of lawlessness is revealed, the man doomed to destruction.”
He spent much of the day in their safe house, meditating, cleaning his weapons but mostly just watching. He had to hand it to them — they were certainly industrious. Even without much energy, on the verge of starvation, disease ridden, they moved with a purpose. Everybody in the small community seemed to have a job which they approached with as much enthusiasm as Sam had seen anywhere.
All told, there were just over twenty people living in the building, mostly teenagers or in their early twenties. One girl looked around twelve and there was a man who was probably in his thirties or forties. It was so hard to tell though. The layer of grime and ash on their skin was so ingrained it looked painted on.
The antibiotics had done their job. The few that had seemed to be on death’s brink had now been brought back from the edge and had improved considerably. Most even joined the others at their assigned tasks.
Sam ventured downstairs and viewed their hydroponic operation. He understood why the generators only operated during the day. They created quite a bit of noise — noise that could be heard from almost a block away. Even if demons didn’t seem to be a problem, if stumbled upon by demon worshippers or those that just preyed on the weak, the results could potentially be devastating. Demon worshippers, especially, seemed to be more active at night so he understood their caution.
Not only that, they also went through a fair amount of gasoline. While gasoline didn’t appear to be in drastically short supply, one of the men told him that they’d almost exhausted local supplies and now had to search further afield. This took time, effort and man-power — all things which the small community lacked.
Of course this created its own problems. The plants they were growing — lettuce and tomatoes mostly — were suffering from lack of sunlight, and most looked sickly and limp. Sam even saw signs of disease on the plants. Even here, away from the surface and the deadly, Hell-like environment, they still suffered, a reflection of the conditions above.
This food couldn’t possibly feed everyone here. Sure, it was probably enough to ward off complete starvation, but only just. Thankfully, the water supplied by the well was relatively fresh so at least that wasn’t a problem. For meat, like most other survivor living outside army bases, they caught and ate rats. Sam didn’t blame them. He saw the amount of traps set and was surprised they weren’t catching more than they were. One of the survivors told him that rats were in short supply lately. It seemed that even rats were beginning to starve but that wasn’t surprising. What on Earth were the rats eating in the first place? Most plants were dead, pretty much every animal. Sam hadn’t thought about it before and asked some of the workers around the hydroponic plant.
Insects, they replied. Accustomed to gutting these animals, they’d seen exactly what was in their stomachs. Ah, yes. Of course. The rats were eating insects, and why not? Since the Rapture, insects like cockroaches and locusts had thrived in the hot conditions. And plagues came in other forms, too.
Their openness surprised him. He knew that they now trusted him because he’d given them antibiotics but that usually wasn’t enough these days. How did they not know he wasn’t a wolf in sheep’s clothing, here to gain their trust before betraying them? The answer was, they didn’t. They couldn’t. They were just good, trusting people despite what they’d been though. They seemed to accept him at face value. Not one of them questioned the hood that was constantly on his head. They even offered him what small amounts of food they had. It was a humbling gesture and one that brought a surge of protective anger. Even though he had to move on, he would keep an eye on these people, making sure they came to no harm.
The house itself, surprisingly, was in fairly good condition. It had escaped unscathed from the earthquakes and other natural disasters — just better than most structures. The fairly common subsidence cracks were evident and some scorch and burn marks here and there, but other than that, it was mostly intact. It hadn’t been just pure luck him picking that house out of every one in Bedford. It was also one of the few that were even in slightly habitable condition. The rest of the houses in the town had suffered the worst that the Tribulation could throw at them: many had been completely destroyed by earthquakes; others had been gutted by fire, victims of the increasingly regular fire-storms.
These poor examples of humanity had survived more by good luck than anything else. And Sam discovered that this luck ran deeper than he expected.
According to the survivors, Bedford and the surrounding area of Bedford County had several churches representing various denominations. Not that it mattered. Demons didn’t differentiate between Christian biblical interpretation. One church was as good as any other to them.
He couldn’t really spare the time, but he needed to find out for himself. Even though his gut told him they were good people, he needed to make sure. As dusk fell and the others starting settling down for the night, he got the directions to a few neighboring churches and set off in search of them. What he found surprised him.
Every single one had been completely destroyed. Not only that, but Sam suspected that the ground had been blessed and purified with Holy water. As far as he knew, it was the only sure fire way of ensuring that demons couldn’t use it as a portal. He’d encountered a few like these in his travels but not several altogether. Whoever had done this had been thorough and discreet. The survivors weren’t even aware of their good fortune. No wonder there were no demons around. There were simply no portals for them to use.
Something Grace had said back at the base came back to him. She’d said that many were just paying lip service in order to avoid going to Hell. But it didn’t work like that. People needed to believe, to have faith and to welcome Jesus into their hearts. It was the only way they were going to avoid the pit for eternity.
Sam understood that — probably better than most, not that it was going to do him any good. But fear, hope and belief all had parts to play in this drama. People could change. Sometimes all they needed was a catalyst. And what better catalyst than the Tribulation and possibly eternal damnation? If that wasn’t a reason to change your opinions, Sam didn’t know what was. Of course, it would be better if people altered because of love and a willingness to be better, but those were emotions and thoughts in short supply at present.
What the purified church grounds taught him was that at least one person wandering around in this post- apocalyptic landscape had belief and faith. True belief, strong enough to work miracles. Clearly, this person had lacked this faith prior to the Rapture, otherwise they would’ve been taken. They didn’t now though. It must have been strong to undertake such works.
The thought that someone was out there performing good works for the benefit of others made Sam feel good. In fact, he felt the best he’d felt for a long time. First the hug, now this. His faith in humanity, for the moment, was restored. He didn’t expect it to last for very long though. Humanity had a way of disappointing him.
Reassured, he continued on, finding the interstate easily enough. A battered sign told him that he was on the Pennsylvania turnpike. He knew from his map that he was about eighty miles from Harrisburg, the next major population center. Or former population center. To find a group of survivors like this in Bedford was unusual. Most had retreated to the mountains where caves could provide them with reasonably secure shelter, far from churches. Also the mountains were still a more likely source of food and water. He’d be very lucky indeed to encounter a similar group in Harrisburg. More likely, he’d find the place deserted, a veritable ghost town like most he traveled through these days, with the only inhabitants being demons from Hell.
He traveled through the night, jogging at a constant pace that literally ate up the miles. He didn’t stop, didn’t need to. Several times though, he sensed a niggling presence and turned even as he moved. Nothing. He knew they were out there though. The Devil’s Hand. Tracking him. They were out of his mind-reach but some other instinct told him they weren’t that far away, following his tracks that were impossible to disguise in the ash.
He would have to face them eventually and even had a plan. Of sorts. It wasn’t much but it was all he had at this point. He’d deal with it when the time came. And the time would come — his father would make sure of that. It was inevitable.
Rather than obsess over something he had no control over, he concentrated on his progress. He knew from experience that he averaged about five miles per hour. It didn’t seem like much and it certainly wasn’t a strenuous pace but it added up. He could jog for ten hours per night without resting. That was fifty miles if everything went to plan and he wasn’t waylaid by demons or forced to detour because of some road blockage or destruction. At this rate and with a bit of luck, he’d be in New York within days.
Some hours into his journey, he ran through a woodland, or what had once been a woodland. A sign told him it had been known as Buchanan State Forest. Now it was just a graveyard of skeletal trunks and spiked branches, standing in rows of silent vigil. Nothing moved within it. All the animals that had once used it as their habitat and
