david moved along the shaft, every sense alive. He I strained to hear the buzz Luke had talked about but could hear nothing … except his breathing and the scrape of his feet against the rough concrete floor. He expected the air to be damp and stale like a cave. Instead it was surprisingly dry. A row of fluorescent tubes lined the ceiling, along with pipes, conduit, and cable. Ten feet ahead rose several steps. They led to a brown metal door. He arrived, glanced over his shoulder, and headed up them. Transferring the branch/staff to his bad hand, he reached out to a smooth lever-handle and pressed down. It gave a soft click and the door opened a crack. A breeze rushed through as he cautiously pushed it farther.
To his surprise he was standing outside again, surrounded by brush, several giant boulders, and a darkening sky. He was still on the flat section just before the bluff but appeared to be on the opposite side of the rock slide. He glanced at the door and saw the outside had been camouflaged in textured foam and painted to blend in. But why? Why build a tunnel to here? He turned and looked back into the shaft. Only then did he realize that he must be standing at its entrance. Of course. He’d simply gone the wrong direction, heading out of the shaft instead of in. He shook his head and stepped back inside, closing the door behind him.
Moving back down the steps, he retraced his route. He approached the mound of dirt that he’d originally slid down and pressed against the concrete wall, climbing up and over the smallest portion of debris.
“Dad, that you?”
Odd, he’d barely made a sound, and yet Luke had heard. He peered up toward the opening and whispered, “Yes.”
“What’d you find?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Be careful.”
“Right.”
He stepped off the mound and continued down the passageway. The best he figured he was heading into the hill now. Some twenty feet ahead lay another door, similar to the first but with no steps. Everything had grown strangely quiet, even his bubbling glow. In fact, the deeper he walked inside, the less of his light he saw or heard. And by the time he arrived at the door, the glow had completely disappeared.
He placed his good hand on the lever and pressed down. Another soft click. Then, taking a breath for courage, he pushed it open.
Before him stood a small room with a low ceiling, lit only by the blue, flickering aura of television screens. It reminded him of a TV control room with its rows and rows of monitors filling the wall. Directly in front of him, before the monitors, stretched a long black console with glowing white and red buttons. Not three feet away, an operator in short blonde hair sat with her back to him, watching the screens.
To her right, at the end of the console, stood four metal racks about six feet tall. Inside them were what looked like home computers stacked on top of each other. David knew from experience that these were how supercomputers were made—not giant colossus machines, with flashing lights and swirling gizmos, but simple, home-type computers wired to run parallel with each other. Beside the racks stood a large, pleasant-looking man with red hair and a bushy beard. Next to him sat a balding worker at a smaller console with fewer monitors.
“And a good evening to you, Mr. Kauffman.” The man with the beard had turned to him. “I see you have discovered us.”
“Who …” David cleared his throat. “Who are you?”
The man pressed an intercom switch on the wall beside him. “Martini, Tanner. We’ll be needing you at the Control Room stat, please. We have ourselves a visitor.” He returned to David. “I’m Dirk Helgeland, the head of this little operation. I spoke to you and the rest of the group yesterday when Mr. Orbolitz arrived.”
David had forgotten the name, but remembered the Irish lilt.
“And how, might I ask, did you find us?”
“There was a … rock slide.”
“Ah, the rock slide.” Helgeland glanced to the wall of monitors. “The thing’s knocked out some of our cameras.”
David followed his gaze to the screens. As he looked closer he recognized locations in and around the lodge. The kitchen, the dining room, the hallway. Another monitor showed Albert’s bedroom, with Albert and Savannah collapsed on the bed in exhausted sleep. Oddly enough, neither showed any signs of their dark glow. Another monitor displayed Preacher Man’s room. Reverend Wyatt had joined him. The two were kneeling, heads bowed. Again, neither showed any light or glows. More monitors displayed more rooms, as well as the porch, and numerous outside locations—including, down in the far corner, the image of his son. He’d wandered from the rock slide and was closer to the bluff.
“So this is …” David cleared his throat again.
“The center of our little operation.”
“How many of you are there?”
“The staff? We’ve got ourselves two shifts plus a couple support folk. The sleeping facilities are down a ways, just a short stroll from here—though I’m afraid that slide means we’ll have to be taking the longer route through the generator shaft.” He glanced back to study the smaller bank of monitors before him.
“Generator?” David asked.
“Um?”
“You said generator?”
He returned his attention to David. “That’s right. We had to make ourselves a little hydroelectric plant. No choice, the way those towers suck up the power.”
