The Glooming (Wrath of the Old Gods Book 1) (26 page)

Governor Mallory chuckled. “Don’t forget that damned water treatment plant you secretly built.”

Steve was surprised. “Water treatment plant?”

Pastor Erik winked at him. “That’s right, Steve, while you were away from the congregation and settled in Dallas, I had a water facility built at the west of the main compound. I also secretly acquired the rights to the refined petroleum storage facility in Conway, since it’s less than a mile away. If our Lord Jesus Christ decides to come back in six months, or even a year from now, then we will still be here, waiting for him. Now, why didn’t you bring your wife with you?”

Steve looked down. “I’m sorry about that, Pastor. I tried to make my marriage work with Tammy, but no matter how hard I tried, she just blocked me off.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Pastor Erik said. “When you wrote to me and said you were going to keep working as a cop in Dallas, did you keep tabs on them? Perhaps we may be able to get them and bring them here so that they can join you.”

“Thanks for the offer, Pastor, but it’s a lost cause,” Steve said. “She took the children with her to Oregon and joined one of those New Age Satanic religions they practice over there. They’re all damned in my eyes now and I consider them lost to me permanently.”

“Ah, well too bad for them then, their souls will be burning in Hell very soon I expect,” Pastor Erik said. “We have plenty of room for you here, Steve, so I’ll fix you up with a suite in the adjoining apartment complex we’ve recently built here in the compound. Unless of course, you’d like to join up with Governor Mallory here and his family over at the bunker.”

“Bunker?” Steve said.

“That’s right, son,” Governor Mallory laughed again. “While Erik here loves living in his penthouse suites, me and my wife prefer the safety of the underground bunker located two levels underneath this same building. It was built to withstand a nuke attack, if I recall.”

Pastor Erik beamed with pride. “Yes, it was. Several layers of reinforced concrete, with additional seams of sand and gravel between them. This was the time when the church board had voted to make a bomb shelter since they thought, and wrongly I must add, that it would be Muslim terrorists that would threaten us here in the future. But as it stands now, I proved them wrong.”

“How many more people are you expecting to come and join the church here, Pastor?” Steve said.

“Well, let’s see,” Pastor Erik said. “We’ve had about seventy thousand active members before this apocalypse started, and as of yesterday’s count that number has more than doubled to about one hundred fifty thousand by now, and I expect more to be coming.”

Governor Mallory kept puffing on his cigar. “Do you think we’re going to have the facilities available if say, a million people started coming over?”

“Area-wise we have the land since the church property is several hundred square miles,” Pastor Erik said. “Long term food supply may be a problem for that many people, but I believe The Lord will be coming any day now, so I don’t think it will be a long-term problem.”

“Any word from the other churches?” Steve said.

Pastor Erik leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms. “Well, Joel Ostermann over at Blackwood church in Houston, and his seventy thousand followers wanted to join up with us here, but I still remembered that silly remark he made about me in one of his sermons on TBN so I told him no.”

“Which sermon was that?” Governor Mallory said.

“He was saying that I was some sort of false prophet of doom because I kept talking about the coming apocalypse in one of my sermons on JBN a few years back. He didn’t say my name on air of course, but I’m sure he was referring to me,” Pastor Erik said.

Governor Mallory giggled a little. “Come on, Erik, can’t you find it in your heart to forgive the man? I mean, it’s not every day that your prophecies are proven right and his proven wrong.”

Pastor Erik shook his head. “His flock is too big, they could end up being a threat to us. Besides, I’m so sick and tired of him and the others who preached about the prosperity gospel and all that. If there is a false prophet, it’s him and the others. I don’t want them tainting the followers of our church because we’re the one true church of The Lord. Not even the Vatican can say no to that. I never preached about material gain as God’s reward, every time I ever asked for a donation was to help build this compound for the coming return of our Lord. Those other churches won’t make it either. Pretty soon, I’m sure we will be the one and only vanguard for The Lord’s return.”

Governor Mallory threw his arms up in a mock gesture of surrender. “Okay, all I was suggesting was that we could use his money to get more stuff for our church is all.”

“Money’s now a secondary need,” Pastor Erik said. “What we need are guns and foodstuff, lots of ‘em.”

