Sullivan Saga 2: Sullivan's Wrath (17 page)

“Try it out!” he yelled to Quinn.

Quinn powered up the energy rifle as Sullivan had shown him and raised it to his shoulder. He aimed at the chest of the nearest creature and pulled the trigger. A brief flash of light filled his vision, and the next thing Quinn saw was the creature fall forward, a smoking hole in its chest.

“Good!” he said, handing the weapon to the man behind him. “Up on the line!”

Quinn helped Sullivan and Allen distribute the energy rifles as the rest of his men began firing with their Lee-Enfields. In the daylight, Sullivan had a better chance to observe the creatures’ behavior.

They moved on all four legs, almost like cats. They were leaping distances of three or four meters at a time, making them difficult to hit as their position was constantly changing not just horizontally but vertically as well. Even so, Quinn’s men took to the energy weapons quickly, and in just a little over a minute all the creatures lay dead between the trenches.

“Well done, men!” said Quinn. “But remember, once those guns are out, we can’t reload them. Favor your Enfields if you’re able.”

Sullivan handed one of the pistols to Quinn. “We have five pistols in all. Frank and I are going to keep the other four,” he said. “We need to make sure we have enough firepower left when we get to that wormhole.”

Quinn nodded. He looked down the line. “Let’s move out!” The men scrambled up the side of the trench into no man’s land. “Lead the way,” he said to Sullivan.

Sullivan studied the map on his tablet. “This way.” He began walking, glad to be out of the muddy trenches and even happier that the sun was beginning to break through the clouds.

BROTHER PETER SHIFTED in his seat. He had been directed to a chair in one corner of the office. Behind him was a wall of false books. He took his eyes off the reporter interviewing him and glanced at the camera pointed in his direction.

“Now tell me,” said the reporter, “what does your order believe? You are not Catholic?”

“Um, no. We’re a non-denominational monastery. All who believe in Christ are welcome.”

“But His Holiness Pius XV has sought an audience with you. Why do you think this is so?”

Peter considered lying and telling him that Pius was, as Father Curtis had said, a liberal pope who was not so concerned with denominational differences, but he decided to tell the truth—what he felt to be the truth—instead.

“I believe,” he said, “that the Pope has asked to see me so that he can say he gave me a fair evaluation before claiming that the visions experienced by me and my fellow monks are without substance.”

“Why do you believe this?”

“When I arrived, the Pope did not meet me. In fact, the meeting has been postponed. When you consider the possible ramifications of this vision—nothing less than the Second Coming—you would think he’d want to see me as soon as possible, if he believed.”

The reporter nodded. “And why, Brother Peter, should he or anyone else believe you?”

“I have no reason to lie. I have devoted my life to the service of God.”

“But this claim you make will require proof. How do you intend to supply that proof?”

“I really don’t know. Unfortunately, we don’t have surveillance cameras at the monastery. But why would we lie about this? How could it possibly benefit us?”

Peter noticed a mischievous glint in the reporter’s eye. “Your monastery accepts donations, does it not?”

“Of course, but….”

“There is a long history, Brother Peter, of charlatans claiming a special rapport with God to trick the well-intentioned out of their money.”

Peter felt his heart begin to race as his body produced more adrenaline.
Fight or flight
, he thought to himself. He never should have come here. Father Curtis was right to have kept the press away from the monastery.

“I cannot speak for anyone other than myself,” Peter said, his voice wavering. “But I know what I saw. And I also know that my fellow monks saw it as well.”

The interviewer raised an eyebrow. “Again, I must ask: can you prove it?”

Peter was about to answer, but the reporter’s face went pale. “Are you sick?” he asked, leaning forward.

In response, the reporter pointed over Peter’s shoulder. Behind him, in front of the shelf of false books, was the same image of the crucifixion. Peter immediately fell to his knees and began praying.

The reporter, getting the scoop of a lifetime, could only watch is shocked silence as the Jesus lifted his head and spoke those four words that Peter and the other monks had already heard: “Look for my return.”

THE EVENT HAD led to several minutes of chaos in the newsroom. Even though it had only lasted for a few seconds, that was long enough for a dozen people to witness it and certainly long enough for it to be recorded by the camera.