“Towers?”
“They’re kinda like microwave towers. We’ve got them disguised all around the property. It’s how we’ve been broadcasting the Presence into you people.”
David frowned, not entirely understanding.
“That’s what your son climbed. And that buzz he’s been talking about, it’s nothing but the cables running from our power source out to the towers.”
“And the electronic fence or whatever it is—the one you buried in the ground to keep us here?”
“Same principle, different frequencies, though with a bit of a kick, if you know what I mean. Listen, I’d love to chat, but we’re coming up to the final phase of this little get-together, so if you wouldn’t mind to be taking a seat till my associates show up, I’d appreciate it.”
David remained standing.
“There!” The balding technician near Helgeland pointed at the screen before him. “See the similarities?”
Helgeland stared a moment, then turned to the woman behind the longer console. “Jennie, would you be bringing up the McPherson room on your screen, please?”
She hit a switch and Rachel McPherson’s room filled one of two larger screens at the center of the monitor wall. On it David could see Rachel still lying in bed. She was sweaty and worn but no longer had any light or shadows. The same was true for Nubee, who sat beside her in his wheelchair, and Orbolitz, who stood near the door.
“What happened to their glows?” David asked.
“None of that registers on video. All we’ve been able to record and transmit are your reactions.”
David turned back to the screen. All three of the people in Rachel’s room were looking around, their faces filled with a type of wonder and awe. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
“If I’m not mistaken, it’s the calm before the storm.”
“Storm?”
Helgeland called to the woman technician, “Jennie, would you mind bringing up Mr. Ingram, please?”
She nodded, reached over, and pressed one of the lit buttons. An older patient in a white hospital gown appeared on the other large monitor beside Rachel’s.
Helgeland explained, “That’s Mr. Ingram, one of our volunteers back at the lab. I believe Mr. Orbolitz explained that in the beginning we made ourselves a few mistakes. Besides subjecting them to the unnatural laboratory environment, we exposed them far too quickly to the Presence.”
“The same Presence we’re experiencing?”
Helgeland nodded. “Back in the lab, at about the 90-95 percent mark, the subjects all had … well, they all had a nasty habit of blowing up on us.”
“Blowing up?”
“So to speak.” He motioned to a large digital display at the bottom of the monitor wall. “You see that readout there?”
The glowing blue numbers read:
87.55%
“That’s the intensity you folks are experiencing now.” Turning to the woman he said, “Would you mind giving me a close-up on the young man, Jennie?”
She reached for another control. The camera zoomed in on Nubee.
Helgeland continued. “Do you see the similarities of his expression and Mr. Ingram’s?”
David stared at the two monitors. Both men’s faces were filled with reverent awe.
“Now, fast forward to Mr. Ingram at 95 percent.”
“He expired at 93,” the technician replied.
“Then how about giving us a look at 91 percent.”
The technician adjusted a control and Ingram’s image flickered to a completely different expression. Now his eyes were wide in fear, his face filled with terror. There was no sound, but it was clear he was screaming as he fought against the leather restraints holding his arms.
“And 92 percent, please.”
Another flicker. His eyes were bulging, his body convulsing.
“Is that …” David swallowed. “Are you saying that’s going to happen to Nubee?”
“That’s what we’re here to be finding out.”
“But you’re saying there’s a possibility it will happen to him?”
“Mr. Kauffman, there’s a possibility it will be happening to all of you.”
The matter-of-fact tone in the man’s voice made David grow cold. He stared at the screen as the seizures grew more violent.
Suddenly the door behind Helgeland opened and two large men entered. Smaller than Orbolitz’s bodyguards, they were still big enough to ensure they were used to getting their way.
The larger of the two asked, “There some trouble, Doctor?”
“Yes. I’m afraid you’ll be needing to escort Mr. Kauffman here to our quarters.”
“You’re taking him out of the experiment?”
“He’s taken himself out. He knows our location and he knows about the towers.”
“What about the electronic perimeter, how will he cross it?”
“Have you cleared that fallen tree in sector fourteen?”
“From the quake? No, sir. We were going to wait until they slept.”
“Yes, well, plans have changed a bit. Take him across the tree. What is it, thirty feet above the gully and perimeter?”
“A little less.”
“But high enough to put him out of harm’s way. Once you’ve crossed it, make sure you destroy the tree.”
“It’s big. They’ll hear us cutting.”
“Trust me, that’ll be the least of what they hear.”
