Judgment Day (65 page)

CHAPTER 139 SHELLY'S CHOICE

[To] blot out of every law book in the land, to sweep out of every dusty courtroom, to erase from every judge's mind that centuries-old precedent as to women's inferiority and dependence and need for protection,- to substitute for it at one blow the simple new precedent of equality, that is a fight worth making if it takes ten years.

—
THE NATION
, CRYSTAL EASTMAN, I 9 24

D
eep in unexplored space, Shelly set a cup of steaming tea in front of Ira, who was asleep, head resting on his folded arms. The computer terminal next to him displayed his latest calculation of
Covenant's
position—it confirmed what Shelly already knew.

"Ira, wake up. I brought you some tea."

Shelly would have brought food too, but Ira stopped eating days ago when he first understood their dire circumstances.

"Thanks," Ira mumbled as he roused, his one good eye a web of red veins.

"You've confirmed our location?" Shelly asked.

"Yes. I prayed I was wrong, but I keep coming up with the same answer."

It took three months to finally shut down
Covenant's
drive, and slow the ship to sublight speed. The damage to the control systems had been extensive, the drive running on full power with no way to control it. Before finally shutting the drive down, they had reached a speed unimagined even by Ira, traveling blindly into the void. Now
Covenant
was so distant from Earth, the constellations were too distorted for the navigation computer to identify them. Ira had resorted to triangulating their position using pulsars. The unique signatures of the collapsed stars could be distinguished regardless of distance, although detecting them was much more difficult than for normal stars. It took Ira a week to identify three of them. During that time, Shelly directed repairs and inventoried their provisions. One thing was obvious from the beginning of inventory, there were too many survivors for the few supplies.

Ira was fully awake now, and sipped his tea, occasionally rubbing his bad eye. Finally he was ready to face the truth.

"We're in a bad situation, Shelly," Ira said.

"I know."

"We've got 1600 people on board, but can't support but half that number."

"Perhaps a few more than half," Shelly said.

"The drive core is eroded below specifications so I don't know how long it will last, and we're so far from the new planet that even if we push the drive to 110 percent of design power, it will take us eight months to get there. We can't risk more or the drive will surely fail and we could end up marooned in space." Rubbing under his eye patch Ira continued. "Even if we hold the power at 110 percent everyone will be dead when we arrive."

"It's true, we can't all make it," Shelly said.

A sip of his tea, then, "I don't know what to do."

"Yes you do," Shelly said. "There are nearly eight hundred children on board. They have to come first."

Ira's eyelids drooped, his head nodded, then he shook his head violently.

"I can't make that decision," Ira said. "I need Mark, Shelly. God gave him the gift of leadership."

"The adults are gathering in the lower hold now, Ira," Shelly said. "The older children will care for the younger ones."

"No, Shelly. There must be another way."

Reaching for Shelly, Ira lost his balance, nearly falling from his chair. Shelly helped Ira back into his seat. Ira swayed and Shelly steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Then Ira looked into his cup.

"You put something in my tea," he said, his words slurring. "You had no right to make the decision."

"Someone had to," Shelly said, tears welling. "I knew you couldn't do it."

Ira was sagging now, unable to keep himself upright. Shelly helped him out of the chair and let him slide gently to the deck.

"It's the only way, Ira," Shelly said. "We would be killing each other over crumbs in a few months. Choices had to be made."

A thumping sound reverberated through the ship as the air was pumped from the lower hold where the adults huddled together, praying for God to take them quickly.

"No, Shelly," Ira said, then he lost his fight with consciousness, his eye slowly closing.

"It was the only way," Shelly said.

Holding Ira's head in her lap, Shelly listened to the pumps and cried, tears dripping on Ira's still form.

CHAPTER 140 STALKING RACHEL

When Jesus got out of the boat, a man with an evil spirit came from the tombs to meet him. This man lived in the tombs, and no one could bind him any more, not even with a chain. For he had often been chained hand and foot, but he tore the chains apart and broke the irons on his feet. No one was strong enough to subdue him.

—MARK 5:2-4

J
ust
after midnight, Rachel Waters left the White House in her black Lexus. Proctor knew she seldom used the government limousines and drivers. Most cabinet-level officials feared for their lives, but Proctor knew Rachel had no fear of death because he knew what she was.

