Armageddon (13 page)

“Is that how it’s gonna be?” Tyrone asked. She was waiting for him to get involved. “Get us all stoked that we’re gonna make it—that God, or Heaven, or whatever, was looking out for us by sending you—and then drop us cold when things
look tight?”

Melissa didn’t respond. Conversations with Tyrone always ended up in an argument.

“Thought so,” he said with a sneer. “Always told my mama that all that time in church, prayin’ to God and Heaven and stuff, was all for nothin’.”

“Listen,” she said, her anger flaring. “I have to go or you’ll all be in danger.”

“What do you mean?” Doris asked, pulling her child closer.

“It’s hard for me to explain. The Nephilim—they’re supposed to stop things like what is going on out there.”

“Good job so far.” Tyrone’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

It took everything that Melissa had not to summon a sword of fire and separate his obnoxious head from his shoulders.

“But things have gotten out of control,” she went on. “Powerful, evil forces are keeping the world in darkness. No, we didn’t do too well. But that doesn’t mean we’re finished. There are others like me out there, and we’re going to set things right.”

Melissa gritted her teeth.
Is that even true? Did the others even survive?
She had to believe they had, that they were still out there—ready to fight, as she was.

“I need to find them,” she said. “Together we will save our home—our world—from this terrible fate.”

“You said that if you stayed, we would all be in danger,” Charlie said.

“I did.”

“From what?”

She envisioned the dark, armored creatures that proclaimed their love for her. “The creatures destroying the world? They know that I’m going to try and stop them with everything I have. And they’ll be looking for me.”

Melissa slung the backpack over her shoulder. “I can’t put you in danger any more than I already have.”

She started for the door, but Tyrone blocked her.

“So you’re really going,” he said, wearing a look of disgust.

“I really am,” she confirmed. “It’s for our own good.”

“Says you,” he said, moving out of her path before she could push him out of the way. The look on his face was like a physical blow, but there was nothing more she could do, or say.

At the door she paused to listen and make sure that some creature wasn’t on the other side, eager to get in.

She slid back the bolt, then turned toward the others, her hand on the thick metal knob.

“We’re going to try and make this right again,” she said, before turning her attention only to Tyrone.

“And I want you to put that bad attitude you’re carrying to good use and keep these people safe,” she told him.

She could see that Tyrone was going to give her more lip, but then his expression changed as he looked into her eyes.

He must’ve seen something there, maybe the fires of
Heaven that burned at the core of her being. Something that told him he’d be better off doing what she asked.

For the first time since she’d met him, Tyrone was speechless, and remained that way as she walked out the door, closing it firmly behind her.

*   *   *

Gabriel frowned. He could sense something different—unpredictable—about Dusty now.

It was raining again, and he and Dusty had sought shelter in the Stanleys’ old playroom.

Dusty was up and about now, no longer affected by fever. In fact, he appeared healthier than Gabriel had ever seen him.

As he paced about the room, the expressions on his face changed, reacting to something that Gabriel—even though he truly tried—could not see.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Gabriel asked the young man.

Dusty had stopped, facing an area of mold-covered paneling, tilting his head from one side to the other. “I’m . . . I’m fine,” he replied.

And it dawned on Gabriel that Dusty could understand him.

“You can understand me,” Gabriel spoke in his canine tongue of growls and whines.

Momentarily distracted from his study of the wall, Dusty turned his attention to the dog. “Why yes,” he answered, a large smile spreading across his face. “I guess I can.”

Then he stared off into space again.

“What do you see?” Gabriel asked, slowly approaching his friend.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Dusty said. “Before, with the Instrument, I was perpetually bombarded with sounds and visions of the horrible things that were happening, or would happen in the future. It was more than I could process. My brain couldn’t handle all that information at once.”

“And now?” Gabriel asked.

“Now, I can still see it all, but it’s not so overwhelming. . . .”

Dusty looked down at Gabriel. A thick, milky film covered the young man’s eyes, and the Labrador wondered how he could see anything.

“I understand that there are many potential outcomes.”

Gabriel listened patiently, not really following.