“Yes, sir.” He started toward David, who tensed, immediately drawing his staff closer.
Seeing his reaction, the man slowed.
Helgeland replied, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kauffman, we have no other choice.”
“What about the others?” David demanded.
“In two hours it will all be over.”
“How? Like that guy up there?” David motioned to the screen. “You’re putting everyone through that?”
“As I said, there are no certainties.”
The man started toward him again.
“No.” David raised his branch as a weapon, wincing at the pain shooting through his wrist. “You’re going to shut this thing down and you’re going to release us. All of us. Now.”
Helgeland laughed kindly. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to accommodate your wishes, Mr. Kauffman.” He gave a nod to the largest man, who resumed his approach.
Despite the pain and his instinct not to harm others, David leaned back, hesitated a fraction of a second, then swung hard. He hit the man in the shoulder, spinning him into the console. The woman technician screamed, leaping from her chair, but the smaller man was already coming at him. David swung again, catching him in the gut and dropping him to the floor.
“I’m not kidding!” David shouted, catching his breath, fighting the pain. “Shut this thing down!”
“Mr. Kauffman …” Helgeland approached, palms open in reason. “Please, it will all be over in—”
Unsure what to do, not wanting to hurt him, David spun around and smashed his club hard into the console. There were no sparks but plenty of flying pieces.
“What are you doing?” Helgeland raced for the console.
“Stay back!” David hit it again. Then again. Still no sparks, though the acrid smell of something burning filled the room.
The first man had risen and came at him from the side. David turned and tried jamming the tree limb into his gut. He missed and caught his hip, slowing the man but not stopping him. Helgeland continued to shout as David, clenching his teeth against the pain, leaned back preparing to hit the man again … until the smaller one, still on the floor, grabbed his legs, yanking him off balance. David started to fall, then twisted away and swung the club toward the smaller man’s head. He missed but caught his other shoulder, just as the first grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms.
David kicked and squirmed but was outmatched by a good thirty pounds. The big man dragged him, none too kindly, past the console and computer racks toward the exit. David still clung to the club, but it served little purpose.
“How long …,” the man shouted to Helgeland. “How long do we keep him?”
But Helgeland was too busy bemoaning his damaged console to reply.
Realizing his hopelessness, David finally stopped his struggle … until his eyes landed on his son in the monitor. That’s when he went crazy. With a burst of adrenalin, he kicked and squirmed with everything he had. He threw back his elbow, catching his captor in the stomach, knocking out his wind. He jabbed again and again in rapid succession, a wild man, not fighting for his own life, but for his boy’s.
The man’s grip loosened. That’s all David needed. He tightened his hold on the branch, crying out in pain as he swung it around, catching the man along the side of the head, sending him stumbling backwards against the wall. The second man, who was already on his feet, raced at him. The first would soon return. David had only moments. He leaned back and swung his club hard into the closest computer rack. This time there were sparks. Plenty.
Helgeland shouted.
He swung again. More sparks. He was getting pretty good at this. He leaned back for a third but had the air knocked out of his lungs by a series of kidney punches from behind—so expertly delivered that the pain caused him to drop his branch. It hit the concrete only a second before he did. He fell to his knees, gasping, trying to catch his breath, trying to focus through the pain. He heard Helgeland yelling, braced himself for more blows. But none came— except for a brutal kick to his face from the first assailant. But even as he flew across the room seeing ceiling and stars, he realized that their attention had been redirected. They no longer cared about him; now it was their console and computers.
“Tower eleven is out! We’ve lost a tower!”
David struggled to move. Whatever he’d destroyed had taken the spotlight off himself and for that he was grateful. He rolled onto his hands and knees, shook his head. The shouting continued as he crawled for the door. He understood little of what they yelled as he pulled himself to his feet.
“It’s gone!”
“What?”
“It can’t be; there’s no way—”
“Look at the reading!”
David leaned on the door for support. He turned toward the room, squinting to clear his vision. The numbers on the digital readout changed so quickly they were nearly a blur:
88.64 … 89.00 … 89.14%
“Stop it! Can’t you stop it!”
“It’s out. We have no limiter. We can’t control it!”
“What are you say—”
“We can’t stop it!”
“What?”
“The Presence! We have no control!”
rachel McPherson felt the fog’s appearing as much as she saw it. A warmth caressing and embracing her. And the more she moved her lips in silent prayer, the stronger it grew.
“That is correct …,” Nubee whispered from beside her bed, “ask, simply ask.”
