Chapter 1
Armageddon
“And he gathered them together into a place called in the Hebrew tongue Armageddon.”
-Revelations.
Underground Mountain Scientific and Ecological Lab - UMSEL
Drip, drip, drip. The dark purple liquid fell in tiny droplets into a glass beaker that was nearly half full of the thick substance. Clear, spiraling tubes twisted and turned over a long metal table that was congested with all sizes of clear vials and stoppers. At one end of the table, a small bowl held a blue liquid that boiled over a small flame. At the other end of the table, a similar bowl was filled with a sticky, red liquid which was subjected to a constant spray of liquid nitrogen. Each bowl had a tiny hole in the bottom which enabled the two liquids to slowly leak out into glass tubes and begin their journey over the long table. Both substances spiraled from coil to coil until they came together and mixed in a long glass vial, the blue and red turning a dark violet as they heated above another open flame.
The long table sat in the center of a large room that was scattered with scientists in long white coats. The men and women moved about with a sense of urgency, clearing other tables of their scientific contents. Some articles were being packed up and taken out with no true method of organization, while others were being smashed, burned, or shredded.
In the midst of this anarchy stood a man many years past his middle age. He stared unblinking at the small beaker as another tiny colored splash landed inside. He seemed oblivious to the chaos around him, his dark eyes focused on his greatest achievement. The entire underground facility could collapse at any minute, and he would not so much as inch away from his work.
Doctor Andrew Drekkedo stood straight and tall, just over six feet. He was a thin and sickly looking man who took time out of his crammed schedule to nourish his body only enough to keep his brain functional. Wrapped around the greatest mind of the twenty first century was a head that contained a pointed nose, hollow cheeks, and a small bony chin. Thin lips pursed as intently as his eyes stared under thin white eyebrows. His grey hair was barely there at all and wisped out in every direction, seemingly adding the look of crazy to a man already thought to be so. He wore a long white coat and kept his hands buried in the deep pockets on both sides.
“Doctor we have to abandon the facility! They say D.C. has been demolished and that the president has gone underground,” another scientist tried to get the immovable Dr. Drekkedo to come to his senses and help with the evacuation. The older man ignored the younger, and the scientist ran off with a frustrated sigh, throwing his hands up and then grabbing two boxes and racing out the door.
As madness unfolded around the old man, he remained calm. The large steel room echoed with panicked conversation and sounds of breaking glass and tearing papers. Along the far wall was a stretch of solid, thick plexi-glass where one could look into a chamber that housed the unfortunate victims of the so called “mad scientist”. A woman with long, black, dirty hair stood frozen behind the glass. She stared without emotion at the scientist as he stared down at his formula. There were others in the cell lying face down on the floor in the straw they used for beds.
All were dead.
Only the woman remained, her eyes the same color as the violet substance Dr. Drekkedo had spent most of his years concocting. She may have been beautiful once, maybe still was, but it was hard to tell in her tattered condition. She was strong though, and that’s why she endured while the others died.
The few remaining scientists soon cleared out, the last calling to Dr. Drekkedo, pleading for him to join them. He did not budge. Soon, only the silence was left to try to disturb him, but still he did not budge.
* * *
Middle East Israeli Plains
The helicopter blades pounded the airwaves, forcing them to pulse and break as reverberating thumps were heard across the Israeli landscape. The Blackhawk flew fast, its hull a solid black with the markings of a hawk. It had a beak at the nose of the craft and eyes and wing feathers decorated both sides. Also painted on the side was the name of the mechanical beast: Sand Hawk 1. She was as famous in the Middle East as the president was in the United States
Sand Hawk’s pilot was even more famous. Lieutenant Colonel James P. Black. He had been everywhere and done everything and was the most decorated active soldier in the U.S.
Even the earth seemed to be at war with its inhabitants: people were being killed off by the thousands in massive earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. There was another outbreak of the plague spreading throughout Europe and looking all too familiar. It was like the dark ages all over again and most borders were closed, their populations on lockdown. Terrorism was at an all time high and the global market could not get any lower.
It truly did seem like the end of days.
“I’ve never seen anything . . . Came out of nowhere . . . Never believe . . . there are millions . . . everywhere!” The radio kept breaking up and it was hard to understand what the other end was panicking about.
