Derwood, Maryland
By Saturday morning, the heat was gone. Decker took a long needed shower and moved back into his bedroom. He had a few things to do to prepare for the next plague — the darkness — but for the most part, he planned to just take it easy and recuperate from the heat. He’d worry later about the disorder in the laundry room and put everything back in its proper place.
He couldn’t understand why no one from the UN had contacted him. He assumed that even though he couldn’t make a long distance call out, they could probably still call him as long as he had local service. And certainly, they could email him. For the first time he began to wonder if a call would ever come. As for the police, he had decided that they must not know he was there. But just in case his attempt to call out a few days earlier had been logged and passed on to the police, he would continue to wear his bandages at all times.
Sunday, July 4, 4 N.A.
Decker opened his eyes halfway and saw the day. It seemed like any other summer morning. The air was clear and the first rays of dawn began to illuminate his room. Perhaps the darkness wouldn’t begin today. He rolled over to look at the night table beside the bed. There were the flashlights and extra batteries where he’d left them. He needed longer to recover and so closed his eyes again. For right now he just wanted to sleep.
Hours passed and Decker slept soundly, peacefully, dreaming of nothing in particular. Then suddenly he understood something was wrong.
Something was very wrong, and it wasn’t just in his dream.
Even in his sleep he could feel it.
He opened his eyes and looked around his room. A cold sweat began to form all over him. Everything appeared normal, but the dread that filled him didn’t pass. Outside his window the sun shone brightly, casting warm beams of light into his room. Still the feeling that something was terribly amiss held him.
Drawn to the light, Decker rose from his bed to open the window. But as he looked out from his second-floor bedroom, the faceless terror that had awakened him took on a loathsome and ghastly form. Seeping from the ground below his window and everywhere he could see, a hideous malice oozed like black puss, obscuring everything it touched. In only seconds it grew from simple puddling in the low-lying areas to a depth that entirely hid the ground. Decker’s curiosity, normally one of his strongest drives, was utterly silenced by the stark panic that consumed him. He didn’t want to know what the darkness was; he didn’t need to know. He knew already. It was evil — the sum total of all the evil that had been done upon the Earth — every murder, every lie, every rape, every torture, every act of cannibalism, every beating of an innocent, every human sacrifice, every brutal mutilation of a child, every gulag, every pogrom, every death camp of every war, every slaughter of the blameless, every cruelty to a helpless animal, every destructive act upon the Earth itself. All of it had been absorbed by the earth until it could be held no longer, and now it gushed forth like nefarious vomit.[147]
Neither did Decker wonder how high it would rise. There was no question: It would cover and consume everything. Already it had risen above the gravestones of Elizabeth, Hope, and Louisa. Only at this did another emotion — rage at the indignity to his family’s grave — briefly exceed his trepidation.
Decker pulled the window shut. It didn’t matter. He knew it didn’t matter.
He ran out of the room to the landing at the top of the stairs. The darkness was in his house. It had filled most of the bottom floor of the split-level and was two or three feet deep in the second level, rising quickly up the stairs toward him.
Hurrying back to his bedroom, he slammed the door and tore the sheets from his bed and shoved them into the gap at the base of the door. With strength born of fright, he effortlessly pulled the dresser away from the opposite wall and thrust it against the door.
It was hopeless.
Somehow he knew it, even as he did all that he could to prevent the malevolent shadow from entering the room. Nothing on Earth could stop it.
Soon the bedroom floor was covered, and Decker screamed like a frightened child as he pranced atop his bed, trying hopelessly to climb the wall.
All reason had left him. There was only fear.
In scant seconds the ooze rose to the level of the bed and rolled over onto the mattress, running quickly into the depression at his feet. From the instant it touched his bare skin, he was paralyzed with more terror than he had ever before imagined.
Throughout the world, everywhere, everyone, the entire planet, was covered with the evil darkness — everywhere except Petra . . . and a single office in the United Nations’ Secretariat Building in Babylon.
There would be no news coverage of this plague.
No speeches.
Only terror.