“We should have all the weapons we need once we can access the armory,” Steve said.

Governor Mallory smiled. “Well, son, I can even get you artillery, nothing like a howitzer cannon to wake your friends up in the morning.”

Steve adjusted his Stetson. “Well, we won’t need that right away, just maybe the riot gear, as well as a few APCs and helicopters ought to do for now.”

Governor Mallory winked at him. “You’ll have it by tonight, son. I guarantee it.”

“We’ve got about close to fifty thousand church members with guns,” Pastor Erik said with obvious pride. “That pretty much means we’re a small army. With armored vehicles and helicopters, even the Feds will think twice about whether they want to mess with us or not.”

Governor Mallory tilted his cowboy hat upwards so a portion of his balding forehead showed. “Erik, my office has updated me that you will soon have at least a regiment of National Guard troops at your disposal, so don’t worry, everything is going well.”

“So far so good then,” Pastor Erik said. “Everything is falling into place. All we have to do now is to wait for our Lord’s return, and he will deliver us from this broken world we call earth. Eternal life in Heaven must be so sweet and I could just taste it right now. My father said just as he was on his deathbed that he saw a glimpse of paradise, it was like a blissful garden with a flowing breeze and eternal sunshine, where one could hear chirping birds and the soft chime of the wind. And then he died. I can’t wait to see him again once this is all over and done with.”

Governor Mallory chuckled. “Amen.”

Virginia

When the small convoy of unmarked SUVs finally pulled in front of an inauspicious country club, Dr. Paul Dane had hoped that this would be the final stop for awhile. He had been whisked away onto an aircraft carrier after narrowly escaping from the battle of London just two days ago. Paul was quickly put in the rear seat of an F\A-18 Super Hornet, flown over the Atlantic, and back into US territory in record time. The Navy pilot of the aircraft had flown using afterburners at supersonic speed and refused to travel in a straight line, always using evasive maneuvering that put both a tremendous strain on Paul’s chest, as well as nearly making him throw up in his oxygen mask. The one respite he had during the whole flight was when the pilot finally flew straight and steady during the air to air refueling with a Boeing KC-46 Pegasus tanker over the mid-Atlantic. When they finally landed at the Naval Station in Norfolk, Paul promptly vomited out the half cup of coffee they gave him when he got onto the carrier, just a few hours before.

“This way, sir,” a six-foot four-inch black Marine sergeant in full combat gear who was sitting beside him in the vehicle said as the cars stopped. The Marine got out of the passenger door of the SUV and motioned at Paul to follow him.

The rains had continued incessantly and it looked like the country club was closed from the outside. They had passed through the heavily-guarded front gate and into the long, inner road, then onwards to the roofed driveway leading to the front of the main building. As Paul got out, he had been briefed that most of the southern states were completely inundated by flooding. New Orleans was in the process of evacuation, as well as some other coastal cities below sea level, but the levees all across the country had already been broken and a great many people were presumed dead.

Military people at the naval station had given Paul a pair of Navy Working Uniforms with which to wear, but he declined, preferring to keep wearing his old blue sport coat and heavily used walking shoes. He did however buy a new white dress shirt, socks, and a pair of khaki trousers at the Navy Exchange. The other pair of pants was torn and moist with sweat and he had to throw them away. As Paul stood beside the SUV, he stretched his back out for a bit and then followed the sergeant into the main lobby.

It was a hive of activity. Paul was shocked as he could see heavily-armed military personnel equipped with M4 carbines and M240 machineguns all over the place. There were also members of Congress milling around the crowded foyer. Whatever was going on, it was involving the entire US government. Paul clutched at the stack of notes he had been carrying, ever since they gave him some time to look at the latest intelligence reports coming from all over the world. He had spent hours in debriefing rooms, talking to military and civilian survivors of disasters that had happened both in Europe and in the continental US. At first he thought he was in some strange nightmare, but after seeing the dreaded Fomorians up close in London, Paul knew that this was a new reality that had to be accepted. The alternative would be nothing short of madness.

An Air Force captain walked up to him. She was tall and pale, with her short, auburn hair carefully held down underneath her cap and offered her hand. He noticed that she had a pistol strapped to her hip holster. “Professor Dane? I’m Captain Laura Niven. I’ll be your AFISRA military liaison from now on.”