“Say again Tower 3,” Captain Ashlock responded. The man sat next to Lieutenant Colonel Black in the cockpit of the Sand Hawk 1. They were moving fast, high above the plains of Israel
The two men had been chasing a ghost call; a distress signal that ended up being bogus. They were preparing to head back to base when they picked up a radio signal from Tower 3 at the base of Mount Megiddo valley of Jezreel Megiddo
James P. Black worked at the controls, handling the Sand Hawk with ease. He looked up at a picture of his wife and two children that he always kept with him when flying out on missions. His family was safe back in the states at their large estate in Brisbane , California
The End of Days. That phrase that seemed so commonly used in the past few years made him think back to a year ago when he was stationed back in the states. He rubbed his thumb against the smooth, polished black stone hanging by a cord around his neck as he remembered the day he bought it. He was walking through the streets of San Francisco
Normally James would have walked right past the homeless man, but it was the sign that peeked his interest. Scrawled on the white board in fading blue marker was a scripture from revelations and he recognized it from a pamphlet he had received in one of his few visits to a church. It talked about judgment day and about a book that God would use to call the souls to heaven.
He remembered walking up to the crazy man, and as James approached him he noticed he was blind. His eyes were a milky white and faded pupils gazed past the people he shouted at, until James came closer. As the Lieutenant Colonel looked into the man’s foggy eyes, they seemed to dilate and refocus to stare straight into Black’s eyes. The unshakable Colonel recalled getting slithering chills that day for the first time in his life; every time he thought of the incident, the hair on the back on his neck would stand erect.
“It is The End of Days my friend,” the preacher had said in a pleading tone. “Armageddon is at hand, but The Book of Life has been stolen, delaying The Rapture and forcing those that would have ascended into heaven to stay and witness Hell.”
James Black slowly walked past the street prophet, his eyes locked on the milky orbs of the blind man, whose eyes followed him all the way while his mouth continued to speak words of prophetic doom. “We will all be stranded here! Never will man step the doorway of Heaven until the book is found and read! Only the black amethyst can . . .”
James was out of ear shot before the man had finished and was left to wonder what the end of that sentence would have been for the rest of his life.
“I’ve lost them Lieutenant Colonel,” Captain Ashlock sighed angrily, snapping James out of his reverie. Ashlock continued to scan on different channels but none of that would matter.
Sand Hawk 1 crested the final rise into the valley of Jezreel
Suddenly, the Blackhawk began losing power, the back rotor freezing up and causing the craft to spin and slowly descend to the valley below. Warning lights flashed and alarms pierced the air in the craft as James P. Black worked vigorously at the controls, trying desperately to keep his helicopter from crashing into what would be an inevitable death.
In the land of Canaan
* * *
UMSEL
Dr. Andrew Drekkedo inserted the long needle into a thin, weak vein just below his withering left bicep. His thumb slowly pressed the syringe, pushing the dark purple liquid into his system. This was his second dosage and soon there would be a third. The old doctor sat on a stool next to his work table. The lab was scattered with debris, but absent of any other humans, save the woman who remained behind the plexi-glass. She continued to watch the man as he subjected himself to the possible fatal liquid. It had been his life’s work, but only tested on thirteen people; twelve men, who had all died, and one woman. She had been the first test subject to show remarkable adaptations.
She was known as Test Subject 144587, but Dr. Drekkedo named her Eve and she would be the mother of a new race of people. The world was dying and it would take a sort of superhuman race to endure the coming apocalypse.
The problem was, all the male test subjects had shown negative results when given the formula. In fact, each man had died within minutes of receiving the treatment. Each time the doctor tweaked the potion here and added a little there. Each time the male test subject would go through congestive heart failure and die on the operating table. After months of trial and error and twelve men dead, his colleagues began questioning his methods. Dr. Drekkedo was labeled “The Mad Scientist” and was denied further testing on humans.
He kept at his work however, and believed he had perfected the mixture just as the facility began evacuation and lockdown procedures. It was nothing he couldn’t override, but still he had no one to test his mixture on. It might be, the doctor thought, that he himself would have to be the so called Adam of the new race of man. If he survived. If not, well, he was probably bound to die in the near future anyway. All of man was now fighting to stay alive. Extinction was probable.
The doctor looked over to Eve and she continued to watch him inject the liquid into his arm. He wondered if she realized that if he were to die, she would surely starve to death in the chamber she now looked out from. Something told him she knew.
The effects came slowly at first. The doctor sat on the stool for at least an hour after taking the final dosage before he began noticing subtle changes. At irregular intervals, his heart rate would peak, making him think he was sure to die, but then the condition would fade and Dr. Drekkedo would feel slightly more energized, a little bit stronger, and a bit more enlightened. His brain began to work faster, which was incredible for a man who was already a genius.
Finally, after hours of waiting to die while undergoing short, painful changes, the scientist stood and faced the plexi-glass wall and locked gazes with the disheveled woman on the other side. She did not look frightened or concerned but more . . . relieved. Of course, the doctor knew intense emotions were no longer a possibility for the woman to feel; the formula had stripped most of those away because emotion was futile and an inconvenience in Andrew Drekkedo’s eyes.