Decker stood, unable to help himself, as the blackness climbed up his legs, his undefined fear so great he dared not even blink. It wasn’t just around him, it was on him — all over him, like a cold, dark, wet blanket of gaseous slime that no light could penetrate. He feared for his life, and yet he wanted nothing so much as to yield and die, to be done with it.
The darkness was filled with razors and acid and sharp venomous teeth; Decker was certain of it. There was no pain yet, only the assurance that these and even worse were poised only inches away, ready to cut and burn and rip his flesh from his bones at his slightest move.
The blackness now reached his genitals and despite his fear of movement, involuntarily his eyes closed and his jaw locked tight in clenched anguish. With every centimeter more that it swallowed him, the terror grew. Finally, it reached his chin and the last bit of light was about to be eclipsed.
Years before, after finding his wife and children dead, Decker had teetered on the brink of insanity and chosen to come back; he realized now that had been a mistake. He had many times taken risks, taunted death, and survived; now he wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t death he feared. Had he been offered poison at this moment, he would have drunk it eagerly. Had he a gun, he would not have hesitated to take the barrel into his mouth and quickly fire a bullet into his brain. Had he a knife, he would have joyously thrust it into his chest.
It wasn’t death he feared, but the life that would allow him to feel the torment he knew would begin before his next breath. Finally, he could bear it no more. With his head tilted back and every vertebrae in his neck stretched to keep his mouth and nose above the darkness as it rose above his chin, he collapsed into unconsciousness in a heap on the bed.
The veil of stupor provided no relief, for even in his unconscious state, his mind filled with the images of what he couldn’t see. It was only moments before his eyes opened, though he quickly shut them again. On either side of his head, two huge crows perched, waiting anxiously for him to open them again so they could pluck his eyes from their sockets. He couldn’t see them in the blackness, but he knew they were there, just as he knew also that the floor beside his bed crawled with snakes. Even closer, on the bed all around him, teemed rats, starving for their next meal. And though his body had fallen in a crumpled contorted mass when he passed out, he dared not move an inch, for any motion at all was sure to rouse the rats and make them aware of his location.
There was something else in the room, too. He couldn’t see it, but he knew it was there. Perhaps there were many of them: bloodthirsty creatures that defied description and would no doubt tear the living flesh from his frail human form as they devoured him. His only hope — though he certainly would not have used so positive a word — was that the darkness was equally impenetrable to the eyes of the beasts.
Decker became aware of his nervous perspiration as it formed and pooled before running off his body. Could they smell his sweat? If so — and he felt certain that they could — their claws were already extended, ready to sink deep into his flesh to hold him still as they drove their fangs into his squirming body.
He wanted to scream. He needed to scream, but dared not. Even as they sank their teeth into him and slurped up his blood and tore the raw meat from his bones, he was determined that he wouldn’t cry out, for by his scream he would only draw others to the feeding frenzy.
He longed to sink into his bed, the one direction from which nothing seemed to threaten, but saw the folly of his desire as he realized that only inches below, a pool of bloodthirsty piranha anxiously awaited.
As all the horrors filled his mind, and spiders and scorpions scurried across his flesh, suddenly it became clear that he had been a fool, for it wasn’t a bed below him at all. All that he had dreaded — the crows, the rats, the snakes, the spiders, the razor sharp knives, the claws, and fangs, the teeth — all were supremely preferable compared to his true fate. For what he had believed to be his own sweat was in fact saliva dripping down upon him, and that which he had thought was his bed was in fact the tongue of some hideous leviathan, which even now savored the salty pre chewed flavor of its meal and would, with Decker’s first twitch, begin to slowly crush and chew, perhaps first sucking the blood from his body, allowing a warm pool to collect in its mouth before swallowing.
Decker listened closely and could hear the grinding of the beast’s teeth. It was half an hour before the pain in his jaw brought him to realize that it was his own teeth, clenched in terror. He tried to stop, fearing that the sound would alert the predators to his location, but no sooner had he resolved himself to this intent than his attention was diverted by some new apprehension and he again began grinding and gnashing.
