Philip Simpson - Tribulation

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 source of food and shelter had disappeared.

It was eerily quiet as he ran. Even the breeze had disappeared, the dead trees sheltering him from the constant warm flow of air. He picked up the pace. A feeling of disquiet filled him and he knew that he wanted to be gone from this place as soon as possible. He thought — not for the first time — that he certainly hadn’t encountered everything that Hell had to offer. There were other surprises in store for him, some that he would not be able to prepare for, including demons he had never seen before. A sense of certainty came over him that here, within this dead forest, lurked one of those demons. Something he hadn’t seen before. Something terrifying, even to him.

He was almost sprinting by the time he reached the outskirts of it and relief filled him, glad to be leaving the dreaded place behind. Sam reduced his speed and jogged on. The interstate wound through the featureless dead terrain. He couldn’t help thinking about how this had once looked. He’d seen pictures of states beyond Utah before — before the Rapture — and nothing would have given him greater pleasure than to have seen them for himself. To see lush, green fields and verdant forests overflowing with animals and birds. To wander through them at his leisure. That wouldn’t happen now. Couldn’t. Even when Jesus returned, he wouldn’t be around to see his new Earthly paradise. Wouldn’t get to see these lands and forests returned to their former glory and then some. That pleasure would be forever denied him. Instead, he’d spend the rest of eternity staring at rocks and fire and probably fighting for his life and soul. Not a pleasant thought.

He stopped when he reached the outskirts of another forest. He didn’t fancy spending his resting hours inside it and besides, it was almost dawn anyway. Finding a thick clump of bushes that were still partially alive but comprised mostly of ash, he slipped under them. After getting himself comfortable, he ate a tiny piece of beef jerky from his pack and had a sip of water to moisten his mouth. It was all he needed. Then, he settled himself into his meditation position. He stayed like that for the next three hours or so.

Finally, he stood and stretched, poking his head above the top of the bush. It was probably around midday. Nothing stirred. It was eerily quiet. Unnaturally so. Even the semi-constant sulfur-tainted breeze was stilled.

Pulling out worn leather gloves from one pocket, he sat down again and carefully put them on. Only then did he dig into his pack. His rummaging produced a clothed wrapped bundle. Gently, he unwrapped it. It was an old, leather bound bible. The bible had once belonged to his master, Hikari, and other than his swords and the silver cross he wore around his neck, it was his most treasured possession. The gloves made reading it difficult and clumsy but he really didn’t have an option. It was either that or be subjected to constant burning pain. His naked flesh against a bible always had that effect.

He started reading, picking a page at random, lost in the words and comforted by messages contained within. So absorbed he was, that he failed to notice that he was no longer alone. Abruptly, he became aware of the presence. He was about to react with his normal physical intensity when he realized who it was. With trembling hands, trying not to rush and ruin the moment, he gently closed his bible and re-wrapped it, placing it carefully back in his pack.

Standing, he moved out of the bushes and scanned around eagerly. She was standing about ten feet away. He rushed towards her and she opened her arms to him. They embraced and despite his enthusiasm, he was careful not to crush her to him too tightly, mostly for fear of damaging her wings. They kissed quickly, passionately, but all at once she was pushing him away.

“Don’t,” she said, moving a step backwards and looking at her feet.

He closed the gap between them and attempted to draw her to him again. She pushed his hands away. Frustration and panic filled him in equal measure.

“What’s wrong?” he pleaded. “What is it?”

“I had to see you one more time,” she was whispering now. “I couldn’t stay away, even though I know I should.”

“What do you mean?” he was almost shouting, his mind whirling in confusion.

Her eyes met his. “I’m not allowed to see you anymore,” she said, so quietly he wasn’t sure that he’d heard correctly. Tears were streaming out of the corners of her eyes, running down her perfect cheeks.

“What?” he roared, much more loudly than he’d intended. Aimi took a step backwards, her eyes suddenly wide with fear. With a physical effort, he restrained himself. “I don’t understand,” he said, sounding calmer than he felt.

“It’s because of what we did,” she said, mournfully. The look of sadness on her face was killing him. He wanted to make it go away. He would do anything to make her smile again.