Armageddon (45 page)

She saw how the Architects had taken Nephilim from all over the planet and hidden them away, until it was time to repopulate the world. She saw how the Nephilim were to breed, to produce the optimal offspring.

Mated pairs.

The Overseer released Vilma, and she fell limply to the ground, the Architects’ plan now seared to her brain.

Vilma was supposed to be part of this grand scheme, but the image of the mate chosen for her by the Architect was not Aaron Corbet.

It was Jeremy Fox.

She lay there, stunned and nearly paralyzed, when she heard a strange sound carried upon the wind.

It started off softly, but then grew steadily louder.

It was the sound of flapping wings.

Many. Flapping. Wings.

Above her, the sky filled with a legion of winged warriors.

Hope exploded inside her as the Architect beheld the vision too.

Nephilim.

*   *   *

The Metatron climbed the enormous steps to the House of God with ease, for this place had been built for a being such as he. At the open doors, he paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the area, searching for A’Dorial, although something told him this angel was no more.

He waited for the guise of the Instrument. Once a tool to sever the ties between earth and Heaven, to prevent the disease of evil from spreading, now it would serve another purpose.

The being who had once been called Dusty struggled up the last step to his side.

Then the Metatron and the Instrument strode through the open doors of the House, to the stone slab in the center of the room. Now in the presence of the mechanism that could unlock the Ladder, the Metatron’s body grew even larger.

The stone began to hum, a strange tune filled with the infinite wonders of the universe and of God’s love for this simple, yet magnificent world.

The Metatron passed one of his large, armored hands over the flat surface and keyhole-like opening. A light as warm and comforting as the first ray of sun after a storm shone up from the aperture.

He turned his towering gaze to the human manifestation of the Instrument. The reflection of Heaven’s light glinted off the Metatron’s helmet to shine upon the metallic body of the young man once called Dusty.

The Instrument’s metal form began to change, any semblance to the human body quickly disappearing.

Over the centuries the Instrument had been many things: a trumpet to call down the End of Days, a sword so sharp it could sever the ties between Heaven and earth.

And now it took on its newest shape and purpose.

A key.

A key to unlock the passage between the world of man and God; a key to unleash this planet’s unlimited potential.

It was time.

The Metatron picked up the key and carefully inserted it
into the lock. Even though the machine had been frozen in place for such a very long time, the key turned easily. There came a series of loud clicks as the cylinders fell into place and the mechanism was activated.

The Metatron stepped back, watching as the machine gradually came to life, its low, gentle hum growing along with its power.

It won’t be long now,
the Metatron thought just as the Ladder to Heaven emerged in a rush of searing light and fire.

The enormous swirling helix rose through the temple’s ceiling to punch through the thick, all-encompassing darkness, glowing brighter, and brighter still, as it burned away the heavy clouds that enshrouded the planet.

And all who lived upon the earth then knew that Heaven was watching once more.

NOW

I
s this the end of the world?
Vilma’s aunt Edna wondered as the searing light filled every inch of her kitchen, erasing every shadow.

The creature that had invaded their home cried pathetically as it died, the brilliant light burning away the evil that had allowed it to exist.

And though the light was so very bright, Edna and her husband could not help but stare into it as they bathed in its reassuring warmth.

This isn’t the end at all,
Edna thought.
This is just the beginning.

Heaven was watching once more.

*   *   *

Charlie didn’t know how much longer he could last, how much longer any of them could last within the shelter.

Water was growing scarce, as was their food.

Since they’d put Loretta’s body outside the door . . . Charlie fought back tears for the love of his life. Since they’d put her lifeless body outside the door, they’d heard things moving and sniffing around.

It had been days since anyone had dared venture out for food.

Charlie opened his eyes to pitch darkness. The generator had run out of gas a little over a week before. They had a few candles, which they used sparingly, when they could no longer bear the absence of light.

This was one of those times.