And she did, fervently. Closing her eyes, she half whispered, half thought the words, “I’m sorry … so sorry …”
But they weren’t the only words running through her mind.
Murderer! She knew it was Osiris perched on her chest, knew he was screaming. There is no forgiveness for you!
“He has done it all,” Nubee continued.
No forgiveness!
“Simply ask; He will do the rest.”
“… I’m sorry …”
She felt the fog thicken.
Baby killer!
Other voices joined in, other gods screaming. There was no missing their desperation, their panic … and apparently their pain.
Make her stop!
She opened her eyes. The fog had grown darker, crimson-red. The smaller gods squealed and squirmed, trying in vain to slap it off their skin. For every place it touched, large welts raised. Ugly blisters. And the thicker it grew, the worse the blisters became, until they were actually bubbling, beginning to steam and smoke.
Make her stop!
Torturer!
“He has done it all for you.”
Not you! Not for you! You are too evil!
Images suddenly filled her mind. Memories she’d long forgotten …
Seven-year-old Rachel and her brother burning ants on the sidewalk with a magnifying glass. Watching with fascination as smoke rose from them.
Monster! Your whole life!
Now she was nine, shoplifting the pink vinyl diary she loved so much at Woolworth’s … now a teen screaming at her mother, words so ugly they made the woman cry …
Rachel felt her own eyes beginning to burn. “Momma…”
… now high school, whispering rumors behind Kimberly Johnson’s back … giggling at the girl’s tears … at the boyfriend’s anger as he storms off.
Evil! Destroyer of all you touch!
“Don’t stop praying,” Nubee urged.
The memories came faster … gropings in the back of Stan Moton’s car … the drinking binges in college … the drug experimentation … other boys whose names she barely knew …
Whore!
“Just ask Him—”
… and Jerry. Dear, sweet, Jerry …
Destroyer of all that is good—
… their fights over the baby …
—of your husband, your family!
Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Please, no more, please—”
… the clinic, the bright lights, faces smiling down, speaking empty words of assurance …
Killer of all that is sacred!
… and Jerry, his own face on the pillow beside hers, tear-streaked.
Of all that is precious!
Again she held the spike and hammer in her blood-smeared hands, again the Man lay on the cross before her …
Killer of all that is holy!
… such sorrow in His eyes, but not for Himself. For her. Concern for her. Love for her. Tears blurred her vision, but she could not look away from those eyes …
“Ask Him, Rachel … just ask …”
… eyes so encouraging, eyes giving permission …
“No …,” she croaked.
That’s right, the voices hissed, you’re not worthy. Others, but not you. NOT YOU!
Still, the eyes would not release her, they would not stop loving her … urging her.
She looked at the hammer and spike—
“He can bear it. Only God can bear it.”
—then back to those powerful eyes. Their passion, their pleading for her to continue.
“It is okay, Rachel, it is what He wants, it is why He came.”
Finally, with trembling hands, she set the spike against the open palm.
NOO!
Tears swelled in those eyes, tears of love and … was it possible? Tears of joy? He gave a single nod. A single nod and she understood. With a ragged, uneven breath, she raised the hammer above her head—
NOOOO!
—and brought it down hard onto the spike. The metal clanged and the vision shattered.
She opened her eyes to see Osiris and the others leaping off, their bodies bubbling and cracking. But she did not hear their screams. Instead, she heard … singing. All around, coming from the fog, from the room. She didn’t understand the words. But the melody, the intertwining harmonies were so beautiful she felt her throat tighten and ache. She turned to Nubee, whose eyes were also filled with moisture.
“Do you”—her voice choked—“hear that?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
Quietly, he quoted, “‘I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.’”
“Have I … did I do it?”
Nubee grinned. “You tell me.”
Rachel listened, quietly marveling.
“Now let Him inside, Rachel.”
She looked at him.
“Let Him enter.”
She understood. Just as the gods had resided in and influenced her, it was time for Another, for the one true God, to take residence. But He would never be rude or mean or demanding. Not with those eyes. He would be there to gently encourage, to guide, to instruct. And most importantly He would be there to love her … and to be loved.
She took a deep breath, the deepest she’d taken in a long time. It was as if a great weight had been removed from her. Maybe it had. She looked down to her chest. Not a creature remained. There was nothing now but the singing and the fog and the—She caught her breath. Her darkness, her outer shadow, it was being drawn from her body into the fog. It was being pulled, absorbed into the mist, disappearing into its deep crimson cloud.
