prepared to leave, "I will meet you there. This time, I will bring another army of my own." She changed into her dark-winged angel form and disappeared before them. They looked stunned and the pilot announced. "We now only have two minutes to get out of here, or it will be too late." It lifted off in time.

Sal was so excited and sad at the same time. She missed Jeff, and she wished Caleb could be with her. She was placed on a Medical E-Vac and flown to headquarters at the Christian Alliance Hospital. On their way, Caleb appeared beside her with Irish, Aaron, Joseph, and Isaac. There was barely enough room for them all. The nurses and doctors were so surprised and pleased they raised their own hands in praise at their appearance.

Caleb held her hand and remained as close to her as possible. "We just thought you'd like some extra company. You see what can happen with the darkness lifting? More of us can stay longer," replied Caleb as he kissed her nose gently.

"I'd like that Mr. Caleb Nakada. I'd like that," then the sedative took over, and she went into a deep sleep.

When she awoke, it was several days later. Alex and Abigail had come for a visit. The room was full of white lilies from Caleb, right from heaven's fields. The smell of it was heavy with the glory of heaven. It made the nurses and doctors drop by a lot just to breathe in the sweet scents while some picked a flower to take home. There were plenty; and when one was picked, another grew in its place. Heaven's flowers didn't know death.

"When can I leave, Abigail? I feel great!" she replied. "I want to see Caleb. Is he around?"

"One thing at a time, Sal. Caleb is in heaven and preparing battle plans. Millions of dark angels are amassing in China under Montplier's oversee. Looks like he's made a deal with the Dark Dragon. But you, on the other hand, have more important things to do than jumping out of bed."

"Sure, like what? After all, I'm married to an angel and a hunk too."

"A hunk. That's an understatement. Sal, you're sleeping, eating, and breathing for three, now. You're carrying Caleb's twin girls. The doctors say you can move very little without jeopardizing the babies. You're so small, and your pelvic is too narrow to give them the room they need. I'm sorry. Is there anything that we can bring you?"

"Twins? You have to be kidding. I just did it a week ago. How could they be big enough to cause that much trouble?" replied Sal sarcastically, still stunned by the news but happy about it.

"It's not the same with angels, Sal. It will take only three months. So you really only have to stay down another ten weeks, unless they come prematurely, then it could be less."

"Three months. Oh, my. That means I could be having a litter four times a year at that rate," she laughed at her own humor. "I'd be a regular bunny rabbit." They all laughed this time.

"At least you can have kids," replied Abigail sadly.

"Hey, you two been trying to have kids and can't or something? Tell Aunt Sal your sad story and maybe I can give you some tips," she laughed again.

"I wish tips were it. We let the hospital test us for the likelihood. It looks like the Tabor genes won't be carried forth from my loins. The doctors say I have a one in ten thousand chance of having a child. Not too good, huh?"

"Don't give up. Maybe God has something better for you, like adopting a dozen or so. That would be nice, wouldn't it?" she asked, then groaned doubling over in pain. After she straightened up, she looked down at her gown.

"Wait a minute. Look at me. I'm humongous. I've never been but a washboard and two buttons in my life, now I'm like that Dolly person. What's her name? I wish my mom and dad could see me now. If Jeff saw this, I'd have to kill him to keep me off me," she laughed again.

Suddenly, Sal went serious, "If something ever happened to me, guys, would you take care of the twins? I'm sure I'm just getting my signals mixed, but I have a funny feeling that I may not be around for some reason. That's ridiculous. My life just started. Well, anyway, will you take care of them if something happens? I'll call you my backup plan, okay?"

Abigail ran to her side and hugged her. "You know I will, Sis. What's family for, right?" That was the last time Abigail and Sal talked about it.

It was difficult in the middle of a new administration, with Alex helping to run the country, to take care of the twins, but they were her life. She was sad that it had to happen this way, but she knew that Sal was in heaven with Caleb now. Nothing prepared them for her death. Doctors' said it came so suddenly that they couldn't stop it. With the premature births and the complications, it was beyond them.

Her twins would be the children of the new age—the new Nephilim age.

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The End

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