The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two (57 page)

Dawn just blushed, and blushed more when she
heard them whispering the words:
First-mother
.

“Why do they call me that?” she said, when
they came to a wall with a curious opening—like someone pasted
bricks all over a board and nailed hinges to it. There were big
Nightcare fighters standing all around it, looking very grim and
fearsome.

“The Creature calls you that,” Liz said and
then chuckled. “She has her own reasons like usual.”

Liz led the way through the strange little
door and into a low, dark room full of barrels and racks of
bottles. There were lights, but they were low. There was the smell
of food and the air was dusty.

A group of forever kids in armor stood beside
a curious looking pair. One was a strange little man, a dwarf, with
thick moustache and bowler hat. His blue eyes flashed at Dawn.
Beside him stood a big girl, tall and almost pre-Change eleven or
twelve. She had serious blue eyes and long straight hair.

The tall girl stepped forward, leaning
slightly, with elbows bent and her fingertips touching. She was
wearing a long dress that touched the top of her boots and was
covered in a pale cloak.

“The Creature saw your coming, First-mother,”
the tall girl said, her shoulders dipped, almost a bow. “We are
pleased to meet you.”

Dawn didn’t know what to do, but felt awkward
and silly in her dirty nightshirt and slippers.

“Thank you,” she said not knowing what else
to say and then her ears burned. “But I don’t like that name
anymore. I know it’s supposed to be grand and everything, but I
don’t like it.” Tears started rolling over her downy cheeks. “I’m
Dawn.”

“The Creature understands, little Dawn,” the
tall girl said and opened her arms to embrace her. The little
forever girl accepted the hug and just started crying and crying.
She was shocked when the tall girl’s arms suddenly tightened.

Dawn looked up, and a shudder ran through
her.

“Where’s Conan?” the Creature asked, her face
filled with dismay. The small man in the bowler hat cursed.

81 – Battle at the End of the World

Captain Jack Updike was saddened by the loss
of Able Stoneworthy. Oliver Purdue might have been content with the
notion that Able had taken the moral high road, but deep down
Updike felt their friend’s action was a betrayal. They had marched
this far with the Army of God with one goal in mind—to punish the
sinners in the City. Updike had worked for a century to bring this
day about, and it was a bad time for Stoneworthy to indulge his
doubts. Updike did not fool himself with excuses, because that was
what it was. Stoneworthy doubted. The Lord had commanded the
destruction of the moneylenders and their City. He had sent Angels
to assist them in the mission. What more did Stoneworthy want?

The Bible was full of instances where God
commanded the total annihilation of a people, livestock and all, so
Updike would not presume to apply a human moral code. There were no
actual
children anymore; therefore, there were no innocents
to protect.

General Bolton gamboled over to the rocky
rise where Updike had been sitting in solitary contemplation.

“We’re going to have the Devil’s own time
crossing the open approach to the City.” Updike noticed that the
General’s jaw had new stitching in it. “They’ve got more tanks and
armor than we can easily handle, and they’ve been doing trench work
and laying mines. They’re trying to canalize us. They’ve got F-55
jetfighters and attack helicopters doing flybys and practice runs.
Those have got enough firepower to decimate us—won’t stop us, but
what gets to the other side won’t be pretty. Now, we’ve also got
our brother Army to the southwest beating time to get here, which
is good, because there are more of them than us. They’ll spread out
the City’s line of defense and draw some of the fire. Any way you
look at it, this trip is going to be a rough ride.”

Updike listened to the General’s attempt at
bravado. In truth he couldn’t care less about the military
superiority of the City Defenders. Updike’s was not that kind of an
army—their commands came from on high—from God Himself. They had
started this mission without survivors and no one planned to live
through the battle.

“General.” Updike kept his voice low. He
found that words spoken above a whisper intensified the pain in his
head. “Prepare the troops for battle. I will bless them.”

“Captain Updike, I...” Bolton’s face was a
leathery discord of expression. He took a breath into his dead
lungs, and let it out with a wheezing laugh. “I was going to say
that we’ll be slaughtered in an all out attack, but that doesn’t
apply.” He looked down at his fingers. “Nobody wins; we’re here to
end it.” The General’s shoulders sagged so much that Updike thought
he was going to fall apart. Then Bolton’s face rose smiling, and he
saluted. “So we’ll end it. I’ll prepare the troops, sir.”