He followed her at a distance. Normally, he would keep two or three cars between himself and the person he was tailing, but at this time of night there were few cars on the road. Taking her usual route toward her home in Georgetown, Proctor felt comfortable hanging back, knowing where she was going and where he would confront her. Unexpectedly, she took a different exit and Proctor had to race the Ford up the ramp to make sure he saw which way she turned. Her Lexus was sitting at the top waiting for him. Closing his eyes he could see her face in her rearview mirror, eyes glowing red. The demon wanted him to follow. Proctor stared back, whispering a prayer for courage. Then Rachel Waters turned, driving slowly, making sure Proctor was right behind.

CHPATER 141 INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER

Roland Symes is the best investigative reporter I've ever worked with. Getting the story is the only thing that matters to Symes, and woe to the person who gets between him and his story.

— GRAYSON GOLDWYN, EDITOR OF THE
SAN FRANCISCO JOURNAL

R
oland Symes paused at the top of the freeway exit, looking for Proctor's car. He had spotted Proctor parked near the White House W and watched him, seeing his interest in Rachel Waters. When Proctor followed Rachel Waters, Roland had followed him. Something was up.

Proctor was alone, and that seemed wrong to Roland. If Proctor was

going to kill or kidnap Rachel Waters he would have brought some of his men. And why go after the president's chief of staff? Why not the president? Why not the former president, who had ordered the attack on Proctor's compound? It wasn't like Proctor to play the Lone Ranger. In his long career selling weapons and promoting violence, he always kept in the background, letting his gullible followers take the fall for most of his crimes.

On the passenger seat rested Roland's cell phone and gun. Roland hesitated, wondering if it was time to call the police. So far he had an exclusive—once the cops were notified, the story would be out. He had no intention of letting that madman Proctor harm Ms. Waters, but there hadn't been any real danger to her yet. At least until he lost them.

Angry with himself, Roland guessed. Turning right he sped down the winding road. A mile later he spotted car lights ahead. They looked like Proctor's, so he turned off his lights and slowed.

Touching his cell phone, and then the gun, he hesitated again, promising himself that he would call the police just as soon as he found out what was going on.

CHAPTER 142 PROCTOR AND THE DEMON

Then Jesus asked him, "What is your name?" "My name is Legion," he replied, "for we are many."

—MARK 5:9

P
roctor didn't bother to hide from the demon, letting her lead him to some unknown destination. They drove through congested Georgetown to a new development, most of the land still covered by trees and brush. Waters parked by an empty lot, then got out and walked slowly through the brush. Dressed for work, she wore a gray skirt and jacket over a white blouse.

Proctor studied the surroundings, looking for a trap. He doubted there was one. The demon wanted a confrontation. He wanted it too.

Proctor got out. It was overcast, early fall, the air cool, the ground still wet with that afternoon's rain. With his eyes closed, Proctor watched the demon moving through the field. A human would have stumbled through the brush in that darkness, but the demon moved comfortably, stepping over obstacles. Proctor followed as easily, eyes closed, seeing not only the obstacles but the glowing footprints left by the demon. She waited for him in a small clearing, hands on her hips, a smile on her face.

"I've been looking forward to this," the demon said, with a voice he

hadn't heard before. It was still feminine, but it cut through him like a cleaver.

"Where is Mark Shepherd?" Proctor asked.

"Is that why you came here tonight?"

The government claimed that Mark had died in the "police action" at the Fellowship's Mexican compound. Proctor knew better.

"Mark Shepherd is dead," the demon said, chuckling.

Proctor didn't believe the creature.

"Then where is his body?" Proctor said.

"Want to preserve it for the resurrection? Don't bother. Judgment day is coming, but it won't be your God who does the judging."

"Will you be the judge?"

"You flatter me."

Her eyes still glowed red, but now Proctor could see her whole body shone as with an inner light.

"Tell me where Mark Shepherd is," he said again.

She laughed, a hideous sound, now only faintly human.

Proctor took off his coat, pulling two knives from his belt. The blade of one was etched with a cross, the other with the symbol of the fish.

At the sight of the knives the demon laughed again, then she took off her own jacket, beckoning Proctor forward.

"Foolish man," she chuckled.

Cautiously, Proctor stepped toward the demon.

"What is your name, demon?" Proctor asked, inching forward.

"Call me Unis, for I am one," the demon said, laughing again.

Then, with a sudden leap she was in front of him, each of his wrists held tightly. She moved faster than humanly possible and now her face was inches from his. With his eyes open he saw the beautiful Rachel Waters, with his eyes closed he saw the glow of the demon within her. Proctor struggled with all his might, but couldn't free himself from the beast's grasp. Then she threw him aside, laughing as he tumbled into the brush. He lost one of the knives when he braced himself to absorb the fall, but came up quickly, rushing her. She knocked him aside with a powerful blow, but he managed to rake her side with his remaining knife. Quickly blood soaked her white blouse and she looked at the wound.

