A Abba's Apocalypse (22 page)

“This was right before we made it in the building being bombarded. I could see through the open door that the floor inside was glowing, while I heard them hitting the tin roof.” Moses forces another spoonful in his mouth just beating his teeth dedicated to continuing the conversation. “I looked up and saw several big ones headed straight towards us. I didn’t have time to even move, but I thought, ‘Dear God,’ and they immediately change their directions.”  He swallows and says “They somehow reflected away from us and shot into the ground. It was like some invisible hand was swatting them from hitting the building. We ran inside to the big room. I made a little chamber out of stuff I could find in a hurry. We all slid under it, but all the meteors stopped hitting the building the moment we got inside.” The big guy stops eating and hangs his jaw in a moment of reflection, and then he slowly sincerely states, “It was a miracle Joey.”

              One more week has passed, and my legs feel almost “good as new.” I know my time to continue my mission is about ready. These last three weeks I’ve discussed and reasoned my plans with a select few of the brothers. New news during this time has helped me to decide what action I need to take. Come to find out, the meteor shower poisoned much of the world’s exposed water supply. The radio reports the oceans and seas are a soup of floating dead fish. It’s about the same in the fresh water rivers and lakes. “Trinity” announced it will be using the term “Wormwood” to identify all contaminated sources. They have charged their affiliates to mark those bitter sources with that term. Our water here seems to be fine though. It comes from a well deep below. We have stored a fairly large supply though by filling all the available containers.

              I anticipate things are going to get a whole lot worse. Thirst and starvation are just two of the contributing factors. Toss in chaos, madness, and evil, and you’ll see why. I

know there is only one thing that will keep a sane soul going

through the times ahead. It will take more than logic or reason

to survive. Its believing there’s something eternally better; where all is good and right. It’s a place where we’ll find perfect unconditional love. It’s hope in something not yet seen. You just have to ask one person, and speak one name. He is faithful to forgive us for anything. That’s His promise, and that is my mission in the days ahead. It’s to spread this simple message of the cross. Pray for my success dear eternal brothers and sisters. And, pray for all those lost souls that they can be found in the name of Jesus. This is my faith, and this is my hope! This is surely my destiny!

              A month has now passed and I’m “fit as a fiddle.” I’ve grown stronger in my upper body through the mishap. I dedicated this injury “down time” to doing a lot of pull ups and other various upper body exercises. I know this new found strength will be necessary searching for and retrieving Irreverent. I’ve also made some useful tools to bring on my missions. I’m going to spend the rest of this day packing, planning, and praying. A good night sleep, then I’ll be heading out at first light. This is something I’ve got to do alone. I am going to need to move fast and react fast. I won’t have time to worry about someone else. It’s possible I may even have to go into Hell’s very mouth. This is my calling and my cross to bear.

              Morning has come as I marvel at the beauty of this sunrise. I’ve always felt there was something mysterious hidden in the crack of dawn. I lean my elbows on the dark cold ledge of the roof as I bring my homemade binoculars to my eyes. I stop just short of them so I can ponder the last few stars gracefully submit themselves to the gobbling blue velvet light.

              A childhood memory overtakes me in the moment as I hear momma tell me, “This stuff between the darkness and light is where wishes are answered, and where dreams come from.” I guess this is why I always love breaking dawn and twilight so much. I finish placing my new found tool to my

eyes, and search over this sea of destruction. I am checking

over the route I’ll be taking along my mental map. I’m looking for any type of activity while recording any obstacles in my path. I notice several distant pockets of possible disturbance in the far off distance. I just wish these glasses could tell me who the movements belong to. This is the area where I’ll be heading.   