But Updike held him with a gesture. “General
Bolton, I believe that prayer may strengthen us at this time. My
orders are not hopeless.”

The General snapped to attention, as straight
as his broken body would allow—then left to carry out his
orders.

Updike lowered himself to his knees, pushing
aside his jumble of thoughts and pain. In order to bless his troops
he had to be clear with God.

“Dear Father in Heaven...” he began. “Forgive
me my weakness. Forgive me my doubt. Give Your servant the strength
to carry out the commandment that You have laid before him. I have
sinned Lord, but I can be redeemed as I pray the actions of this
army will redeem humanity. Strengthen my arm that it can bear Your
sword of Righteousness, and give power to my voice that it might
carry Your Word. Bless these troops for their courage.” And he
hesitated, then: “And forgive my brother Able for like a good
shepherd he gathers strays to the flock.”

“ANGELS!” A cry rose up around him, gathered
strength—became a raucous chant. He drew his head up swiftly.

Far overhead was a vision from Heaven. A
legion of Angels flew—hundreds in three wedges they soared over the
heads of the Army of God. They shimmered, resplendent in robes of
white and armor of gold. Their burning halos made comets of them. A
great clear blast echoed down, full of promise, full of hope and
power. The horn of Gabriel had sounded.

“Hallelujah! To arms! For God!” All around
him cries of hope and joy were flying. But Updike could not pry his
eyes away from the legion streaking toward the City. “To arms!” He
leapt to his feet, ran to the command vehicle and climbed onto the
transport. Oliver jumped into the seat beside him, smiling
brightly.

Bolton was already on board, radio
screeching. “Captain Updike!” He could not resist some mirth.
“Remind me to have you pray in my next hour of need.” Then the dead
commander’s face fell. “I need to watch our air cover—wish I could
get them a radio up there. Where the hell are my binoculars?” He
searched the seat around him.

But Updike had them. He watched one group of
Angels swoop down into the shallow valley in the distance—the same
depression of land scouts said concealed a large force of City
Defenders, tanks and armor. Like eagles, the Angels folded their
wings back and hurtled toward the earth. Swords and shields
blazing, they struck. Great gouts of fire and smoke billowed into
the night sky. Shock waves rolled across the land, trees shook and
burst into flame.

“They’re destroying the City’s mechanized
units!” Updike shouted. “Oh Lord! We’ve got to charge before the
jetfighters come in!”

General Bolton barked instructions into his
radio. The command transport lurched ahead. “On my order, Hellfire
units, on my order—lay a barrage on pre-set coordinates. On my
order!”

The Hellfire units were big guns positioned
at the rear of the Army of God. They would pound any resistance
that remained in the valley—and plow a fiery road to the City.
Updike raised the binoculars. In jerking pictures, he watched the
Angel forces break up—one rolling northeast and one climbing
northwest. There was a deep thundering sound across the landscape
and jetfighters like black arrowheads rocketed southward through
the vanguard of Angels. Flaming swords whirled. Balls of fire
exploded in the midst of the Divine beings—broke their formations.
Updike gaped in horror as missiles and ordnance exploded in the
ranks. Pieces of flaming wreckage hit the battlefield with
thunderous impacts.

Then the jetfighters spontaneously exploded,
scattering flaming debris over the land south of the City. A second
later Updike’s transport was buffeted by Gabriel’s sounding, the
horn’s peal cracking the windshield as it passed. The Angels to the
northeast suddenly disappeared in surging blasts of flame. Fifty
explosions went off close to the ground—and the blowing of the horn
rattled and shook the battlefield again.

“Driver! Slow down!” Bolton barked. “We don’t
want to get too far ahead and there’s bound to be pockets of
resistance.” The General’s voice held something like excitement.
“Our force to the southwest has positioned its cannon, they’re
attacking.”

In answer, the night sky flickered and glowed
with explosions. More jets flew to the north, the streaking flames
of Angels close upon them.

The command transport slowed when the road
ahead became impassible with earth and debris. Bolton radioed for
bulldozer crews!