There had been a brief meeting by the news service’s upper management, and at the end of it, they decided that they would release the footage before word of it was leaked and their exclusive was jeopardized. The reaction among the public was explosive. Within minutes, the film had made its way around the globe, setting off a panic amongst the faithful and a flurry of concerned discussion amongst the skeptics.

There were charges that the image had been faked by the news service as a ratings ploy; even Brother Peter was accused of somehow setting it up. Even so, the very next day Peter was granted the audience with Pius XV that he had been waiting for.

He was led into the Pope’s study, and before he knew what to do, he was kneeling and kissing the Pontiff’s ring. The Pope smiled and invited him to sit. Peter glanced around the study. There was not a single vestige of the modern century to be seen: no computer terminal, no electronic photo frames, no television. One wall was completely lined with bookcases in dark wood. The facing wall featured portraits of past popes, those the current resident apparently admired.

Peter did not know much about the Pope, but he had read that he was something of an anachronism. He preferred to read print books and wrote his letters and sermons longhand using, of all things, a fountain pen. A glance at the Pope’s desk revealed a pen holder with several of the implements jutting out from it. A stack of writing paper identical to the sheet Peter’s invitation to the Vatican had arrived on sat at one corner. A large, well-worn and ancient-looking Bible dominated the center of the desk. The window at the end of the study, Peter knew from his brief tour the day before, looked out over Saint Peter’s Square and was the window from which the Pope blessed the crowds who congregated there on Sundays. Peter turned his attention back to the Pope.

“Brother Peter,” Pius said, smiling, “I am so sorry I have kept you waiting all this time. But due to yesterday’s event, I cleared my schedule to meet with you.”

“I appreciate that, Your Holiness,” Peter said.

Pius shifted in his chair. “Will you tell me everything that has happened, from the beginning?”

“Of course.” Peter went through the entire sequence of events from his first vision in his room at the monastery up through the last in the television studio. “Your Holiness, why do you think I was chosen as the first one to see these visions?”

“We cannot ever hope to understand the mind of God,” Pius said. “But I believe that God has chosen you for a special purpose. There is something you must do.”

“What?”

Pius shook his head. “In times like these, I find that the best thing to do is pray. Will you pray with me?”

“Of course.” Peter bowed his head.

“Heavenly Father, your wisdom is beyond us, your humble servants. Brother Peter needs your guidance, as do I. If these are, indeed, the end times, let us be prepared for your return. And let both Brother Peter and myself know how we may prepare the faithful. Amen.”

“Amen,” said Peter.

“How long will you stay in Rome?”

“I’m not sure, Your Holiness. I had hoped to see more of the sights, but perhaps I should focus on other things now.”

Pius shook his head. “No, you must see this beautiful city if you wish to. God will let you know when it is time to turn to more important things. And if you receive guidance from God or have another vision, notify one of my staff, and I will see you as soon as I can.”

Pius stood, and Peter followed his example. It was clear that his audience had come to an end.

“Thank you, Your Holiness,” Peter said, once again kneeling to kiss the ring.

The Pope departed, and a moment later Peter was led out from the study and back to his hotel. Immediately he went down on his knees by the side of the bed and began to pray for illumination.

THE SUN WAS beginning to set. Sullivan turned to Captain Quinn, who was taking a sip of water from his canteen. “I think we should find a secure place to stop for the night,” he said.

“I agree,” said Quinn. He looked around. They were away from the trenches, and a few small copses of woods remained despite the heavy shelling that the area had seen during the war. “We can fortify those trees,” he said, pointing.

“Good,” said Sullivan. “There are a fair number of tree trunks here. Looks like they were cut down to clear a road.”

“A supply corridor,” said Quinn. He turned to his men. “Get these trunks over to those trees and set up a perimeter. Sullivan, Allen and I are going to reconnoiter the area, make sure there aren’t any surprises waiting for us just over the hill.”

Sullivan and Allen followed him as he walked off in the direction they had been heading. Quinn took out a cigarette and lit it. “There’s a large pile of rubbish over there,” he said. “Looks like several wrecked vehicles. One is a supply truck.”