“I see all the possibilities.” He paused. “There are so many choices . . . so many futures.”

Gabriel sat down, as if obeying a command for a very special treat. “You can see the future? Do we win?” he yipped excitedly.

Dusty spun to face another part of the room.

“It’s not clear,” he said. “Some decisions lead to victory, while others . . .”

Gabriel watched Dusty’s expression turn to one of supreme grimness.

“What can we do?” the dog asked.

“As I am now the sword, we have an advantage,” Dusty
said, almost dreamily. “Many decisions can lead us to victory, but there are no guarantees of success.”

“We have to try,” Gabriel said.

“Absolutely,” Dusty agreed.

Gabriel leaped to his feet, ready for action. “What do we do first?” he barked excitedly.

“Influence,” Dusty said. “We must look at the situation like a game of strategy, and move the pieces accordingly.” He looked down at the eager Labrador. “You are going to take us to where we need to be.”

“Okay,” Gabriel answered, tail wagging. “Where is that?”

“I’ll show you.” Dusty brought his finger down toward Gabriel’s face. “This might hurt.”

Gabriel tensed, his eyes riveted on the young man’s pointing finger. A dark piece of metal, a sliver of the sword, broke through the skin at the tip of Dusty’s finger.

Before the Labrador could ask what was happening, the splinter shot into the flesh of his nose. Gabriel yelped, recoiling. It did hurt, quite a lot actually. The dog pawed at his nose, his dark-brown eyes watering. The pain began to rapidly diminish.

“What did you do?” Gabriel whined, in between violent sneezes.

Dusty stared at him with large, glazed-over eyes.

“I know where we need to go,” he said. “And now you do too.”

At first, Gabriel didn’t understand, but then suddenly it was like he was seeing flashes of memories. Only these memories had yet to occur. At first he was afraid, the new responsibility looming large before him, but he quickly convinced himself that this was what he—they—were supposed to do.

“I see!” the dog barked.

“Now we can begin,” Dusty said, reaching down to place his hand atop Gabriel’s blocky head.

And Gabriel saw as clearly as if he were gazing out a window.

Without wasting another moment, in a rush of air and the crackle of divine fire, they were off on a path to shape the future.

I
t was getting dark inside the log cabin, and Cameron lit one of the lanterns so that he might see better what his father had left for him.

Most of the box’s contents appeared to be old parchment paper. Cameron carefully removed the stacks of documents. They had an odd, waxy feel and gave off an earthy aroma. He scanned the ancient writing, somehow knowing that it was an angelic language and that he would be able to translate. The ink had a reddish tint, a result of the passing years, he imagined. But Cameron was focused on the books at the bottom of the box. He was almost afraid to touch them—certain that they were full of secrets, but not sure if he was ready to know them.

There were no titles on the covers, and finally, he picked up a volume and started to flip through it. They appeared to be journals.

Then came another painful flash of memory. He glimpsed an image of his father, bent over at the table, writing feverishly in a book.

One of these books.

Cameron stared at it for a long time before opening to a particular section and starting to read. Passage after passage, he read of his father’s experiences, his voice in Cameron’s head as if he were reading to his son.

His father wrote of his time on earth, cut off from Heaven and his Almighty God, but he also wrote of other things.

He wrote of the Architects.

W
HO COULD EVEN DREAM OF STOPPING THE
A
RCHITECTS?
I’
VE CONSIDERED SEEKING OUT MY OTHER WAYWARD BROTHERS OF
H
EAVEN, BUT
I
KNOW THAT THEY WOULD NOT CARE—MANY FEELING DISDAIN FOR EARTH
’
S NATIVE LIFE THAT THE
A
LMIGHTY DEEMED SO SPECIAL.

T
HE
A
RCHITECTS
’
PLANS, FROM WHAT
I’
VE SURMISED, GO AGAINST EVERYTHING THE
L
ORD
G
OD WANTS FOR THIS WORLD
. I
F ONLY
I
MIGHT REACH
H
IM, LET
H
IM KNOW OF THEIR TREACHERY.