Updike leapt out of the transport and climbed
to the top of a rise. The air battle continued as fierce fire and
concussion over the City but the moment he raised the binoculars he
knew that something had changed. Mysterious glowing red objects
hurtled skyward at the Angels. They looked like missiles at
first—antiaircraft defenses—but as he watched, he saw their flights
change and adapt to suit the movements of the Angels. There was
design and intelligence in the movements.

Then, the flaming red objects joined with the
Angels. Distant concussions rolled across the distance and shook
the earth as they collided. The binoculars gave him only glimpses.
A robed Angel cloaked in golden flame—red electric fire burned over
a black creature with the wings of a bat—or a dragon. Demons?
Devils? Something was taking the battle back to the Angels.

Updike looked to the rear. The Army of God
was approaching. The rapid advance had forced commanders to load
their vehicles with as many soldiers as they could carry. Behind by
three miles or more, line after line of the walking dead marched.
The other transports would join Updike and Bolton in minutes. The
infantry would ring like an anvil soon after. The preacher’s head
suddenly flared with pain—searing messages raced through his
tortured synapses. Red memories burned him. Thousands of times per
second came the word:
Betrayal
.

82 – Doomsday

The burning Angel hurtling past the Prime’s
office window was his first indication that events had jumped
dramatically past him.

The second was the sudden appearance of his
Demon Ally.

“The
First-mother
was taken,” the
thing sniveled. “
All
the delicious children were
taken
by her Guardian, and poor Lillake was killed!”

“WHAT?” the Prime screamed, whipping around.
The Angels were smashing his F-55 jetfighters to pieces. It was
obvious that the Army of God had called in their own powerful
allies. “Nursie?” He knew the ancient Demon was getting a trifle
dotty in her old age, but she was powerful.

“Dead!” the Ally wept. “The Principal too…
And worse. Consumed by Divine fire.”

“Divine fire?” the Prime asked. “You said
Angels couldn’t get past my defenses!” And then a cold chill ran up
his spine as he thought of his captive. If that thing was
loose!

“We’re not sure what her guardian is.” The
Demon’s forehead bulged and wrinkled between ram’s horns. Its
leathery batwings fluttered. It stank of urine and brimstone.
“Burned hundreds of us.”

“And my captive?” the Prime shouted.

“He is imprisoned yet.” The Ally cringed.

“The First-mother?” The Prime’s hands formed
rakes.

“We are in pursuit,” the Ally moaned.

What was happening? The Prime had only
stepped into his office moments ago from his meeting with Tiny. And
now this?

“We have been
betrayed
.” The
creature’s oversized eyes blinked.

“By who?” The Prime glared at the
creature.

“Balg’s allies in Heaven have betrayed him!”
the Demon yelped. “Angels attack the City, when they had agreed to
assist Balg against the Army of the Dead.”

“Nobody told me about allies in Heaven!” The
Prime felt the pit of his stomach drop.
Betrayal
. The
Demon’s Assistant, Passport, said nothing about a three-way split.
It was supposed to be humans and Demons running the world. What
would cause a betrayal now?
Unless betrayal had been the plan
all along
. “What about the deal? We have a deal!”

“Balg struggles to keep his promise. Even now
a Demon army has joined with the City Defenders! The Angels are
fewer in number and should be repelled.” A wisp of smoke curled out
of the creature’s nostrils.

“And you? What kind of an ally are you?” the
Prime bellowed.

“Our Union was to help you bind the captive,
give you Powers and defend your tower!” the Ally said bitterly.

“Defend the Tower then!” The leader of
Westprime spat on the floor. “Find the First-mother!”
Don’t
panic
! The Demons said they could handle the relatively small
force of Angels out there. Damn! He would have told the same lie.
The Prime was sick of assurances. He hated overconfidence. Time to
take charge.

He peered out the windows to the west,
watched fiery flying shapes, hurtling up to meet the Angelic
threat.

“We can overcome the Angels.” The Demon
sniffed and then froze. The Prime watched its head arch back on a
long neck. Its eyes disappeared into its skull. Finally it said,
“Our seekers have the First-mother’s trail. I must go.”