Glenn Beck - The Eye of Moloch

These were premium commercial water heaters with digital readouts for internal temperature and stress. All were hooked to backup generators in case the power failed, just like the equipment being used by the team in the back.

As the tanks began to heat up Hollis adjusted each of the units identically and he and Tyler worked to reinforce the surrounding sandbag supports while periodically watching the numbers climb.

When the PSI gauges neared 250—far above the manufacturer’s rated safety zone but still within worst-case specifications—the controls were reset to hold that high-pressure condition perfectly stable. Out of caution, though, he would leave some of their helpers stationed with instructions to watch those readouts and call out immediately if the pressure on any of the heaters should suddenly start to climb.

The survival bags they’d brought with them had included pay-as-you-go cell phones, to be used sparingly and for emergencies only. The phone in his pocket had begun to vibrate and he took it out and read the screen. The unsigned message there said: check the news.

“What now?” Tyler asked.

“Come with me.”

On the way to the back they stopped into an unoccupied office where a series of monitors were set up and ready for viewing. There was an old TV and a DVR with basic cable channels and a number of flat-screens showing insets of the various security cameras around the warehouse. A ham radio transceiver was also up and running for code and voice transmissions, and a laptop with an Internet connection sat right beside.

When Hollis saw what was dominating the news he raised the volume and they both watched and listened for a while.

“Oh man,” Tyler said.

The country had been shaken in recent days by a wave of shootings and other violence, all of which were being attributed to a single domestic militia group. Now the evolving reports were hinting that this group had ties to practically every prominent person and organization right of center. On one of the more obedient channels, Molly Ross and her people were actually being named as key players behind these terrorist acts.

And there was something new: a specific, imminent threat had reportedly been uncovered. Within the last half hour the entire country was put on high alert, with all flights grounded, mass transit halted, and citizens directed to stay in their homes as the authorities and their armed security partners combed the streets to try to find and eliminate the danger.

There was more. Even if the DHS and the FAA hadn’t shut down air traffic, the worsening weather probably would have. By all reports, conditions were fast developing that could usher in a line of major storms across the Midwest of a severity seen only once in a century.

His phone rang, a voice call this time. Hollis checked the caller ID and then motioned for Tyler to come near.

“I have to take this alone. Go and see how your mom and the others are getting along,” he said. “There’s no need to mention what we saw there on the news. Not yet.”

When the boy had left, Hollis answered the call, and it brought only more bad tidings.

All the stores in the HomeWorx chain had been visited by agents from a private security firm, a big one with deep government connections. The various stores were many miles apart, some entire states away, and these teams had descended on them all almost simultaneously. Uniformed, armed men were in the process of searching the places and questioning employees, and they weren’t leaving when they were done. While there was no sign of them yet in this area, it was surely only a matter of time.

Hollis ended the call and sat down, feeling another wave of dizziness and fatigue. Despite the aspirin he’d been swallowing by the handful, he felt worn down to a shadow; his fever and its underlying cause were still worsening. His eyes took a while to focus on the television screen. He watched with only half his attention as he tried to work his clouded thoughts through the dire situation at hand.

Facts were facts; there seemed to be no way that Molly could get there now, much less arrive before they were all found and apprehended. Judging by when they got started, she and the others would be grounded somewhere out west, lucky if they’d avoided capture, but with no hope of getting any farther.

Along with his withering fatigue, reality was settling into him now. He sat there for some time, feeling only weakness and defeat and the weight of the losses already suffered and a gathering dread of those yet to come.

Could they all really have come this far only to have it end this way?

As if in answer to this question, what came upon him then was neither sound, nor touch, nor any other humble sense of the physical world.

But without any doubt it was an answer, one so clear and certain that its truth would not tolerate denial. It was a sudden knowing from some source so sure and supreme that to even ask for further evidence would be an insult to its majesty.

Hollis looked again to the television screen, and a single, quiet word materialized and voiced itself in the center of his mind.

behold

The station’s chief meteorologist stood before a moving satellite image of the continental United States. The man seemed quite astonished by what was happening—he’d actually called it a miracle—and he was working hard to maintain a scientist’s demeanor as he spoke. Using the map projected behind him, he explained the three unlikely and converging elements of what he’d begun to term the perfect storm.

A powerful cold front driven by something called the Colorado Low had rapidly developed in the mid-latitudes. This alone was very unusual for that time of year; an unprecedented late-April snow was already being forecast in Dallas. The second element was a strong jet stream that had suddenly begun to dip far southward, its track shifting from a nearly straight path across the country into a rolling curve that resembled a turbulent sine wave spanning many hundreds of miles. And last, pushing in from the west, the effects of a strong El Niño were jamming all these forces together, smashing the descending cold air masses against the rising warmth at the front. The result, the man said, could soon be an impenetrable line of violent thunderstorms stretching two-thirds of the way across the country.

The enormous natural forces he’d described were replaying over and over in animated graphics on the map. The weatherman had said the individual principles at work were well understood, of course, but it was the sudden appearance of these three phenomena together that practically defied explanation.

Hollis reached out and gently touched the weather map on the screen, tracing the movements there, and as he did this, right down to his soul, he understood.

“What are you doing?”

The lights clicked on, and it was Tyler’s voice he’d heard from the doorway behind him. Hollis turned that way but didn’t answer.

“You look pale, man. You’d better take a rest.”

“I don’t need to rest,” Hollis said.

“So, what are we going to do?” the boy asked. “Nobody’s asking me, but it looks like we’d better call this whole thing off while we still can, right?”

“No,” Hollis said. “Molly’s on her way here now.”

“How’s that even possible? Aren’t you watching? There’s not a plane in the air across the country and the weather’s getting so bad they couldn’t get here even if they were allowed to fly.”

“She’s on her way, under God’s protection.”

“Look, this is the fever talking. How the hell could you even know that?”

“I know it.” Hollis stood, and though the flesh was weakening there was also a new strength in him that he hadn’t felt before. “I don’t know when, or how, but I know she’ll be here. So let’s you and me pull up our socks and get ready for hell and high water, son, because until she arrives, this is where we’re going to stand.”