The old man got to his knees, gently feeling across the concrete floor for the makeshift table, created from an empty MRE box. He found the candle and reached inside his pocket for the gold lighter his wife had given him on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. He’d stopped smoking not long after that because of a cancer scare, but he still carried the lighter. One never knew when one might be in need of a little light.

Charlie brought the candle close as he flicked the flame to life. Now he could see the others. They all were fast asleep, and he couldn’t blame them. It was the best escape.

He turned his gaze to the dancing flame, taking comfort in the flickering light.

The flame suddenly began to increase in size, and he just
about had a heart attack as he saw Loretta’s face there, in the fire. Charlie thought he might be going crazy, but Tyrone, Scott, Doris, and Maggie had all woken up and gathered around him.

Loretta smiled, and then she began to speak.

She told them that they were safe.

That Heaven was watching once more.

*   *   *

Aaron awoke to the warmth of the sun on his face.

He opened his eyes to find his dog staring down at him.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hello, Aaron,” the dog answered.

Aaron sat up, in the grass of the Lynn Common, and studied Gabriel’s face very carefully. “You’re not Gabriel, are you?”

“Perceptive as usual,” a now unfamiliar voice spoke through his best friend.

“Who . . . ?” Aaron began.

“Walk with me.” The dog started to stroll across the freshly mowed lawn.

Aaron got to his feet and jogged a few steps to catch up. “So who are you?” he asked again.

The dog looked at him briefly, before looking away.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Is it really necessary?” the dog asked.

Aaron shrugged. “I would like to know who’s possessing my dog—and who I’m talking to.”

“Let’s just say I’m someone who’s been watching you for a long time, and I owe you quite a bit of thanks.”

Aaron stopped as the dog did.

“You’ve helped to save a world that I love very much.”

“You’re God,” Aaron said slowly, as understanding washed over him.

“If that’s what you wish to know me as. I answer to many names.”

“Why are you talking to me through my dog?”

“I’ve always had a special fondness for canines,” God said, with a slight tilt of the Labrador’s head. “Or didn’t you notice what dog spelled backward is?”

“Seriously?” was all Aaron could manage, not really sure what to think about this being who inhabited his dog.

“When you changed Gabriel, you made him the perfect receptacle for my spirit,” God explained. “The perfect host for me to use in delivering my message to you.”

They climbed the steps to the Common’s bandstand, a large domed gazebo with peeling white paint, where local bands and orchestras often played during the summer.

“I want to thank you for what you and your brothers and sisters have done for this world,” God said. The dog’s snout turned into the breeze.

Aaron shrugged. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well, it wasn’t like I really had much of a choice. I was
kind of thrown into the deep end of the pool—we all were really. It was either swim or drown.”

“But you decided to swim.”

“Yeah,” Aaron agreed.

“And I thank you for that,” God said.

“All right.”

“You sound annoyed,” God observed.

Aaron shrugged again, looking out through the open bandstand at the lush green of the Lynn Common before him. He hadn’t seen it look this nice—ever.

“Why did you let so much horrible stuff happen?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“Cut right to the chase. Good for you.”

“You’re God. You’re supposed to be loving and kind and look out for the good people.” Aaron turned back to his dog, holding his gaze with an icy intensity. “But a lot of good people have died.”

The dog sighed. “And for that I am sorry. . . .”

“But?” Aaron prompted.

“But there was no other way.”

“So all those innocent people, my foster parents, the other Nephilim—Janice, Kirk, William, Russell, and Samantha—and Lorelei, they were all a part of some bigger plan?”

“They were,” God said simply.

“So they were all just some sort of collateral damage.”

Gabriel’s blocky yellow head nodded ever so slowly.

“What kind of loving God are you?” Aaron blurted out angrily.

“A loving God that does not interfere with the lives of His creations.”

“Even though angels and devils and all kinds of other crazies were taking shots at us?” Aaron asked incredulously. “Next you’ll be telling me that this was all some sort of test.”

