Ten hours. That was all he’d have to wait. And then he’d find out for himself.
Chapter Twenty
“ The second angel blew his trumpet, and something like a great mountain, burning with fire, was thrown into the sea, and a third of the sea became blood. A third of the living creatures in the sea died, and a third of the ships were destroyed.”
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.
Fortunately, the interstate became increasingly blocked with cars as he got closer to Manhattan. This suited Sam perfectly. He’d never been trained in Parkour — the French style of urban movement — but he’d read about it when he was younger. The definition of it kind of summed up how he liked to move, aided by his natural athleticism and otherworldly strength and dexterity. It was something he’d had a great deal of experience with over the years. Urban landscapes scattered with the remnants of human debris weren’t exactly hard to come by these days.
The piles of cars posed an irresistible challenge to Sam, an obstacle almost purposely designed for him. It was the closest thing to what Sam defined as fun. He doubted whether the Devil’s Hand would view it like that. Hell probably never ran courses on navigating urban settings.
He raced through the cars with a will, somersaulting, rolling and leaping with a grace and power no human could match. He made good time, sensing the Devil’s Hand falling behind even though they’d discovered his trail.
As he neared New York, the smoke became more apparent. Several buildings at least must have been on fire. But that paled into insignificance when he began crossing a bridge, thankfully largely intact other than some twisted girders, interspersed with a few cracks big enough to fall through. A sign told him that he was still on interstate 78. If memory served, the bridge was the New Jersey Turnpike extension. The vaguely familiar stench should have warned him, but he didn’t really think about it, largely immune to the smells this post-apocalyptic world could throw at him.
He was about ten feet onto the bridge when he suddenly became aware of what was under him. The source of the odor was the water — the salt water that was Newark Bay, the body of water between him and Jersey City. It was water no longer. It was the color of blood — and not just that either. The smell finally registered. Corruption. It didn’t just look like blood — it was blood, blood that was in the process of putrefaction.
Sam stopped running. Stopped moving completely. Probably stopped breathing for all he knew, and just stared in stunned silence. It was one of the worst things he had seen since the Rapture. What’s more, it was a terribly depressing and disappointing sight. He’d read about the ocean as a boy and had always looked forward to the experience, given that he’d been brought up in Utah. Even when he was in California, the opportunity to see the sea had never presented itself. Something had always come up. He’d built it up in his mind though as an experience to look forward to, something to savor. Those things were very rare for him these days.
The disappointment was almost crushing. He should’ve expected it though. The book of Revelations had predicted that the sea, or at least a third of it, would turn to blood. Poison. He had dared to hope that the Bible might be wrong in this regard, but like everything else so far, it was like reading from a script. Everything the Bible said would happen, was happening. Why should this be any different?
It completely ruined his entrance into New York. The earlier excitement he’d felt was gone. Despondent, he began to jog again. The road took him past Liberty State Park and it was here that he got his first good look at Manhattan. As he’d suspected, it was on fire, the flames clearly visible in the darkness — but only in very specific areas. To his eye, they almost looked deliberate. It didn’t make much sense either. Anything flammable should by rights have burnt by now. There couldn’t be much left other than brick, concrete and stone — luckily the exact same materials many buildings in New York were comprised of. Some buildings lights were on, too which could be construed in any number of ways. Sam didn’t like to hazard a guess as to what was going on in the city at this early stage.
It didn’t help his mood much that the view was also marred by the outlook onto the Hudson River. It too, was blood red. The Statue of Liberty — another sight he’d been looking forward to — fared no better. Lit by the crimson moon which was only now making an appearance from behind a cloud, Sam could clearly see from his vantage point that it was scarred with scorch marks, filthy and battered. The uplifted arm carrying the torch had either broken off or been deliberately destroyed. Either way, the once proud lady painted a rather bleak picture.
Sam tore his gaze away from the horrible view, desperately trying to find something positive to look upon. Across the Hudson River, he could just make out Brooklyn. No lights were visible but Sam could make out a large number of shapes clustered at the docks. Ships. Sam would have expected many of the residents of New York to have used the ships to escape the city after the Rapture. Clearly not. Maybe things in the city weren’t that bad? Maybe many of the residents had decided to stay?
Overall, his first impression was that New York was depressingly similar to most other cities he’d encountered. Even Liberty Park was a burnt and blackened ruin. Hardly the welcome to New York he was hoping for.