Philip Simpson - Tribulation

He found an abandoned building, far away from any church and other people. The closest person he could sense was so distant, their mind was but the dimmest spark. As for the church — he certainly couldn’t tell if it had been desecrated from this distance and there was no way of telling if it had been destroyed or not. It was better to be safe than sorry. He wondered whether the advance demolition squads that Colonel Wheat had sent ahead had done their job yet. If they had, they would be doing well to have beaten him here, despite having set off three days before him and traveling on motorbikes. He’d made much better time than he’d thought — largely thanks to being harried by the Devil’s Hand.

He did some rough calculations in his head. It had taken him the best part of a week to get to New Jersey and Adam had told him they had six weeks. He still had four weeks — five at the outset — before the arrival of the Antichrist’s invasion fleet. Plenty of time. He’d be busy though: checking over the churches to ensure the demo squads had been successful, assessing demon worshipper numbers, determining how many survivors existed, working out possible defensive positions.

According to the latest Intel possessed by Adam, the invasion fleet would probably take the standard route into New York Harbor, past Ellis Island and then onto Manhattan. Sam still didn’t understand why they were going for Manhattan. What was the point? Any port along the Eastern seaboard would’ve done. Sam had to admit the strategy wasn’t bad though. Manhattan was an island after all. Once taken, it would be fairly easy to defend. Perhaps, as the city with the greatest population, the Antichrist thought it would have the greatest number of demon worshippers. Or maybe it was symbolic. Who knew?

The one thing he did know, however, was that coordinating the defense would be a challenging task. Communications had been poor since the Rapture, with short wave radio being the most common way for isolated bands of survivors to keep in touch. Even that form had become unreliable, which was one reason why Adam had been passing on his warning in person. Worsening atmospheric conditions in the last few months had been blamed.

The only reliable method seemed to be walkie-talkies but their range was incredibly limited. Sam had one himself and had specific instructions in relation to it. The plan was for him to rendezvous with Adam and the Colonel a week before the Antichrist was due to arrive. This gave the Colonel — who was coordinating the land based assault — time to gather troops and move them into New Jersey. If everything went to plan, he and his troops would then enter Manhattan as discretely as possible through the Holland tunnel under the Hudson River and take up defensive positions in the city. Meanwhile, Adam traveling with the British submarine, was to muster up whatever sea and air support he could along the coast. His objective was to ambush the enemy fleet by hiding behind Staten Island, allowing them to pass and then attacking them from the rear. Hopefully, the Antichrist’s forces would then be caught in a pincer maneuver, bombarded by Colonel Wheat artillery from the front and Adam’s ship to ship missiles and torpedoes from behind. It was a simple plan and one that could easily go horribly wrong but it was the only one they had.

Sam was to turn his walkie-talkie on in roughly three to four weeks’ time for an hour a day and attempt to make contact with the defense forces. By then, hopefully, he’d have all the information they would require.

He’d think about that later. Right now, all he wanted to do was rest. It was the first time in years that he actually felt the need to sleep. He was bone weary but couldn’t risk it without using a protective pentacle; he could make one but that would mean he was potentially trapped. His usual meditation regime would have to suffice for now.

The building he was in was part of a two-storied brick office block, partially gutted by fire. It had survived primarily because it was made of brick. He found an isolated office cubicle and made himself comfortable, pulling the long disused and ash coated blinds shut, darkening the room sufficiently so at least he felt a little more relaxed. He settled into his meditative position. Tomorrow, he would investigate Manhattan. A little thrill went through him. He’d never been to New York, never seen the ocean. Despite the circumstances, it was still a tiny bit exciting. The prospect of destroying some demon worshippers appealed also, as did thoughts of what he might find. Perhaps Manhattan was a bastion of humanity? If they had destroyed all the churches and entrance points to the island, there was no reason they couldn’t survive. They would still be exposed from the air but a determined resistance could ward off Astaroth attack. The thought filled him with a little hope. A tiny bit… but some hope was better than none.

Ten hours. That was all he’d have to wait. And then he’d find out for himself.

When darkness finally fell, Sam was already prepared. Had been for some time. In fact, he’d struggled to fill the last few hours, his mind going over and over recent events until his brain was swimming. Aimi was a painful recurring subject. He’d sharpened his swords. Twice. Emptied out his backpack, cleaned and checked everything inside and replaced it neatly. Planned his route into New York. Even trimmed his fingernails. Eventually, he shut the thoughts down by finding an old packet of cards, playing patience until it was dark enough to move. Somewhere in the distance, he heard screams and felt the telltale presence of demons. Clearly, at least one church had not been decommissioned.

Suddenly, he felt torn. He knew he should investigate. Despite what Gabriel had done to him, it was still his duty to protect the innocent. He had given his word, and that was not lightly given.

Empathy messed with his resolve. He could imagine what some poor person felt right at this very moment, being stalked, trapped, captured and dragged to Hell. Their terror. Their pain. Reluctantly, he shook himself free from its grasp. He had to think about the bigger picture. He had a duty and obligation to Adam and Colonel Wheat. He had a job to do. That was what he had to focus on regardless. It was ruthless and made him feel nauseous but it was about the greater good.

Eventually, he just took off, putting as much distance between himself and the source of the screams as possible, heading east towards Manhattan. Behind him, in the same general direction as the screams, he felt the Devil’s Hand make an appearance. Very persistent. They were also getting lucky or just guessed correctly that he was heading for Manhattan. He had no doubt they’d soon pick up his trail again. Their presence made him think of Yeth. He wondered how his Hellhound was getting on with his assigned task.

Slipping back onto the interstate, he increased his pace, keen to increase his lead over his pursuers. The last thing he needed whilst reconnoitering was to have them nipping at his heels. He’d planned his route out carefully, using his map to trace the interstate from Springfield, through Jersey City and under the Holland tunnel into Manhattan. Originally, he’d planned to take one of the bridges in order to get a closer view of the city but he’d reflected that it was pretty important for him to check out the state of the tunnel. It was, after all, the route Colonel Wheat planned to take when he arrived with his forces.