              This first mission is devoted to finding those pockets of Irreverent still holding out and holding on. My goal is to identify these pockets for a future rescue mission. I’ve packed some basic essentials that will aid them in surviving until this can happen. First, is some little plastic bottles of bleach that contain instruction on how to decontaminate and purify stagnate water. Just a few drops per gallon will do the trick. Second, is giving them multivitamin pills; courtesy of the former pastor of “Project T.” He made sure he left a large supply of these. This will help restore the essential strength they’ll need for the arduous trip traveling back here. Third, is some high protein bars. I’m bringing these because they’re easy to carry and they’re loaded with what the body needs most. All this stuff was found or made by my brothers the last few weeks. Pastor Paul prayed blessings over all this stuff; that it may all be divinely directed and delivered. These supplies have been secured inside discarded wrappers of MRE. There are two more things tucked inside. One is a general hand drawn map of town pointing out the best possible routes to the store-which has been renamed by the brethren as “Project Hope.” The other is the most important thing I’ll be giving. It is a mini handwritten scroll with key Bible passages that the women put together. It details healing, inspiration, protection, guidance, and salvation scriptures. Most important is the “Good News” on how much God really loves them. It’s the food of faith that will keep them alive. Every little package is tied together with a string. The women decorated each package with the words “Project Hope,” and painted a sparkling cross on the intersecting twine with

fingernail polish. The final touch was the kiss and prayer each

woman gave each special package.

              I fling my rucksack over my back and make my way towards the side of the building. Slowly I lower my rope and proceed to repel down the wall. I’m not worried anymore of being suddenly attacked, but I am worried about alerting the LD to my existence. They have suffered several great blows recently, and are probably more concerned with recouping than finding me. This gives me a slight advantage for at least a little while more. I’m just trying to stay out of the way of these Sharks path. I can see my bent shadow rushing to keep up as I make it to the edge of the former forest. The morning light is changing towards a blend of pastel pink with a harsh yellow. I have about five to ten minutes to make it to the alleyway heading east before real light reveals who I am. I hurry along using the morning silhouettes to temporarily hide in.

              The air is fresh and tingly crisp today. The cool morning moisture kind of tickles the hair on my arms by the breeze of my brisk pace. The approaching alley hides dark figures in it leaving me unsure to what they really are. Are these residual from the departing dark, or actual moving living specimens? I cautiously enter the alley while donning my heighten sense of awareness. I use this departing gift of darkness to obscure my movement. Quietly and quickly, I dance from perplexing shadow to shadow, politely interrupting each new partner with my invisible presence. I suddenly realize a secret hidden in a sunrise. I never notice all the noise of the waking sun. I persist in this dance of the masquerade two more alleys before the light rudely rips my mask off. My vision improves as this dream dissolves, revealing what things are really made of.

              The warming sun causes the dew to slowly lift a wafting mixture across my path. The smell is indescribable. It is a fresh cut bouquet of chard wood and a fragrant of rotting remains, hidden somewhere amongst the abundant piles of

debris. I maneuver back and forth towards the next section of

town, as my stomach moves up and down. Slowly, the arid

heat renders aid allowing the consuming dust to swallow up the stench. I am gradually relieved of the pain produced by the persisting pestilence.

              I have seen no movement of any kind so far. It’s like I’m walking on the lifeless surface of a dead planet. I constantly kick and slide on meteorite fragments ground into the chewed pavement surface. It’s making it hard to detect distant fainter sounds that could alert me to the living. I do hear something, but the direction is distorted under each crunching step. I decide to take a rest and dedicate my body to just listening. I see an old abandon 1950s beat up “pickup” three quarters of a block ahead, and figure this will make a good observation station.

              I approach it finding all the windows have been broke, and its dusty dented body filled with holes. I open the driver side door and dust off the concoction of glass, dirt, and fragments before sitting. I peer over the steering wheel and begin meditating in my serious listening state. My eyes temporarily interrupt my concentration by a zephyr of wind forming this unusual pattern on the dusty hood. In a weird way it looks like a deformed shape of the former United States of America. This old “pickup,” along with this mysterious occurrence, touches a patriotic nerve still residing somewhere in me. My thought is interrupted by a dry cough expelling the inside dust I’ve inadvertently swallowed. I remember why I am here, and command myself to be silent and listen up. 