Paul adjusted his newly-issued glasses as he shook her hand. He had lost his original pair at Stonehenge and was lucky enough to get to an optometrist at the naval station in time. “I’m sorry, Captain, AFISRA? I’m not familiar with that word.”

“It’s short for Air Force Intelligence, Surveillance and Reconnaissance Agency,” Captain Niven said. “You have been assigned to the Department of Defense, and my duty is to work closely with you on gathering intel while you help with drafting contingency plans against the enemy.”

Paul shook his head and made a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry, but I’m a civilian, how could I be in the DOD now?”

Captain Niven looked him straight in the eye. It wasn’t a joke to her. “By Executive Order. Martial Law has been declared and your country needs you. You’ll need to prepare for a briefing so I need you to come with me, right now.”

Paul nodded and began to follow her. There was an open door that led to a large service corridor, and he walked in after she showed her ID to a group of men in suits carrying Heckler & Koch MP5 submachineguns who were standing by the entrance. After looking at Paul’s newly issued ID, they gave him a thorough body search with metal detectors and then allowed him to pass through. Going through a largely deserted kitchen, Paul was stunned to notice that part of the wall had been opened, which revealed a hidden blast door made of solid steel at least six inches thick. As he continued to walk behind her, he realized that this so-called country club was just a front for what now was obviously a hidden bunker for the US government.

Paul quickened his pace until he was just behind her. “Excuse me, I’m supposed to give a briefing? As to what exactly and when?”

Captain Niven kept up her brisk walk and didn’t even turn to look at him. “You are to brief the JCS, UCC, and the president on the nature of the enemy and their capabilities, as well as any contingencies on how to deal with them.” She looked at her watch. “That briefing should start as soon as we get into the room in a few minutes’ time.”

“What? I’m supposed to brief the president now? I don’t even know where to start!” Paul protested. “I don’t even know what the JCS or UCC is.”

“Joint Chiefs of Staff, as well as the Unified Combatant Commands, specifically USNORTHCOM or US Northern Command,” Captain Niven said. “NORTHCOM’s mission is to protect the homeland from the threats we are facing now with all US military and civilian forces at its disposal.”

“Look, I’ve been flown over the Atlantic and I’ve barely had any sleep. I’ve been reading reports and interviewing survivors for the past few days, and I still don’t know what this is all about,” Paul said as they turned into another corridor. “I’m a mythology professor, for crissakes.” He didn’t tell her that he really didn’t want to sleep either, because of the recurring nightmares and visions that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

Captain Niven finally turned to face him as she stopped in front of a white-painted double door. “At this point, you know more than we do. You had two supernatural encounters in the UK, and you’re the only one qualified to make this briefing, and to answer questions from both the government and the military.”

Paul sighed. “Okay, but even what I know may not be enough.”

She turned, then knocked twice and the door was opened outwards by two men in suits. As they were ushered in, Paul noticed that the center of the large room was dominated by a long table of dark oak wood. All around it sat the most powerful people in the world as they faced a large video monitor that nearly covered the opposite wall. The former vice president had just been recently sworn in; he was now the de-facto leader of a battered country that was once the most powerful nation on earth. Sitting to his right was the Secretary of Defense. The Speaker of the House was but two chairs away. Paul realized that the men in suits were undoubtedly from the Secret Service to protect the new President of the United States, one of them pointed to two empty chairs along the side of the wall. Captain Niven and Paul quickly sat down on them as most of the people sitting on the table continued to look at the incoming video feeds which detailed the latest reports.

As he quickly went over the stack of papers he carried for a last minute review, Paul glanced over at the president. It had been only a few days when Air Force One and his predecessor went down with all hands lost. Less than a quarter of the American people had actually seen his televised oath of office since there were very few television and radio stations left that were still operational. Paul could see that the past few days had literally aged him, he looked tired and emaciated, his silvery hair hung limply on the top of his head. All of the military people sitting in the table were wearing battle fatigues, not a single one was in dress uniform, and every one of them had a pistol strapped to his hip. The nation was clearly at war. With whom, Paul wasn’t so sure.