The terror went on, unceasing. With time it actually grew worse, as Decker weakened and became susceptible to increasing sensory delusions that fed and were fed by his hysteria. With muscles reflexively tightened, his body lay stiff and aching and motionless, barely yielding even to the demands of his lungs and heart for air. He lost all perception of time. Had he been there days or years? Had he ever been anywhere else? He had no memory of anything before this. There was no Christopher. Never had there been a Hope or Louisa. Elizabeth never existed. He wished for himself the same. Indeed, even to call him Decker would serve merely as a convenience, for in his state of mind, a name — even his own name — was a meaningless concept. He was simply the victim, the casualty, the prey — shaking with fear and about to meet his grisly doom.
For three days and nights Decker endured this condition, barely moving, imagining ever worsening scenarios of his situation and environment, fearing even the sound and movement of his own breathing lest it should betray him. Parts of his body — dead numb from the endless hours of cramping — he believed to have been somehow cut away like Shylock’s pound of flesh,[148] leaving what remained still alive only to endure further savagery. Sleep, real sleep, was impossible, and though there were periods of unconsciousness, they were filled with apparitions no less horrible than when he was fully awake. The only way he knew he had slept at all was that from time to time he became aware that he had changed position, and he was certain he hadn’t consciously moved. He only wondered why the predators hadn’t seized the opportunity to strike. He was certain of just one thing: Death would come soon. Delay would only extend his suffering.
Wednesday, July 7, 4 N.A.
When the darkness subsided after three days, its black murkiness seeping back into the earth just as it had arrived, Decker found himself lying on his bed unmolested. The room stank of feces, urine, and sweat, but having been in the room with it for so long, he didn’t smell it. Dried feces lay smeared on the bed around him and caked on his skin and in his hair.
There was no thought of getting up to wash. Now that he no longer feared to move, he didn’t have the strength to do so. His jaws and teeth and head and every muscle in his body ached so badly that he wasn’t certain he would survive the pain. With his gnawed, swollen tongue he felt loose flaps of flesh inside of his cheeks and deep ulcers revealing the pieces he had unknowingly bitten off in his torment. He could only assume the missing bits of flesh lay scattered around him on the bed or had been swallowed, washed down by the warm blood that still seeped from the wounds.
Thursday, July 8, 4 N.A.
Decker opened his eyes and saw black. His heart raced in panic that the darkness had returned, until a point of light, a star outside his window, caught his eye. It was night. He had no idea how long he had been asleep, but his thirst was unbearable and the simple disgust he had felt earlier at his condition had now turned to burning discomfort: For four and a half days he had lain in his own excrement and its saline and acidic qualities had eaten away at his flesh, leaving raw sores on his buttocks, thighs, and back. His head and jaws still hurting and with little control of his muscles, he managed nonetheless to get to the bathroom for the arduous task of cleaning up.
In the medicine cabinet he found gauze and long-expired antibiotic cream to tend his wounds, and it occurred to him that ironically, he would no longer need to wear phony bandages.
Returning to his room, he immediately determined his bed to be a total loss. He’d have to do something with the mattress later. For now he decided to sleep the rest of the night in the guest room.
Friday, July 9, 4 N.A.
When Decker awoke the next morning, having slept most of the forty-eight hours since the darkness ceased, he got up and slowly made his way to the kitchen. He was desperately weak, not only from surviving the darkness, but from hunger and thirst as well. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d eaten, but he wasn’t surprised to find mold growing on the bread and most of the perishable items turning bad.
He settled at last on scraping the mold from the bread and opening a years old can of cream of chicken soup. He had eaten worse, far worse. Besides, his jaws and teeth ached, and his tongue and the inside of his cheeks felt like raw hamburger. For the next few days, soup and soft bread were as close to solid food as he wanted to get. Still, he would need to call Tolinson soon to restock . . . if indeed, Tolinson had survived.