"Do you know how much I paid for this?" the demon asked, laughing uproariously.

The demon's voice had power and if he heard it much more it would drive him insane. Again he charged, lunging for her belly. Deftly she dodged the blow, grabbing his knife arm and swinging him around. Holding his wrist, she tore the knife from his grip. Then pinning him with an arm across his chest, she held the knife high, ready to plunge it into his throat.

"That would be too quick," she said, then slashed him across the cheek and threw him aside. Gasping from the pain, he felt the wound. A deep cut ran from the corner of his mouth to his ear.

"Nice edge," she said. "Did you sharpen it yourself?" Running a thumb lightly over the blade it came away bleeding. "You could skin someone with a blade this sharp," she said. Then smiling, "Now there's a thought."

Lying on his back, hand pressed to his face to stop the bleeding, Proctor saw the demon step toward him. He didn't need to close his eyes now to see there was little human left. The shell that was Rachel Waters was dissolving, the form of the demon emerging—a hideous horned beast. Proctor crawled away, the demon coming slowly, feeding on Proctor's fear.

"God protect me," Proctor whispered. "I have failed you."

With that prayer he understood why the demon was winning. Proctor had made the mistake so many of God's servants had through the centuries. He had begun to attribute his successes to himself. He wasn't a remarkable man; he did remarkable things only when he let God work through him. He was only the vessel through which God's power flowed. Even as the demon picked him up with one hand, he prayed to God to forgive him for his conceit and then submitted to God's will, even if that will was for him to die. As he was lifted off the ground he felt the Holy Spirit fill him. His body trembled, sweat trickled down his back, and his flesh was covered with goose bumps. He had no control of his body now, but through his closed eyes he saw his hand snap up, reaching out just as the demon brought the knife toward his other cheek. With an unearthly strength, he stopped the demon's blow, her wrist gripped tightly in his hand. Now Proctor could see his own flesh glowing. Praying that God would forgive him a brief moment of pride, he looked the Rachel demon in the face and smiled.

With a screech that would terrify the dead—probably had terrified the dead—Proctor was thrown aside, tumbling across the ground. With no conscious thought, he came up into a crouch. Just in front of him he saw the other knife in the grass. Proctor picked it up, the knife glowing with the same light that now surrounded Proctor. Now they were equally armed, he with the knife etched with the cross, the demon with the fish blade.

Using the knife, the demon cut through the waist of Rachel's skirt, slitting it down to her crotch, then stepped out of it, kicking it aside. Now she

crouched, jockeying for position, feigning attacks. A spiritual force had taken control of Proctor and he found he could match the demon's moves. With another screech, the demon in Rachel's body lunged, swiping at his chest.

Proctor jumped back to avoid the blow, slicing her across the forearm. Oblivious to the pain, she lunged again, her arm passing under his armpit, just missing his chest. He trapped her arm under his, burying his knife in her side. Rachel the human should have been finished, but the Rachel-demon twisted, the knife still buried in her, almost wrenching it from Proctor's hand. Concentrating on keeping his knife, Proctor relaxed his other arm and the demon jerked her arm free, the knife cutting nearly to his ribs.

Proctor jerked the knife from Rachel's side, blood flowing freely, streaming down her bare legs. It was a bleeding contest now, and he was winning. The demon knew that and came at Proctor again.

Proctor backed away, slashing at the Rachel-thing, slicing her arm every time she lunged. Rachel was soon bleeding from another dozen cuts.

Proctor moved in a circle, keeping the demon in the middle, and soon came back to where he had started. Rachel collapsed to her knees at that point, the host body drained of life-giving fluid. There was little left for the demon to animate and the demon inside screamed in defeat. Proctor advanced, ready to strike again. Slumping into a bloody heap, Rachel Waters died, releasing the demon that had possessed her. Now it came out of her body, Proctor seeing the winged beast free of Rachel Waters. With a venomous stare it stepped toward Proctor.

"It's not over," it said in a deep rumbling voice. "We've got your God on the run and it's not over until every one of His followers is dead."

Then it spread its wings and shot into the sky, disappearing in an orange flash. When it was gone, Proctor suddenly felt very human, weak, the strength of the Spirit ebbing. He hurt now, from his wounds and from bruises and sprains. He walked to Rachel Waters. Covered in blood, her limp form lay in the grass. Proctor felt sorry for the woman, wondering if she had invited the demon into her body by word or deed. Proctor knew many who had made choices like hers, leading to eternal death. With a final prayer that God would forgive her soul, he left, his last hope gone of finding Mark dead in the clearing.