              I resume my concentration and patiently perform my listening. I fight through the symphony of sounds sorting out the natural and obvious from those identified as likely human made. I hear one or two off in the distant. One sounds like a stack of lumber falling over. The other is definitely a scream. Each noise is coming from contrary directions. The scream sounds further away. But, I make a choice to follow after it first; knowing it is really a cry for “help!” I change my original plan to travel due east. I’m now heading due north. I make a

mental benchmark of the other sound’s approximate location.

I figure the noise to be near my old house and remind myself to check it out later. I target the scream and “move out.”

              I take a shorter more direct route over a hill of broken wood where a house once stood. I squat down on this highpoint and observe the best path to take. Sadly, I hear the scream again, but luckily it helps me pinpoint where to look. It is about five blocks up and one block east of my present location. I cautiously crawl down the jagged remains and begin dashing across the street littered with pot holes. I have a small problem. I am forced to walk a half a block along the street in the open. I don’t detect any local noise, but I move along hesitantly cautious.

              I make it to the corner and turn right attempting to link back up with the alleyway system. I have another problem in my way. I have a half block to go, but there is a large deep crater stopping me from getting to the alley. I can either double back risking another block of being in the wide open, or maneuver through this fifteen foot deep crater. I spend a few seconds and think about the time difference of taking both directions. My goal is to get to the scream as quickly as possible. I decide to chance the path through the crater.

              I make a sliding lasso with my rope, and then hook it around a chunk of asphalt extending over the crater. This type of lasso will allow me to retrieve my rope when I’m finished. I lean over the crater and pull down on the rope to check the asphalt’s strength. It passes the test. I toss the remaining rope down and grab hold of the section of rope nearest the asphalt overhang. I swing my body around and descend down. Dust kicks out of the holes under the pressure my feet are making, as the glassy veneer side of the wall fights to expand back to its original position. I retrieve my rope and then slowly crunch across the charred remains at the bottom. As I cross I continually break through the layer of obsidian made by the

intense heat of the impacting meteorite. I pray every step of the way this crater will choke these cracking echoes. Pristine

silky soil wisp up under the force of my intruding steps. This

irritates my eyes alerting me to pull my undershirt up over my nose. I make it across the bottom and look for a place to lasso my rope to get out of here. I can’t find any spot protruding far enough out to hook my rope onto. I go to “Plan B.”

              I remove my rucksack and pull out a pair of leather rancher gloves. I slip both my rucksack and gloves on while thinking where I’ll start. I lay my rope over top my sack, and then proceed to jab two holes in the obsidian lined wall. I dig the first one as high as I can reach. This is for my left hand. The next one is waist high, and for my right foot. I find the sides of the crater are covered with a much thicker glassy surface than its floor. Hopefully this will help support my ascending weight. I place my right foot in its designated hole, and then pull up with my left hand in its hole. I jab two more holes for my other hand and other foot about the same distances above my right foot. I step with my left foot into the next slightly elevated position, and then grab hold of the right hole with my right hand. Firmly here, I reach up and punch out two higher holes. I maneuver up to the next set of holes and repeat this process one more time. I hear the obsidian start cracking under my feet. I think, “This is not good!” I reach methodically up and finish digging out one hole and placing my right hand in it. Quickly, I pull up to relieve the pressure under my feet. I reason that it seems to be working.  I make one last hole by forcefully stabbing my extended left hand straight in and grabbing hold. I immediately remove my left foot while pulling up with my left hand. I see a large section give way just below where my feet are. I reach up and grab hold of the asphalt edge of the crater with my right hand that’s followed instantaneously by my swinging left arm. The second I grab hold tightly, the entire precipice under me gives way. I swing freely but I remain secure holding on to this piece of black “life saver.” I manage to hoist myself out and hurry to the alleyway entrance before collapsing from