Apocalypse (Rapture Trilogy) Page 2

  “Well, get on with it. To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?”

  “That’s hardly the tone to use when addressing your father.” Satan said, looking mock aggrieved. Then he winked at Sam. “Quite the wily one, aren’t you? Chip off the old block, after all. Who would’ve thought you’d muster up the courage to enter Heaven. I didn’t see it and I see most things.” He paused and grinned at Sam. “Go well, did it?”

  “You know full-well how it went.”

  The Prince of Lies ran one manicured hand through his slick black hair, a gesture that was now familiar to Sam. “What did you expect was going to happen? Did you think you could march in there, gather your beloved up into your arms and waltz out again? Samyaza must be extremely desperate for your help to attempt something so stupid.”

  “He was trying to help me,” said Sam.

  “Trying to get you killed, more like,” sneered Satan.

  “Which is no different than you,” Sam retorted.

  “Touché,” Satan acknowledged. “Don’t take it personally, my boy. I just want you dead so you can return home safely. Where I can keep an eye on you.”

  “How considerate of you.”

  Satan bowed from the waist. “My pleasure. Thinking of your health and well-being at all times.”

  “If you’re so keen on killing me, why not do it now? I’m completely helpless as you can see. You could even get one of your minions like the Devil’s Hand to do it for you.”

  Satan frowned, his face twisted in contemplation. Suddenly his visage brightened. “No. Can’t do that. Hardly sporting. Against the rules. Has to be on even terms or it won’t be counted in the end tally.”

  Sam was confused but refused to bite. His father and other angelic figures on the other side often went on about rules and so forth but so far they hadn’t elaborated.

  “So where are the Devil’s Hand anyway? I thought they were trying to kill me?”

  Satan favored him a lopsided grin. “They, ah, suffered a minor setback when you blew up the floor they were on in the Chrysler building. Not much of a setback but a setback nonetheless. I have set them another task for the moment but fear not, you will see them again.”

  “I suppose it’s too much to ask about whether my brother and Joshua survived?”

  “Yes.” He gave Sam a cold blank stare. “So, enough about that. I came to see how my son was doing, like any good father would. How are you healing up?” Satan asked conversationally. He lifted the cover of the torn and soiled blanket that Sam huddled under. He pulled a look of comical horror when he saw Sam’s splinted legs and the bandages that wound around his chest. He took in the rest of Sam’s body – the bandaged head and the splinted arms. “Gosh, Michael really worked you over, didn’t he? Didn’t spare the horses at all. I’m surprised you’re still alive at all with all the power he must have expended doing this. You must have really pissed him off. Still, says something about you though. No mortal and very few immortals would have survived such handling. I think you’re more powerful than even I imagined.”

  “Certainly doesn’t feel like it,” said Sam. He cringed just thinking of the pain and injuries inflicted at the hands of the Archangel Michael. He must’ve been unconscious for days. When he’d come to, he’d found himself like this, bandaged up, two of his erstwhile saviors hovering nervously over him. The two figures – one male and one female – had had an urgent whispered conversation, which he couldn’t understand in his pain wracked state. They pointed at something around his neck which he belatedly realized was the cross that had once belonged to his mother and then Aimi. Eventually, they finished bandaging him and left, leaving Sam to drift out of consciousness.

  “If I’d known what you were going to do, I would’ve advised against it. After laughing, of course.”

  “Thanks for nothing,” Sam retorted.

  “I suppose saying I told you so, doesn’t help either?”

  Sam said nothing.

  Satan raised his eyebrows. “I hope you’ve learnt something from this, my boy,” he said, sounding remarkably like Hikari. “You can’t trust those Heavenly sorts. Look what they did to me. Didn’t just cast me down to Earth like they did to you though, went a bit further.” He laughed at his own joke. “Now you must see their true colors. I told you they were just using you. They don’t care a whit about you – only the end result which consists of throwing me, you, your brother and that little twit, Joshua into the pit for a thousand years. I don’t know about you, but I’m not planning on letting them get their way.”

  “I don’t think you’ve got any choice in the matter. It says so in the Bible. The Apocalypse and the final battle will take place whether you like it or not. Our fates are sealed: Indeed I have spoken it; I will also bring it to pass. I have purposed it; I will also do it. Search from the book of the LORD, and read: not one of these shall fail; not one shall lack her mate. For My mouth has commanded it, and His Spirit has gathered them, he quoted. Sound familiar?”

  “Isaiah, I believe. He was an idiot if I recall. Hikari really did make you read all that claptrap. But really,” sneered Satan. “You still believe in that tripe after all you’ve been through? I’ve said to you before – do you really think I’m going to stand around and let them do that to me when I can take steps against it?”

  “Like what?” asked Sam. Despite himself, he really was curious. How was it possible that Satan could avoid his destiny? He was clearly confident that he could. Did that mean that the same could be applied to his own destiny?

