Their openness surprised him. He knew that they now trusted him because he’d given them antibiotics but that usually wasn’t enough these days. How did they not know he wasn’t a wolf in sheep’s clothing, here to gain their trust before betraying them? The answer was, they didn’t. They couldn’t. They were just good, trusting people despite what they’d been though. They seemed to accept him at face value. Not one of them questioned the hood that was constantly on his head. They even offered him what small amounts of food they had. It was a humbling gesture and one that brought a surge of protective anger. Even though he had to move on, he would keep an eye on these people, making sure they came to no harm.
The house itself, surprisingly, was in fairly good condition. It had escaped unscathed from the earthquakes and other natural disasters — just better than most structures. The fairly common subsidence cracks were evident and some scorch and burn marks here and there, but other than that, it was mostly intact. It hadn’t been just pure luck him picking that house out of every one in Bedford. It was also one of the few that were even in slightly habitable condition. The rest of the houses in the town had suffered the worst that the Tribulation could throw at them: many had been completely destroyed by earthquakes; others had been gutted by fire, victims of the increasingly regular fire-storms.
These poor examples of humanity had survived more by good luck than anything else. And Sam discovered that this luck ran deeper than he expected.
According to the survivors, Bedford and the surrounding area of Bedford County had several churches representing various denominations. Not that it mattered. Demons didn’t differentiate between Christian biblical interpretation. One church was as good as any other to them.
He couldn’t really spare the time, but he needed to find out for himself. Even though his gut told him they were good people, he needed to make sure. As dusk fell and the others starting settling down for the night, he got the directions to a few neighboring churches and set off in search of them. What he found surprised him.
Every single one had been completely destroyed. Not only that, but Sam suspected that the ground had been blessed and purified with Holy water. As far as he knew, it was the only sure fire way of ensuring that demons couldn’t use it as a portal. He’d encountered a few like these in his travels but not several altogether. Whoever had done this had been thorough and discreet. The survivors weren’t even aware of their good fortune. No wonder there were no demons around. There were simply no portals for them to use.
Something Grace had said back at the base came back to him. She’d said that many were just paying lip service in order to avoid going to Hell. But it didn’t work like that. People needed to believe, to have faith and to welcome Jesus into their hearts. It was the only way they were going to avoid the pit for eternity.
Sam understood that — probably better than most, not that it was going to do him any good. But fear, hope and belief all had parts to play in this drama. People could change. Sometimes all they needed was a catalyst. And what better catalyst than the Tribulation and possibly eternal damnation? If that wasn’t a reason to change your opinions, Sam didn’t know what was. Of course, it would be better if people altered because of love and a willingness to be better, but those were emotions and thoughts in short supply at present.
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.