“You want to search it for supplies or for those creatures?” asked Allen.

“Both,” said Quinn. “But the creatures aren’t the type to hide once they see someone coming. They attack almost immediately. Even so.”

“Better safe than sorry,” said Allen.

“Right.”

The three men approached the wrecked vehicles with their weapons drawn. As they got closer, they could see what had happened. The German soldiers in the convoy had been attacked. The vehicle in front had overturned and the other two, unable to stop, had hit it.

Sullivan studied the body of the supply truck’s driver. The face and much of the torso had been eaten away. “Do they eat dead bodies?” he asked Quinn.

“They do, but they seem to prefer fresh kills. They’ll only scavenge when nothing else is available.”

“That’s another thing that makes them such good shock troops,” said Allen. “They won’t linger, eating dead bodies for days. They’ll go after fresh meat if they can.”

Quinn went around to the back of the supply truck. It was hanging open. “Looks like someone else already got to whatever supplies were in here,” he said. Quinn climbed up on the bed of the truck and sat looking out and smoking. Sullivan and Allen joined him after checking the other vehicles.

“How long have you been in the army, Captain?” Allen asked.

“Two years. From the very beginning of the war.”

“I’m sorry all this has happened.”

Quinn shook his head. “At least when we were fighting the Huns we knew that they could think, could feel. These other devils don’t seem to do either.”

“We have a theory,” said Sullivan, “that there’s another intelligence behind these creatures. These are essentially trained attack dogs. They don’t seem to have the capacity to plan or organize.”

“They’ve just been sent here to test your weapons and spread panic,” said Allen.

“If that’s true,” said Quinn, “I’d hate to see who holds the leash.”

Sullivan nodded. “I’m afraid we can’t give you any information about that. That’s why it’s crucial we get to that wormhole. If they start sending their elite troops through, I don’t think this world would have a chance.”

“I don’t know that the Earth of our universe would have a chance,” said Allen. “They can create wormholes. We’ve never even come close to having technology like that. What kind of weapons must they have?”

“Probably quite formidable weapons,” said Sullivan. “Liz indicated that they have been fighting a war for some time.”

“Who is this Liz you keep mentioning?” asked Quinn.

Sullivan glanced at Allen. Allen spoke before Sullivan could. “She’s a friend. She helped us get here.”

Quinn puffed at his cigarette. “Fair enough.”

“I’m sorry,” said Allen. “I suppose you have a lot of questions. Unfortunately, most of them we can’t really answer in a way that would make much sense. Trying to do so would just lead to more questions, and we’d be here for days.”

“I do have one that you can answer: what kind of a world do you come from that has weapons like these energy rifles?”

“Well,” said Allen, “our world is actually dozens of worlds. Where we come from, humans have spread out to many different planets.”

Quinn laughed. “It’s like something from H.G. Wells.”

“Who?” Allen asked.

“He’s a writer. He writes about Martians attacking and time travel and the like.”

“Oh, right. He wrote
The Time Machine
?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we don’t have time travel. Although I suppose this is a kind of time travel.”

“How’s that?”

“Captain, our Earth also fought this war. But that was hundreds of years ago. As far as I can tell—although my knowledge about this time period is very sketchy—your 1916 is very similar to our 1916, only we were never attacked by aliens.”

“When did your war end?”

“Hold on.” Allen took out his tablet. He no longer had access to the Stellar Assembly Database, but his tablet did store a very basic encyclopedia. “The eleventh of November, 1918.”

“Who won?”

“You did.”

Quinn nodded. “But what happens now? Even if we can close that… wormhole… where do we go from here? Do we start fighting the Huns again as soon as the aliens are gone?”

“That’s not for us to decide,” said Allen. “But I think—I hope—that the people of your Earth will now recognize how similar they are to one another rather than how different. The writer you talked about, Wells? His stories are what we call science fiction. And science fiction is filled with stories about humanity coming together once they know that they are not alone in the universe, once they know there are threats out there that can destroy them all and won’t make any distinctions between British, French, or German. I don’t know if that’s how people will really react when faced with an external threat, and I suppose this attack on your planet is too recent to see how things develop. But you can always hope.”