With no power to his house, Decker turned on his tablet for news of what effect the darkness had on the rest of the world. He got an immediate sense of the impact when he went to the live news sites, and found site after site shut down. Two days after the darkness, there were few that had resumed even partial operations. Only now did he learn that, unlike the previous plagues, the darkness had lasted just three days, half as long as the others. Living through it, it had felt to Decker like an eternity. He was certain that if it had lasted six days, no one on Earth would have survived.[149]
Even so, many had not fared so well as he. No one was certain of the count, but the most conservative estimates of the dead were in the tens of millions. The toll was especially hard on the elderly. Most of the deaths were assumed to have resulted from heart failure. No one was sure; there would be no autopsies. Many others had been killed in motor vehicle accidents. Forty eight hours after the darkness had lifted, the streets and highways were littered with bodies. Some had died instantly, others bled to death over the three days of darkness. Babies died in their cribs. Hospitals had become morgues. Planes, trains, subways, and buses — all means of mass transit — had become mass sepulchers. No aircraft in the air at the onset of the darkness had landed safely.
For more than three full days every human activity on the planet had come to a complete halt. Even now, most who survived were just beginning to recover enough to move about. Decker wondered if this plague, like the others, had somehow been ended by Milner, but from what little news there was so far, no one really seemed to care. For just an instant he wondered if Milner had really ended any of the plagues. Or had he merely been the rooster claiming credit for the rising sun?
Saturday, July 10, 4 N.A.
By the next morning, a few more news sites were operating. With all that had happened, the political impact couldn’t be ignored. It was no surprise that the insta polls found a significant drop in Christopher’s approval rating. What was surprising was just how big the drop was.
“The lead story this half hour,” the anchor said, “is Secretary General Christopher Goodman’s meteoric fall in the polls. With a special report on the impact that this will have on the secretary general,” the anchor continued, “here’s Ree Anthony.”
“Betty,” the reporter began, addressing the news anchor, “according to our exclusive Worldwide Insta Poll, taken over the last twenty minutes, the secretary general’s approval rating has fallen to an incredible new low — only 11 percent overall support — with even lower ratings among many segments of the population.” Decker listened in disbelief. A graphic appeared on the screen showing Christopher’s continuous dramatic decline in approval from 97 to 85 percent in the first week after the onset on the sores, to 71 percent after the second plague, to 55 percent after the fresh water turned to blood, to 35 percent after the heat, and now to his current rating of only 11 percent.
No less disconcerting than the polls was the steadily growing number of world leaders who were calling for Christopher to step down as secretary-general.
“The secretary-general has scheduled an address to the world on Sunday at 19:00 GMT,” the reporter said. Based on Decker’s point of access, the system calculated the scheduled time for the Eastern Time zone and flashed it on the screen: That would be three o’clock his time. “Until then,” the reporter continued, “we are told that neither Secretary-General Goodman nor Robert Milner will be granting any interviews or making any comments. No one seems to know why Goodman is waiting until Sunday evening before addressing the world, but some insiders expressed concern that the delay just feeds the fear that another plague, perhaps one even more deadly than the darkness, is coming. With that kind of concern, we could see Goodman’s approval rating drop to statistically zero.”
“One important note on the findings of that poll,” the anchor said as she concluded the segment, “is that while the poll shows a significant loss of support for Secretary General Goodman, there is no evidence of a corresponding switch in allegiance toward the KDP or Yahweh. Instead, many are cursing Yahweh and Secretary Goodman in the same breath.”
The story of Christopher’s drop in approval led the news for another hour and was replaced by a story that for the first time revealed the true extent of the loss of life from the last plague. One of the polling experts had thought to apply the methodology used in insta polling to the process of estimating the number of deaths. By having viewers report the number of deaths in each viewing household and then estimating the approximate number of deaths represented by the reduction in the total number of poll respondents in areas that hadn’t lost service for that day-part as compared to the previous weeks, a conservative death toll of well over 130 million was projected. The actual number would reach almost twice that.
News abhors a vacuum, and in the absence of an explanation from Christopher or Milner, rumors soon began to circulate that Christopher was planning to resign and that he was waiting until Sunday to allow the Security Council to determine how to proceed.