  Satan touched one finger to the side of his nose. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it? But consider this; ever wondered why God allows me and Hell to exist? It's because he needs me. He doesn’t really want me out of the picture. Even if He succeeds in banishing me to the pit for a thousand years, I’m still going to come back after that for another shot at the title. Sure, He’s written that I’ll fail again then but just because it’s written, doesn’t make it so. Why does He need me? He needs people to be scared into believing. Without Hell there is just Heaven. Where’s the balance? If He gets rid of me once and for all, He’ll have no- one and nothing to scare people into behaving with. Human nature will always have its dark side. That’s the truth. All I want is to restore Earth, where no one has to believe in Him. Sure, they’ll have the choice, but He won’t be hovering over all the poor lambs and threatening them with destruction if they don’t worship Him. In fact if I'm in charge, I'll do away with Hell altogether and free all the souls. When you die, that's it - you turn to dust and just disappear. All I ask is that everyone just lives their lives as they see fit; fornicate, covet your neighbor’s wife, or ox. Basically do as you please without fear of consequences. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Yes,” replied Sam flatly.

  Satan shrugged. “Have it your way. When the time comes, you need to make a choice. If you choose me, I’ll make sure you and your little girlfriend live together happily for eternity. Like me, you are immortal after all. I can make it so Aimi’s physical form is the same.”

  Sam had to admit it was tempting. Especially after the betrayal and pain he’d suffered at the hands of those he was meant to be helping. It would be so easy just to side with his father.

  “The Apocalypse is coming but the outcome is in doubt,” said Satan. “It’s always been in doubt. Think about what I’ve said. Be seeing you.” He winked and then simply disappeared.

  Sam lay back down on the mattress, exhausted mentally and physically. As usual, his father had made him doubt his resolve. He was too tired to think about it clearly but the Prince of Lies had certainly planted the seeds. He’d neglected to mention a few things though. Sam’s mandate had always been to protect the innocent – often when the innocent wanted nothing to do with him. Something had changed though. Changed when Sam had fallen from Heaven. The people who feared and despised him had done something selfless when they’d rescued him and carried him from his impact crater.

  He owed them at least something
for that.

  Book 1

  Manhattan, New York

  Chapter 1

  Manhattan, New York

  Days until the Apocalypse: 1125

  And they that kept them fled, and went their ways into the city, and told every thing, and what was befallen to the possessed of the devils. Matthew 8:32-34

  Sam led the way through the ruins of the townhouse, his senses attuned to the environment, constantly alert to danger. His ability to sense human minds told him that the rest of his squad were falling behind, unable to keep up with his eager pace. He found a safe spot in an abandoned second floor and settled down to wait.

  Although he was careful to conceal his supernatural abilities, he couldn’t help but move more quickly than the rest of the squad. In general, they were happy to let him lead, given his disturbingly accurate scouting abilities. Sam never failed to warn them when other humans were nearby – especially those bearing the Mark of the Beast. The rest of his cell seemed content with his explanation that he’d once been a hunter and animal tracker in the mountains of Utah. It sounded plausible, especially with his accent. He certainly didn’t let on that he could sense human minds as easily as he could demons.

  Besides, the rest of his squad – and in fact, the entire cell – weren’t capable of moving terribly quickly in any case. Energy levels were low. Food, other than rat of course, was in short supply. The inherent danger of consuming rat had also taken its toll. Three members of the cell had already perished from the plague, Sam and the others unable to secure precious antibiotics in time.

  Thankfully, water wasn’t a problem. Deep in the subway where they had established their base of operations, water seemed plentiful. Some of it was less than palatable or hygienic but the survivors were now far from fussy. Not that Sam had urgent requirements for either food or water. He survived on very little; instead feeding off the energy of the Hell –like environment.

  He fingered the iron pry-bar he carried restlessly, impatient for action. It wasn’t the same as one of his swords but it provided some comfort nevertheless. As usual, just thinking about the comparison made him pine for his weapons, his most faithful and cherished of friends, now lying broken and shattered, wrapped in an oiled cloth beneath his mattress. He missed the weight and presence of them, the comfort they provided. The pry-bar was extremely light by comparison but it was made of iron and thus made an extremely effective weapon against demons.

  He set the pry bar down on the ash-filmed kitchen bench and took off his protective gloves, laying them carefully beside it, careful not to brush the iron with his naked flesh. He set his dark sunglasses down next. They were a relatively new addition to his ensemble but a welcome one, especially when most of their scouting expeditions were undertaken during the day. With the sun obscured by the ever present cloud cover, it wasn’t particularly bright outside so the others must have wondered about that. Let them wonder, he thought. The glasses stayed. Not only did they banish the need to squint, they also concealed his unnatural black eyes. The hood of his sweatshirt stayed on though. He couldn’t risk them seeing his horns, even though his black hair was now a long, unruly mess.

  With a fluid motion, he reached up and behind him, over his shoulder, drawing the baseball bat from the makeshift sheathe behind his back. Although wooden, it was studded with iron nails. Whilst not quite as devastating as the pry bar, it still managed to bash the skulls in of any demon or human demon-worshipper foolish enough to cross his path. He set the second weapon down next to his other one and took a seat at the one remaining bar stool.

  This, he decided, had probably been a very nice townhouse. Once. He knew from the others that the Upper East Side had been one of the most affluent neighborhoods of New York City. No more. Like most of New York, it now lay in ruins, blackened with soot and soiled with the decaying reminders of human habitation.