B
UT THE
L
ORD OF
L
ORDS WON
’
T LISTEN TO ONE SUCH AS ME, ONE WHO FEARED THE OUTCOME OF
THE
G
REAT
W
AR IN
H
EAVEN AND FLED IN COWARDICE TO LIVE AMONG HUMANITY.

Cameron flipped the pages of the journal until another passage caught his attention.

T
HE
N
EPHILIM—THE SPAWN OF HUMAN AND ANGEL—WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THEY
’
D BE THE CORNERSTONE OF THE
A
RCHITECTS
’
PLANS?

Y
ET IT DOES MAKE SENSE
. T
HEY MELD TWO OF
G
OD
’
S MOST FAVORED CREATIONS, CREATURES OF BOTH
H
EAVEN AND EARTH
. I
F THE
A
RCHITECTS
’
PLANS CARRY THROUGH, THESE BEINGS WILL INHERIT THE EARTH.

“The Nephilim will inherit the earth,” Cameron repeated aloud, his mind racing. Here was potentially the opportunity that they’d been waiting for. He needed to get this information to Aaron and the others, especially if there was a chance that the secrets found inside this box might help them in stopping—

Cameron caught movement outside his window. There had been deer, and the occasional raccoon in the yard, but this seemed bigger.

Always cautious, Cameron called forth a sword as he got up from the table and moved toward the door.

It was freezing outside, his warm breath clouding as he stood on the porch, eyes scanning the woods.

He did not expect to see a naked child.

Over by the pile of unchopped wood, a child no older than five or six cowered, his pale, naked flesh nearly glowing in the night.

“Hello?” Cameron called out as he approached the trembling youth. Not wanting to scare the little boy, Cameron sent his weapon away. “Hey there,” he said, coming to stand no farther than six feet from the shivering child.

The child lifted his gaze, his face covered in dirt and what appeared to be dried blood.

“Are you all right?” Cameron asked, concern in his tone.

“Hungry,” the child said. “We’re all so very, very hungry.”

The hair along the back of Cameron’s neck stood on end. He stepped back, reconsidering his sword, and it sparked to life in his grasp. The light thrown by the weapon reflected strangely in the little boy’s dark eyes. They glowed like an animal’s.

The little boy tossed back his head and roared. It was a strange sound, unlike anything that might come from a human throat.

Cameron knew he was in trouble. From the corners of his eyes, he saw other naked children creeping from the forest.

Backing away slowly, he tried to keep his eyes on their moving shapes. More unearthly howls came from the woods. Cameron
flexed the muscles in his shoulders, calling forth his wings.

The little boy with the dirty face let out a gleeful squeal.

“We’ve been smelling you for days,” the child said. “We knew there was meat close by, but we didn’t know how delicious and rare.”

Cameron tensed.

“I’m the kind of meat that will seriously mess with your stomach,” he said in a threatening voice, waving his blazing sword.
Maybe I can scare them away,
he thought. He didn’t want to hurt a child, no matter how screwed up the kid was.

“No worries, special meat,” the filthy boy said. “So hungry we be willing to take the risk.”

The other children giggled, their laughter eerily transforming into growls. And then the little boy began to claw at his skin, ripping it away to reveal thick black fur beneath.

Even after all the crazy stuff he’d seen in his short Nephilim life, Cameron doubted he would ever get used to this.

The boy transformed into a muscular, bearlike creature. The thing roared, showing off thick yellow teeth designed especially for ripping flesh from bone. There then came a succession of similar growls and thrashing from behind Cameron, and the Nephilim saw that the other children were also shedding their skin.

“Okay then,” Cameron said. “Demon bears? Why not.”

They rushed at him all at once, wild eyes glistening and
fangs slavering. Cameron felt his angelic nature practically squeal with delight as it rushed forward to battle.

Cameron leaped into the air, hovering above the beasts’ slashing claws. He lashed out with his sword of fire, hacking away limbs and singeing fur. The creatures’ howls and cries mingled together in a nearly deafening cacophony of violence.

The demon bears retreated, and Cameron dropped to the ground, bracing for the next wave of attack. He had whittled down their numbers, some of the beasts holding back to nurse their wounds, but there were still quite a few with hunger in their gazes.