Sunday, July 11, 4 N.A.
After flushing away the solid waste he could scrape up, Decker dragged his mattress down the steps and out the back door to the patio. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but the smell was so offensive that he had to at least get it out of the house. Closing the door behind him as he returned, he collapsed in the first chair he came to. As he tried to catch his breath, he was startled by the sound of the phone.
The caller ID indicated it was Bert Tolinson. Decker exhaled in relief.
“Hello, Bert,” Decker panted. “I’m glad to see you’re okay!”
“Been better,” Tolinson replied. “Mr. Hawthorne, I’m afraid we’ve got a problem. I got a call from a Ms. Liston at the bank about the transfer of funds from your account. She said no funds can be withdrawn. I asked her why, and she said that the computer said that you hadn’t taken the communion. Can you believe that? I started to argue with her, but she said she couldn’t override the computer. She said that all your funds had been frozen and she’d be surprised if you hadn’t already been arrested. I didn’t want to push it any further because I know how important your privacy is, but you’re going to have to get this straightened out.”
“This is crazy,” Decker said with a little laugh, trying to sound convincing.
“That’s what I told her. I guess she didn’t realize who you were or she would have figured that out for herself.”
“Okay, Bert. I’ll take care of it,” he said confidently. “You did the right thing, though. Thanks for handling it with such discretion.”
“That’s part of what you pay me for,” Tolinson said. “You want the number for the bank?”
“Yeah,” Decker answered, though he had no intention of actually making the call. Tolinson gave him the number and Decker recited it back as though he was writing it down. “I’ll give you a call when I get this taken care of,” he concluded.
He put down the phone. The end had come. A decision had to be made. If he chose to return to Babylon, it should be easy enough to simply log on to the UN’s secure site and arrange for a limousine and passage on a UN flight; without the mark he couldn’t even get a taxi, much less get a commercial airline ticket. Otherwise, there was enough food to last at most for a week. Soon he’d be forced to abandon the relative safety of his home, to scavenge or steal what he could, and almost certainly to be discovered and arrested. He was too old. He wouldn’t last long. He rued having ever suggested the damnable mark.
But there was an additional problem. In a few days, Bert Tolinson would begin to wonder why he hadn’t gotten things ‘straightened out’ at the bank. At the least, it would mean that Decker would have to admit he could no longer pay him and, therefore, he could no longer depend on his assistance. It was also entirely possible and perhaps even likely, that Tolinson would contact the police. There was now a substantial reward for turning in people who hadn’t taken the mark.
Decker sat straight backed on the couch in front of his live-net monitor. Christopher was about to make what everyone agreed was a make or break speech, not only for his own position as secretary general, but for the very life or death of the New Age. Leaders of governments around the world were now openly calling for Christopher to resign his position, though no one had offered a plan of how to go forward from here. Decker was torn. With his heart he hoped the speech would be everything Christopher needed it to be. But still there was the nagging doubt that had kept him here on the other side of the world, fearing the very thing for which his heart hoped.
For Decker, however, the importance of this speech wasn’t what Christopher would say. What he hoped for wouldn’t be spoken; it was the look in Christopher’s eye. When he came to Derwood, he had hoped that with time he would be able to think things through, to find some answers. Instead, after a month, he found himself just as confused as when he arrived. Thus it was that he had come to this point where his simple gut reaction to Christopher’s broadcast would determine whether he would return to Babylon to serve at Christopher’s side or flee into the night to live on scraps of garbage and fearing contact with any other human lest he be betrayed to the police for not bearing the mark — the mark, which he himself had argued for.
“Friends,” Christopher began simply, immediately setting the tone for the rest of the speech. “There has been a great deal of speculation as to my reason for waiting so long after the most recent plague to address you. The truth is simple: I believe that actions speak far louder than words.
