Arrived (7 page)

“Oh, Nicolae, you have all power,” an older woman cried from across the street. “You bring light and peace and hope. Please, Nicolae, save us!”

“Shut up, woman!” a young man said. He was sitting with his back against the wall of a building next to the restaurant. “Neither Nicolae nor Fortunato can save you from this.”

“Blasphemer!” an older man yelled. “You let Nicolae or any of his Peacekeepers hear you say that and you're a dead man.”

The young man scratched at a bloody scab on his neck. “Death would be welcomed right now.”

“I'm so hungry!” the old woman shouted. “Can someone bring me something?”

“Come on,” Gunther said. “Don't pay attention to them.”

“Who is that?” the young man said. “How can you drive a car when you can't even see?”

Gunther and the others went inside the restaurant, stepping over two bodies of people who had killed themselves. Judd stayed behind and inspected the young man's forehead. No mark. But when Judd leaned down and caught a glimpse of the man's right hand, he saw the clear mark of Carpathia.

The young man took a swipe at the air, missing Judd's head by inches. “Who are you? What do you want?” He had pulled his shirt up and was rubbing up against the coarse brick, trying to get some relief. His back was bleeding.

“I'm a friend,” Judd said softly. “You don't have to be afraid.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“No.”

“Can you get one?”

“What for?”

The young man laughed wildly. “How long has it been since this darkness came? A week? Two?”

“It's only been a few hours,” Judd said.

The man put a finger in his mouth and bit down hard. Blood poured from the wound and gushed down his lips. “I can't see to take a step, and I don't have the energy if I could. I just want to die. I know this is the end.”

Judd stood and took a step toward the restaurant door.

“Please, I beg you. Hit me with something, knock me out. I can't stand this itching, and my head feels like it's about to burst!”

“I can't help you,” Judd said. “I wish you'd have responded to God before it was too—”

“God?” the man screamed. “Jesus? I hate them! I hate everyone who talks about God!”

Judd walked away as the man cursed God, chewed his tongue, and smacked his head against the brick wall. Judd stepped over bodies and went inside the restaurant. Some people had been inside when the plague of darkness hit, and they were still moaning and wailing on the floor, under tables, and lying on booths.

Judd found Gunther and the others in the kitchen, cooking meat on the grill. The cook lay in the back, not moving. Some people had crawled inside the back door searching for food. One man near the grill had burned both his hands, not seeing the fire.

While Gunther cooked the meat, Judd and Westin gathered bread and drinks and headed for the car. Judd looked for the young man by the wall, but he had moved away.

When they were all inside the car, Judd tore off a piece of French bread and grabbed one of the still-sizzling pieces of meat from Gunther. The smell of the food made Judd's mouth water.

Gunther put the car in gear, and they rolled over something. At first Judd thought they had been too close to the curb, but when he looked through the back window, he saw the young man lying on the street. He had crawled under the tires and now lay lifeless on the road.

Everywhere they drove, Judd heard howls from people in pain. It seemed to be getting worse by the hour. When people heard the car's engine, they ran into the street, reaching out like blind zombies, trying anything to relieve their pain. Judd hated ignoring them, but what could they do? These people had chosen against God and were now paying the price.

Judd wondered what it was about the darkness that made things so much worse. Simply turning out the lights on the world was one thing, but there was something supernatural about this that caused people enough pain to want to kill themselves.

The car stopped a half hour later in front of a guard hut. Judd couldn't see the building inside, but security fences with razor wire on top ran as far as he could see.

“I can't guarantee your safety in there,” Gunther said.

“No way I'm missing this,” Westin said.

“Me either,” Judd said.

“Then let's go.”

Gunther pulled up to the gate and opened his door. Someone inside the guard shack yelled, “Halt! Who goes there?”

Gunther didn't respond but went into a crouch and stuck his head into the doorway.

“Identify yourself or I'll shoot!” the guard said.

Gunther waved at Westin, and the pilot got out and went to the front of the car. “Why would you want to shoot—?”

Blam!

The gun's explosion sent Westin to the ground. The guard hobbled out of the shack like a drunken man, waving the gun and threatening to shoot again. With a swift movement, Gunther jumped, kicked, and the gun clattered on concrete.

The guard screamed in pain and fell in a heap. “Who are you? What do you want here?”

Judd got out as Gunther stepped toward the guard and said, “Where are the rebels you're holding?”

The guard's eyes widened. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Right,” Gunther said, picking up the gun. He walked into the shack and flipped a lever, opening the gate.

“You can see?” the guard said.

“Do you want me to shoot you?” Gunther said.

A wide grin spread across the man's face. “Yes. I'd like that. Please go ahead.”

Gunther frowned and looked at Judd. “Help me tie him up. We'll find them ourselves.”

7

JUDD
followed the others through the fence and toward a huge building. The stone structure had survived the heat wave, and by the numbers of burned-out cars nearby, Judd guessed some had survived the heat by running inside.

They met two guards at the front entrance who were writhing on the floor, scratching their bodies, and moaning in pain. Instead of tying or cuffing them, Gunther and Westin retrieved their guns and proceeded down the hall.

“How are we ever going to find where they're holding the prisoners?” Westin said.

Gunther placed a finger to his lips and pointed at a female guard with her head on a desk at the end of the hall. As they approached, the woman sat up and looked wildly in their direction. “Who's there?”

“It's all right, Sergeant. Don't be afraid.”

“How can you see me?”

Gunther ignored the question. “We come on a mission from the potentate. There have been several rebels arrested in the past few days. They are awaiting transport?”