“I had to be certain that you and your world were ready,” God said.

“Ready? Ready for what?”

“Ready for what comes next.”

Aaron remained silent, waiting for God to elaborate.

“Humanity has always been my favorite creation,” the dog said after a moment, and Aaron could have sworn that he was smiling. “Despite their obvious failures—their arrogance, their indifference toward their fellow man, and their penchant for violence—humanity has the capability to rise above their imperfections.”

The dog paused.

“I have seen that capability in you and the other Nephilim, Aaron Corbet. The Nephilim are what humanity strives to be: the perfect combination of human and divine.”

“Not too long ago we were considered abominations,” Aaron said, thinking of the Powers angels that had hunted his kind to near extinction.

“Evolution takes many surprising shapes,” God said.
“Sometimes perfection isn’t quite so obvious, and then of course, there’s the matter of jealousy.”

The dog lay down in a patch of sunlight and closed his eyes, sighing noisily. “It’s time for this world to be Paradise,” he said softly.

“But isn’t that what the Architects were trying to do?” Aaron asked. “To make the world closer to Heaven’s image?”

“I didn’t object to what the Architects were trying to do, it was how they were going about it.” The dog shivered as if cold. “All that darkness. It never should have been allowed to get so out of hand.”

“But it did,” Aaron stated flatly. “And you let it.”

“You’re right,” God answered. “Because that is how you and your brothers and sisters came into your own.”

Aaron felt himself growing angry. “I really don’t like where any of this is going,” he said. He gripped the wooden handrail of the bandstand, watching as a father and his small son played Frisbee in the distance.

“What’s that old saying? To make an omelet, one must first break a few eggs,” God said.

“Eggs,” Aaron snapped, trying to keep the anger from his voice—he was talking with God, after all. “Is that all we are to you?”

He turned an accusing gaze on the dog as he waited for an answer.

“You people, humanity,” the dog said quietly, his eyes still
closed in the warmth of the sun. “Most of the time you have me so wrong. I don’t want to be an object of absolute reverence, or someone to be feared. I’m your Creator. I love you all and just want you to be good to one another.”

“And when we’re not?” Aaron asked.

Gabriel’s dark, soulful eyes opened, reflecting the light of the sun.

“That’s when evil happens,” God said. “That’s when events spiral out of control, and I look down upon the world, wanting to intervene, knowing that I shouldn’t, but . . .”

“But you did,” Aaron said thoughtfully. “You sent the child—you sent Enoch.”

“The Architects had been a problem for some time, and I’d been carefully planting the seeds to fix it. Enoch was that last seed.”

Aaron found himself drawn to the dog, and squatted down before him.

“You say you don’t like to get involved, but . . .”

“But sometimes, in order for things to be the way they have to be, I do.”

“And are they?” Aaron asked. “Are things the way they need to be?”

The dog lifted his head to look at the sky. Aaron followed his gaze, surprised to see storm clouds in the distance.

“We’re getting there,” God said. “We’re getting there.”

*   *   *

The Nephilim attacked, violence raining down from a sky now filled with an unearthly light that could only be classified as . . .

Divine.

Vilma rose to her feet, ready to help these welcome, yet unexpected additions to their cause. She had no idea who these Nephilim with Melissa and Cameron were, but they fought the Architect with such ferocity that they actually appeared to be doing some damage.

The Architect drove them back with blasts of concentrated force from his outstretched hands, but these new Nephilim were wild and came back at their foe with twice the aggression.

*   *   *

Vilma called upon her wings and a sword of fire, charging forward to join the fray with a rush of confidence, narrowly avoiding the energies that streamed from the Architect’s splayed fingers.

She wished that the poor soul behind her had been as lucky.

The unknown Nephilim cried out, before his body turned to dust and was carried away on the dank desert winds.

For a moment they all knew fear, recoiling from the Architect, but their terror was only temporary, burned away by the anger they felt for their foe.