Eve blinked and tilted her head, the first time she’d moved in hours. She lifted her thin hand and pressed it against the plexi-glass. Dr. Drekkedo shed his lab coat, feeling exuberated and strong. It was unnerving, the way his vitality pulsed through his veins so electrically. She scanned the doctor from head to toe with her eyes with an air of understanding. The formula had heightened her intuition and intelligence and the doctor knew she was aware of the reason he had created her.
He placed his hand on the glass over hers and smiled slightly.
Dr. Andrew Drekkedo had succeeded in his lifelong efforts to prolong the existence of the human race. He now had all he needed to help mankind survive. The facility had enough food and medical supplies to endure until the end of the destruction, when the earth and its people can once again find balance. It could take a hundred years or a millennia, but man would once again dominate this earth and “his people”, Dr. Drekkedo added to his thoughts, his people would be the shepherds of man, helping them to endure, survive, and prosper.
Year 2015
The world is engulfed in a war no side could possibly ever be named victor. Nuclear weapons are expended and mankind is bent on its own destruction. Those who are able retreat to underground camps and struggle to survive. Those that stay above ground and participate in the Earth’s destruction pay for it with their lives.
Year 2050
Clusters of humans begin to move about the poisoned surface of their world. Mankind struggles to find food and shelter and few adapt to the toxic changes. Rotting corpses are scattered across the surface and many more die.
Year 2090
The dwindling population begins to adapt and change. Clans, villages, and a few kingdoms are established by the strongest of the survivors. New species are discovered in plants,
animals, and man.
Year 3012
The earth is still sick, but is beginning to breathe with new life.
Five angels are born among men.
The cheers were deafening and cruel.
Some leaned forward on the wooden benches, enthralled in the event while others sat bored and wished the round would end. The sun glared down on the spectators, though the earth is still cold, so are its inhabitants. The air is filled with sick anger and anxiety.
In the middle of the diamond shaped arena, two men circle each other wearily. They were dressed in tattered animal skin. The smaller of the two held a fat club with what appeared to be jagged scraps of metal jutting out in all directions. The bigger man swung a heavy lead ball on the end of a chain, stirring up dirt and sand.
Keaton looked to his brother that sat beside him on one of the thousands of benches that surrounded the arena. Alec, being a year younger was seventeen. His brown eyes were eager with the fight, but it wasn’t the same eagerness of the rest of the crowd. It was mixed with something Keaton couldn’t quite decode, even when Alec was looking straight at him-like he was now.
“What?” Alec asked, running his scarred hands through his short, brown hair.
Keaton only shrugged, not embarrassed to be caught staring.
Alec ignored his strange brother and shifted his focus back to the match: two thieves pitted against each other to fight to the death for their freedom. The larger man had robbed and killed a wealthy land owner. The skinny one had been caught taking food from merchants for his family. He could not feed them otherwise. He would die due to King Beckom’s greedy rule.
Alec’s lips twisted into a disgusted glare at the king. He sat in a secluded box on the front row across the stadium from Alec. Twenty of his finest men, The Soldiers of Night, formed a square around him. He sat proudly in his high backed chair lined with black fur and wore an evil smile on his long face as he watched the mismatched fight.
The large bandit swung his ball on a chain at his sides, building momentum and making it impossible for the feeble thief to get in a blow with his jagged club. The big one walked quickly towards the other, swinging his weapon and backing him into the far corner of the arena. His face was confident and determined, while the small man’s was pained with fear. He swung, the man dove out of the way of the led ball, and it struck the dirt with a thud. The little man smacked his club into the back of the other’s neck, making him howl in pain. Red dots oozed blood where the pieces of metal had penetrated the skin. Angry, he whirled on the man, swinging his ball wilder than before. But he was slower than the other, and brandished a heavier weapon. The little man leaped behind him and hit him in the same spot as before. Misplaced hope was clear in his eyes every time he dodged another swing or got in another hit. Keaton thought he might actually have a chance. The big man hung his ball in the air, ready to strike and the small one dove too soon to the side. The man repositioned his swing and the ball smashed the other square in the shoulders, knocking him to the ground. He crumpled there, his club a few feet from him. The thief towered over him and swung his weapon in circles above his head with a morbid smile.
Alec closed his eyes, and the crowd went wild.