And as it disappeared, her orange-red glow grew more and more visible, glowing brighter and brighter. But the brightness did not come from the darkness leaving. It came from—
“Look,” Nubee whispered. He motioned to the center of her chest—the small, empty core … that was no longer empty. The core that now burned with light. A dazzling brightness identical to Nubee’s.
“Bless You, Lord. Thank You …” Over the singing she could hear him praying. “Thank You, Jesus, thank You …”
Without hesitation, she joined in. “Thank You …” She swallowed. “Thank You, God …”
Although her words were different from the singing, they felt the same. And with that assurance, she leaned back into her pillow, closed her eyes, and continued. “Thank You … Jesus. Thank You.” She did not look back at her core; she did not need to. She could literally feel its intensity growing brighter and brighter and brighter.
luke!”
David slid as much as he climbed, painfully scrambling his way up the dirt mound toward the hole in the shaft’s ceiling. He threw another look over his shoulder toward the door. No one pursued. At last he emerged through the opening, looking in all directions. It was night now. The sky above the boulders pulsed with lightning. Thunder clapped and roared.
“Luke!”
But the boy was nowhere in sight. He tried scaling the rocks once, twice, but there were no footholds, nothing to grip. He turned back to the hole, not liking the idea, but having no choice. He stepped back in and slid down the mound until he hit the side wall. Staggering, but staying on his feet, he half ran, half hobbled to the exit he’d been to earlier. He raced up the steps and threw open the door.
The sky churned with black clouds illuminated only by lightning.
“Luke!” He could barely hear himself over the thunder. He stepped out and scanned the top of the slide, the hill behind him. There was no sign of Luke. He turned, limping toward the bluff. He made his way around the boulders and debris until—there he was, on the other side of the slide, his glow outlined by the strobing light. “Luke!” He started for him, stumbling over rocks. “Luke!”
The boy turned, and David blinked in unbelief. Because he was no longer a boy. Now he glowed as a towering athlete … strong, powerful.
“Dad? What’s going on?”
“We’ve got to get the others!” He stumbled again. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
“What happened to you?”
“What?”
“Look!”
Arriving, he glanced at himself. Like Luke, his glow had also solidified, but not into an athlete. It was something entirely different. He was dressed in some sort of robe. But not of cloth or material. It was light. His orange-red glow had hardened into a robe of light. It did not shine as brightly as Luke’s, and his darker shell was still very much present, still bubbling and eating into the glow—but the glow had definitely taken a shape.
He grabbed Luke’s arm. “Come on, we’ve got to go!”
“Where? How—”
“There’s a way out. A tree’s fallen over that electronic fence!”
Suddenly Luke pointed past him. “What’s that?”
David turned just in time to see an orb of light dive toward them from the sky. He ducked, pulling Luke with him as the thing swooped past, then veered up and away. They turned and watched it disappear into the trees. He looked back and saw another coming in from their right. And another. Swooping, diving, not directly at them, but close enough, before darting up and into the trees.
“They’re everywhere!” Luke shouted.
“You see now? You can see them?”
“Those I can see! And listen! Do you hear that?”
“What?”
“That music … the singing.”
“All I hear is thunder.”
“No, under it! Under the thunder!”
Another light swooped by, just feet above their heads. As it passed David did hear something. More than the thunder. Underneath it. Singing! Cautiously, he rose to his feet, looking around. They were singing. The lights were singing. More importantly they were singing a song he’d heard before. In the Virtual Reality tunnel. The music that had filled the Garden. Not words, but sustained chords mixing and weaving into each other.
Luke rose beside him. “Cool.”
The lights continued to dart and fly, every second becoming more and more defined. Another swooped past, so close David felt the wind of its … wings. The thing had wings! He ducked, but it did not strike. Like the others, it came close, but never struck.
“Come on!” They started up the hill. The lightning flashed continually now, the thunder a constant roar that David not only heard, but felt through his body—just as he heard and felt the music.
“Look out!” Luke pointed at a giant cedar directly beside them.
David turned but saw nothing. “What?”
“Get away!”
“What are you talking about?”
He pulled David so hard that they both lost their footing and tumbled half a dozen yards back down the hill. When they stopped, David scrambled to his feet. “What are you doing?”
“What about it?” He turned to the cedar. “There’s nothing wrong with—”
Suddenly, the tree exploded with lightning. Wood and splinters flew in all directions. David ducked, shielding his face as pieces rained around them. When it had stopped he turned to his son in amazement. “How did—”
“Come on!” Luke pulled him by the arm. “Let’s get out of here!”