  He swiveled on the bar stool to face the window. Or what had once been a window. It was now a ragged, gaping wound in the side of the building, looking out over the grey and black smeared townhouses on the other side of the street. He chastised himself. He shouldn’t really be sitting here in plain view. Someone or something on the other side could see him. He was getting sloppy – perhaps bored even. He wanted action, almost invited it. He probed with his mind but could detect no other presences nearby. He knew his ability to do this extended maybe a couple of hundred feet. There was always a possibility that someone near the rear of the building opposite could still see him and remain undetected. He almost hoped they would, but that would put the lives of the rest of his squad at risk and he wasn’t prepared to do that to them – especially after what they had done for him.

  He was about to move when he sensed the first of his squad entering the second floor. It was Chris as usual, being the strongest, youngest and most agile of the squad other than himself. Sam whistled softly to signal his whereabouts and indicate that all was well. He heard the rustle of cautious footsteps outside the door and then the other man entered, glancing warily about, his eyes the only visible part of his face, the rest concealed by a surgical mask. Chris stopped short when he caught sight of Sam. He lowered the mask and smiled nervously.

  Chris laid his sawn off shotgun on the bench next to Sam’s weapons, a demon killer if ever there was one, loaded with iron pellets. Sam had seen him use it on many occasions. The man was almost an artist with the weapon, killing demons with surgical precision.

  “Have you found it?” Chris asked.

  Sam shook his head. “Not yet,” he said, lowering his eyes self-consciously, even though Chris knew what he was. “Probably the third floor.”

  They waited in companionable silence for the others to arrive, Chris spending the time trying unsuccessfully to brush ash out of his afro. Sam watched him, feeling his mood lighten. He liked Chris and he knew that while Chris probably didn’t consider him a friend, he was certainly regarded as a trusted ally. The other man was probably around his age – maybe eighteen. Sam knew that in real terms he was older, but since he was effectively immortal, he’d stopped aging and they looked roughly the same age. That’s where the similarities ended though. While Sam was tall and lean, Chris was much shorter and stockier. Sam suspected that he’d once been fat but that, along with plentiful food, had disappeared long ago to be replaced by much leaner muscle.

  Eventually, they heard footsteps outside. Chris whistled and the other four members of the squad entered, slightly out of breath. Two men and two women, all wearing surgical masks. The four new arrivals were all much older than either Sam or Chris – probably approaching middle or late middle age.

  “Well?” asked one of them, lowering her mask, revealing a care worn face. Karen. A short woman who was one of the nominal leaders of the cell and one of the three people who knew Sam’s secret.

  Sam lifted his eyes skyward in response.

  “Let’s get to it, then. Sam, you lead.”

  He nodded, gathering up his equipment and settling it back into place. He led them up the stairs. It was precarious, several of the steps having been destroyed by something falling through the ceiling. Eventually they made it safely onto the top floor, apparently comprised of bedrooms, most of them exposed to the sky. Without hesitation, Sam led them towards the east bedroom. The master. The floor plan of most of these townhouses seemed to be roughly similar, with the bedrooms on the top floor. The master bedroom was usually in the same position in each. It made their scouting missions that much easier.

  The roof of the master bedroom was in the same state of repair as most of the others. There was one major difference though. Half of the roof seemed to have withstood the worst the environment could offer and still remain intact. That was proof enough for Sam. He’d looked over the plans but this confirmed it.

  He pointed at a wall. “There,” he said.

  Karen nodded. “Dave, you and Marjorie return to the floor below and keep a look out. Angelo, guard the stairs. Chris, you and Sam with me.”

  It was a
lmost a routine now, having done what they were about to do several times over the last few weeks. Everyone had their job to do and did it well, efficiently.

  Karen waited for the others to depart before speaking. “Can you open it?” she asked Sam softly.

  Sam squinted, concentrating, reaching out with his mind. “I think so,” he said finally.

  “Good,” she said briskly. “Get on with it. I’ve heard reports of the Tattoos and their pets making patrols in this area. We probably haven’t got long.” Tattoos were the collective noun the cell used in reference to the demon worshippers - on account of the Mark of the Beast they all sported.

  Sam walked up to the wall and touched it with the palm of his hand. The tactile contact wasn’t necessary but Sam found it somehow easier. Once again, he reached out with his mind. Unlike the areas of New York still controlled by the Tattoos but like most of the townhouses they’d raided, this one hadn’t had electricity for months, possibly years. Sam breathed out in relief. No electricity certainly made things easier. Sometimes, these houses had back-up generators which were occasionally still operational. Then, they’d have to do things the old fashioned way, the hard way. But not today.

  “When do you think the others will wise up?” asked Chris. “I mean about Sam.”

  “Hopefully never,” said Karen. “I told them Sam was once a master thief.”

  “In addition to being a full time hunter and tracker. He must’ve been a busy boy in his old life.” Chris barked out a laugh. Karen snorted.

  “Look. Will you two shut-up? I’m trying to work here,” said Sam testily, half turning to glare at them.