“It is now Sunday evening in Babylon. It’s a bit warmer than I care for,” he said with a slight but sincere smile, “but, unlike the past five Sundays, the water has not turned to blood; there is no darkness seeping up out of the earth; there are no demonic locusts swarming overhead; no asteroids are heading in our direction; no nuclear wars; there are no reports of mass insanity, or murders, or suicides. In short, there are no plagues. And I pledge to you, there will be no more plagues!” Christopher pounded his fist to emphasize his point. It was a tactic he had seldom used in the past, which made it all the more forceful now.
“I have waited until now to speak with you,” he continued, “because I wanted not only to tell you, but to show you — so that you would be able to see for yourselves — that the plagues have come to an end. We who have survived have weathered the storm, and though the loss has been great, I am here not to admit defeat, but to declare victory!
“I fully recognize that this may seem like a typical politician’s ploy to obscure the ugly truth with unfounded visions of hope. It has not escaped my attention that according to the polls a large number — in fact, an overwhelming majority of you, including many respected world leaders — have lost faith in my ability to lead us through this crisis. And yet I am certain that few of you would prefer to allow the fundamentalists and the KDP to impose their totalitarian controls on your lives.
“Still, in all honesty, I acknowledge that there is every reason for you to doubt me, and I would not be so presumptuous as to expect, or even to ask, you to abandon your skepticism based merely on what I say here tonight.” Christopher had every reason to be concerned. His approval rating had sunk to just four percent. But there was no sign of desperation in his voice. Instead, his words and demeanor showed only calm and confidence.
“Again, I believe actions speak far louder than words. In a moment, I’ll present a simple proposal that outlines the actions I’ll undertake and the means by which you may be absolutely certain that what I say tonight is true and that victory is at last ours.
“First, however, allow me to take a moment to set the events of the past few weeks in perspective.
“Seven years ago, famines and drought struck India and Pakistan, which led to a long war that killed 4.5 million people. The war spread and ultimately resulted in a nuclear exchange between China, India, and Pakistan, in which an additional 420 million people died. While these at first appeared to be tragic but natural events, we later realized that the planet had come under attack from outside, by a spirit being known as Yahweh, and that he was acting in concert with and at the invocation of his human mediums, the men called John and Saul Cohen.
“Less than six months later, an asteroid entered the Earth’s atmosphere and, in a span of mere minutes, killed 175 million. Millions more were struck deaf — and would have remained so except for the healing results of the communion. Tens of millions were left injured and homeless. And one-third of the world’s forests, including the once vast woodlands of North America and most of the South American rainforests, were reduced to funeral pyres.
“The same day, on the other side of the world, a second asteroid struck in the Pacific, south of Japan, causing earthquakes, tsunami, and unprecedented volcanic activity that killed an estimated 206 million and left the ocean a blood red pool of death as it totally destroyed all marine life in the Pacific.
“The two asteroids had the additional effect of so profoundly displacing the ozone layer that all grains and grasses throughout the world were destroyed, resulting in worldwide famine and an additional 50 million deaths.
“A third asteroid, far larger than the first two and capable of eliminating all life on the planet, was destroyed while it was still a safe distance from the Earth, thanks to the cooperation of the member nations of the UN. But weeks later, as the dust of the third asteroid reached us, we learned that it contained a high level of arsenic — a metal that is a deadly poison to human and animal life — which polluted much of the Earth’s water supply and killed 20 million more. Altogether from the asteroids, more than 450 million innocent men, women, and children died. Again, this was no natural disaster, but rather the vile handiwork of Yahweh.
“The following year, insects, genetically mutated by the design of Yahweh, and whose coming was foretold by John and Cohen, swarmed over the Earth for five full months, causing havoc and horrible suffering, and bringing agricultural production and most industries to a virtual standstill. UN estimates of the secondary death toll from the resulting starvation are conservatively put at 155 million. While none died as a direct result of the locusts, the pain was so great that death would have been preferred by those who endured the excruciating torment of their stings. Many of you listening tonight experienced that pain firsthand.
“Four months after the locusts died, a follower of the KDP, without provocation, shot me in cold blood and endangered the lives of hundreds of bystanders.” Christopher paused to let those listening recall the tragic scenes of that day at the UN. The video of the assassination had been viewed so many times it was doubtful that anyone had not seen it multiple times. The black patch that Christopher still wore over his right eye socket and his crippled left arm bore further witness to the suffering he had endured.