* * *
Snake bar was the lowliest bar in Oakland
A place of sin and filth indeed, where two boys-not quite men-were seen late that night, obviously brothers by their round dark eyes and brown hair. They were quite good looking, though Alec paid no mind to the women that ogled him like the finest glass of Brandy. He wandered the bar aimlessly, his ears perked and his eyes peeled.
Though he was younger than nearly all the men in the bar, none dared approach him with their hopes of another bar fight. There was an air of threatening confidence that he held in his shoulders. A dangerous glint in his dark eyes.
Keaton on the other hand, leaned against the far end of the counter with a look of approachable insouciance. Women gathered around him, impressed by his muscular build at such an age. They spoke of nothing but themselves, feigning perfection, and Keaton did a perfect job at feigning interest.
Alec chose an empty table smack in the middle of everything. He cleared away the half eaten food, sat down, and listened.
“Well you’d think he’d know better-”
“-and it’s that simple!”
“It’s too late to not be drunk yet.”
“Oh damn it! This was my best shirt!”
“Anything I can get for ya’?”
Alec looked up. A bar maid stood with a hand on his table and a suggestive smile on her thin lips. She had a violet colored tattoo running across the length of her forehead in the form of a dying tree, and thick purple makeup smudged her eyes. She had watched him when he came through the door with that tall brother of his and had been finding excuses to strike up a conversation with him ever since. He looked her up and down in a way that made her heart throb.
Then all he said was, “no,” and looked away.
She frowned. “You sure? It’s on me.”
He ignored her and she stared at the simple way he had dismissed her. Hurt, she turned and left the rude boy at his table.
“-with a teeny, tiny stone in their skin.”
Alec’s head jerked in the direction of the table beside his. It was a heavy set man with crumbs in his beard and anxiety in his sunken eyes that had spoken.
“Where’d you hear this Rick?” One of the five men at his table asked with clear disbelief.
Rick jutted out his chin. “The librarian and his daughter be talkin’ bout it. And they wasn’t lyin!”
“So some guy says a bunch of little kids with rocks in their skin-“ another began, but Rick cut him off.
“Five youth. And they only have but one little stone in their skin. Each.”
The hair on the back of Alec’s neck prickled.
The one waved his hand with disregard to Rick’s correction and continued. “Five kids with rocks in their skin be the only ones that can get Beckom off the throne?”
“No. He said that-”
“You are drunk!” His friends laughed at him.
“No I’m telling you-” Rick cut off when he saw Alec, who just then realized he was leaning so far forward that his chair balanced on two legs. The rest of the men looked at him irritated.
He relaxed his posture, letting the back legs of his chair slam the floor with a jolt.
“Can we help you with somethin’ lil boy?” Rick asked in a tone that sparked Alec’s temper. “You need help findin’ your mommy or somethin’?”
Alec said nothing, but thought of all the different ways he could humble this group of pigs.
“Why don’t you get outta’ here kid.” One said into his mug and took a long swig.
He wondered if any of them had experience with fighting besides their meaningless bar fights that they were too drunk to remember. Probably not.
“What are you, deaf?” Rick spoke again. “He said get out!”
Decided, Alec smiled devilishly and stood. The men watched with confidence that slowly turned to confusion when Alec strolled to stand behind Rick.
He put a hand on Rick’s shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear. He stunk of alcohol and sweat. “Careful old man. For I was raised by one of the finest armies, trained with Drekkers in the north, and have mastered more weapons than you’ll ever see in your pathetic life time.”
Rick only laughed. “Trained with Drekkers, he says!”
The rest chortled and drank with amused smiles.
“No human trains with Drekkers! They’d never allow it.”
Alec grinned and flicked the knife hidden in his sleeve to his hand, though no one seemed to notice.
This would be fun.
A firm hand caught his wrist and he looked up to see Keaton who shook his head and let go.
“Is there a problem?” He asked loud enough for the men to hear. He knew his brother could have easily taken all five guys, but he hated to see him fight. Alec would always be Keaton’s little brother-despite his age-and he never would have chosen this life for him given the choice, though Alec certainly would.
“You better keep your friend in line,” Rick growled. “Or he’s gonna’ get hurt.”
“I didn’t interrupt for my brother’s sake gentlemen.” His warm smile didn’t match the implication in his words.
“Oh really? What’s he gonna’ do?” One retorted.
“Aw come on Keat,” Alec complained. “They’re asking for it.”
“They’re practically begging,” he agreed. “But we have to get moving.”
Alec suddenly recalled what the man had said earlier and forgot the impending fight entirely. He grabbed Keaton by the arm and pulled him towards the door, leaving the men slightly confused and agitated.
“I’ve got something to tell you.”
Keaton’s eyes brightened. “News on the king?”
“No. It’s much better.”
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