The woman grimaced and grabbed the back of her neck in pain. “Most of them were taken yesterday. There are seven left in the holding cell downstairs.”

“I would like to see them.”

“You have to have authorization. I don't even know who you are.”

“Believe me, this request comes from the highest levels—from the potentate himself.” Paper rattled and Gunther handed the sergeant something.

“I can't see this,” she said. “How do I know you're telling the truth?”

“I could have disarmed you the moment I came in. You must trust me. Now if you will point me in the right direction—”

“I don't know which direction the stairs are. I'm all turned around.”

“Hand me your key card and I'll let myself in.”

“I'm not supposed to give that to anyone,” she said.

“We both agree—these are extraordinary circumstances,” Gunther said. “I'll be back.”

The woman hesitated, then took off her plastic card and held it out.

Gunther motioned Judd and the others toward the stairwell, and they crept along as quietly as possible.

“What are you going to do to those prisoners?” she said. “They're just Jews.”

“I want to talk with them. To see if I can't persuade them to come over to our way of thinking.”

As Judd reached the door, the woman tilted her head and scratched her neck. “If you ask me, we should just kill them now and get it over. They're going to die one way or another.”

“Yes, thank you for that advice.”

“Wait. Does the potentate know when this darkness will stop?”

“We don't know when things will return to normal, but you can be sure the potentate only has your best interests at heart.” Gunther walked toward the door and inserted the card.

Going down the stairs was like walking through a dense cloud. After going through several doors and walking down a narrow hallway, Judd pointed to his right, toward a series of cells. At the end was a large cell Judd thought would hold at least a hundred prisoners. Only seven men lay on cots or on the floor. Judd looked for the mark of the believer but saw none. But only three of the men had the mark of Carpathia.

“When will you turn on the lights?” a man yelled. “This is cruel and unusual.”

The others in the cell shouted at the man to be quiet.

Gunther spoke calmly and without emotion. “Gentlemen, we are not with the Global Community. We represent the true potentate of the universe.”

“Were you the ones who turned out the lights?” a younger man said.

“No. In fact we were about to be arrested by Peacekeepers when this plague of darkness began. God has enabled us to see, while those without his protection cannot.”

“I am a religious man,” another said. “Why would God give you special treatment?”

Another man grabbed the cell bars and pulled himself up. He had scratch marks about his face and neck. “Stop all this talking and let us out. You know what the GC will do to us if we're kept here.”

Gunther asked Westin to find out how to release the cell door, then pulled a chair close to the cell. The men inside grew impatient. One with long hair stayed back, wary of Gunther's voice.

“How do we know you're not the GC with more of your tricks?” Longhair said.

“We come in the name of the Prince of Peace, the King of kings, the one who was called the Light of the World.”

“Who is this light?” a bearded man said. “And when can he come down here?”

Gunther chuckled. “I will tell you about this light. In the beginning the Word already existed. He was with God, and he was God. He was in the beginning with God. He created everything there is. Nothing exists that he didn't make. Life itself was in him, and this life gives light to everyone. The light shines through the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.”

“Don't talk to us of light and life when we are locked away in darkness so thick you can taste it,” a man said.

Others shushed him and asked Gunther to continue. “We come on behalf of this light to ask you to gain true freedom, true sight. There is a reason why we can see—”

“You can't see any more than we can.”

“Then how can I tell you're wearing a pendant around your neck? And that your hair is down to your shoulders—and you're closing your eyes—no, opening.”

“None of us can see. Do you have special glasses or something?”

The man at the back stood. “Let us out of here and we'll listen to you.”

“Soon,” Gunther said. “But first let me tell you that the one who sent us made the world, but when he came, the world didn't recognize him. Even in his own land and among his own people, he was not accepted. But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God. They are reborn! This is not a physical birth—this rebirth comes from God.”

“I've heard these words before from that traitor Tsion Ben-Judah,” the bearded man said. “It was his fault the Global Community came after us in the first place.”

The cell door began to move, and the men jumped to their feet. Westin came back as the men groped toward the opening, falling over cots and each other.

“We can show you the true light,” Gunther said while the men poured out of the cell. “If you don't receive this gift God is offering, you are destined to live in darkness forever.”

“I'll take my chances,” the bearded man said.

The three with the mark of Carpathia left immediately. The four others held out their hands, searching for a wall or anything that could guide them.

A young man stopped near Gunther and Judd. “You say there's a way for us to see, even in this blackness?”

Judd touched Gunther's arm. “Can I talk to him?”

Gunther smiled and nodded.

“My name's Judd. Put out your hand.” The man did and Judd shook it. “I'll lead you out of here. We'll talk outside.”

As they went through the hallways and up the stairs, Judd learned the man's name was Zvi Zeidman.

“When the mark of Carpathia came, I went underground with some friends,” Zvi said. “We could sense hostility toward Israelis. When the heat wave hit, others joined us, but someone gave us up for the reward.”

Judd paused at the top of the stairs and noticed the female guard was not at her post. They walked to the front of the building and heard gunfire. The few guards left were hunkered down, firing at any noise.

“It'll be best to stay here until they run out of ammunition,” Judd said. He found an open office and sat Zvi on a cushioned chair.

“I don't know why I feel better having someone who can see,” Zvi said. “In the cell I had started to itch and get a tremendous headache.”

Judd got the man some water and sat behind the desk. Though Zvi was in his twenties, he looked much older and had dark, curly hair and deep-set eyes.

Zvi put his head back. “How can you see?”

“I don't see fully,” Judd said. “Everything's kind of brown. But I can see this computer screen and …” Judd studied the screen closely. He clicked on an e-mail message and pulled it up.

“What is it?” Zvi said.