“Within minutes of my assassination, a savage madness swept over much of the planet, which caused neighbor to kill neighbor, spouse to kill spouse, and parents to kill their own children. For three and a half days this madness continued unabated until, following my resurrection, I flew to Jerusalem and ended the madness by putting an end to John and Saul Cohen. In all, nearly 1.5 billion — a full one-third of the remaining population of the Earth — died because of the madness. Had I not stopped these two agents of Yahweh, it’s doubtful that anyone on Earth outside of Israel would have been left alive.
“When John and Cohen were themselves resurrected three days later, they left a reminder of their infamous destructiveness: an earthquake that destroyed 10 percent of the city of Jerusalem and killed seven thousand people. Fortunately that was the last we would see of these serial mass murderers.
“Over the next three years, under my guidance, our planet experienced a period of unprecedented peace and prosperity. And in this environment of peace, as we entered the New Age of Humankind, people throughout the world of all races, cultures, nationalities, and ages began to experience powers of the mind and spirit that had only been dreamt of before.
“Thirteen months ago, with the communion, the world witnessed the end of sickness, miraculous recoveries from injuries, and even a reversal of the aging process. Humankind was at last running full speed toward its glorious destiny.
“This brings us to the events of the past four weeks.
“Unable to control us any longer, as Humankind stood poised on the threshold of the New Age, Yahweh and his henchmen — the KDP and the fundamentalists — unleashed another set of plagues intended to frighten us into submission. First it was the lesions on those who had dared to make the first step into the New Age by taking the communion. Next he turned the seas and then the fresh water to blood. Each time, as Robert Milner halted one plague, a new one followed. Then it was the extreme heat, and finally the darkness. Altogether these last five plagues have resulted in an additional 510 million deaths.
“But that is over. I repeat what I said earlier: There will be no more plagues!”
“Yahweh’s forces are like a three-legged stool, made up of the KDP, the fundamentalists, and the Jews who inhabit Petra. Through the cooperative efforts of police and security forces around the world, the program to deal with the fundamentalist threat is working. We have splintered that leg of the stool and broken their power!
“There will be no more plagues!
“The KDP, the fundamentalists, the dwellers of Petra, and Yahweh have done all the damage that they can.
“And so, let the first proof that what I tell you is true be offered and confirmed on a daily basis. There will be no more plagues!
“But it’s not enough to remove one leg of the stool. We must complete the goal by dealing also with the KDP and those in Petra. If we do nothing, they will learn to stand upon two legs and they will do even worse, to the point of destroying all of Humankind.
“I have been criticized for not dealing more harshly with the KDP and their supporters. I will admit that I have always held out hope that the KDP would see the error of their ways and join us. I do not regret having had that hope. I do, however, regret the toll in human suffering they have caused as we have held out to them the hand of peace. It’s now clear that they will not travel with us. By their own choice, we must leave them behind. I know there may be some who fear that because of my patience with the KDP in the past, I may again be persuaded to offer the olive branch. Let me assure you that that will not happen. The KDP and the rest of the Cult of Yahweh have shown themselves to be maniacal, intolerant, narrow minded fanatics, cruelly calling down plagues upon the Earth as if for their amusement. We must now deal with them with equal fervor.
“They have assembled themselves in the ancient walled city of Petra, and it is ironically fitting, for their religion is an ancient one — old and brittle and ready to crumble down upon them. So let it be that the legend of Joshua will serve as a metaphor for their own destruction. In that legend, all the people of Israel, under the rule of Joshua, gathered around the walled city of Jericho.[150] So let us gather at Petra. But unlike the people of Israel who called on Yahweh, we will call out to no one. Neither will we bring with us any weapon. For by the very power of our combined will and inner strength, all the universe will bear witness that no walls of stone or self proclaimed god can stand against a united Humankind. For just as the walls of Jericho in the legend fell, so shall the walls of Petra come down upon those who have rained terror down on us. Let us be rid once and for all time of Yahweh and those who would force us to our knees to worship him.
“That is my proposal.
“But I said also that I would provide the means by which you could be certain that what I have promised is at hand — the end of the plagues, the end of Yahweh’s dominion, and our ultimate victory.
“The proof that I offer will not be a miracle at the hands of Robert Milner. Nor will I, myself, perform some miraculous deed. Instead the miracle will come from you, from Humankind, by the sheer will and power of each of you. For let me assure you,” Christopher said, “that during these past three years since Humankind began experiencing the powers of the mind and spirit, evolution has not stood still.
“Within two weeks time, the first of three great signs will be given that will offer conclusive proof that Humankind has taken a giant step in the evolutionary process.[151]
“It is you, those who hear my voice and have joined with the rest of Humankind, who will perform the miracle. And you will see for yourself why Yahweh fears you!
“Humankind must be free to achieve its destiny. It was not mere chance that Professor Harold Goodman found the cells on the Shroud from which I was cloned. I have come into the world to act as the catalyst that Humankind may achieve its destiny. But it’s not my place to carry Humankind into the New Age. Rather, each of you must go of your own accord and under your own power. And each of you must participate, for though we each must carry our own weight, we must all go together as one family.
“All of us have lost friends or family over the past few weeks,” Christopher said, drawing his address to a close, “and it’s understandable that there should be a healthy release of anger. And if much of that anger is directed at me, well then, so be it. I am well aware of the calls for my resignation and that many of you listening may hate me as much as you hate Yahweh for what has befallen you. But before you abandon the path that has brought us this far, realize that the plagues are not and have never been the result of animosity between Yahweh and myself. This began long before I was elected secretary general and declared the beginning of the New Age. The plagues that afflict us have a simple and undeniable root cause: After thousands of years of stagnation, evolution has brought Humankind to the brink of a transformation that will take all who embrace it as far beyond the narrow confines of the present human form as Humankind is now above the simple one celled amoeba!
“Join me for this final battle against the Cult of Yahweh and together let us forever throw open the door of the jail of evolutionary stagnation that has held us so long! Thank you, and good night.”
It wasn’t there.
Decker had watched carefully, but the speech left him still uncertain. Whatever it was he had hoped to see wasn’t there.
What had he hoped for, he now wondered. Before the speech, he had thought he could look Christopher in the eye and instinctively be able to interpret his true motivation. Now that seemed an embarrassingly naïve assumption. He had known Christopher for twenty-three years. If he still had doubts after that long, how could he possibly expect to get a true read of the man now, simply by watching him on live-net?
As far as the speech itself was concerned, Decker considered the delivery first class. Apparently the public agreed. Christopher had stressed actions over words and said he expected the words of his address to convince few, but within fifteen minutes, insta polls showed his approval rating jumping to 21 percent. The speech was inspiring, and if Christopher did what he promised — if the three signs were given and there were no more plagues — then he might once again have the world’s support.
There was only one problem: The evil people of Petra who Christopher described in his speech were not the people Decker had seen there. They were not “maniacal, intolerant, narrow minded fanatics.” Yes, they had a very different view of the world. And because of their belief in Yahweh and their trust in the KDP, many of them might even support the raining down of plagues for what they wrongly but sincerely believed to be the greater good of the very people who suffered. But Decker could not believe that any of the people he had met there would “cruelly call down plagues upon the Earth, as if for their amusement,” as Christopher had said.
Christopher obviously didn’t understand. Granted, it might seem to some like a fine point to try to argue in light of the suffering that had occurred, but Decker had to do something. He thought of Rhoda, young Decker Donafin, Tom Jr., Rachael, and Charlie the “jailer,” and the many others he had met. The battle that Christopher had described would leave them all dead.
He had watched the speech to discover Christopher’s true motives. Now that no longer mattered. Whether Christopher was the embodiment of good or the epitome of evil, Decker couldn’t sit still and let the people of Petra be killed. His course was set for him. He had to return to Babylon.