<< Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Revelations

As Rob trudged through the ruins, he found another charred body, some hundred or so metres from the entrance to the ruins of a derelict church. The body was a very black, charred husk, but around the neck of the body, was a necklace, with a metal cross hanging. Even that was quite scorched, but just about recognisable. The body had been a believer in God. And come their personal judgement day, they had been judged. The body had been so charred, Rob couldn't even tell whether the believer had been male or female.

All were created equal. All will be equal, for they will die equal. Never mind the intervening time.

The legends had prophesied for hundreds of years of Dies Irae, the Day of Wrath. A final day, the day of judgement, when all shall prove their worth to the one who shall judge, or die... this life was merely amongst the first of those who had been judged.

For years, scholars of this line of thought had been scorned; and yet they were actually right. Humanity should have listened but, Rob reflected, that wasn't human nature. Humans were incredibly stubborn, and look where it got them. It was one of the irrefutably human characteristic, and many thought it was a desirable characteristic, the spirit to fight on, often regardless of the consequences.

Bit late now to realise it, Rob thought, but we've got to make the best of what we've got.

Rob walked on, followed by the dog, into what was left of the church. He'd never been religious, religion was for those that could afford to be religious, at least in these dark times, those that could believe. Rob had seen too much suffering and pain to believe, but now, he needed something to keep him going. Something. He had to keep the faith. Faith in God. For now, if anyone could help, the Almightiest of them could.

The church had been well-constructed in its time, however many years ago that had been. It had seen better days, or possibly years, and now needed major contributions to the 'Save The Church Roof Fund.' Or even a 'Build A New Church Roof Fund.'

What remained were all the important hallmarks of a church: pews, altar, stained glass windows, or at least the frames, which still stood in the stonework.

Rob strode with purpose up to the altar, past the pews, and knelt.

Prayer to God comforted Rob a little, but his prayer received no answer. God was not in a answering mood today, especially for forgiving, it seemed. Rob wondered if he was like Jesus - a fragment of the Bible which had been read to him in the past, it came back to him... a line, spoken by Jesus... as he asked why he had been forsaken.

As he prayed, he wept, for the pain for those he had lost, of those who had suffered, of those who had died. He wept for the human race, showing a rare compassion, within the human race, for those who should not have died, those that did not deserve to die, those who loved, cared and lived their lives for the purposes of Good.

The dog looked around the ruination, and crept up to a door, almost entirely hidden behind the altar and the growing darkness, though the door appeared to lead off into blackness.

Excited by the discovery, the dog ran back to Rob, and yapped, wanting him to follow.

Not sure what to make of it, Rob watched the excited dog run, first in circles, and then to the door. He couldn't afford not to be cautious, even though his anger and pain were dominating his thoughts, he still had to ensure that the rubble didn't collapse around, or on top of him.

Slowly, Rob got up, and carefully strode to the door, watching alertly, to ensure that what remained of the ruins didn't fall apart, or that no-one unsavoury would spring out from hiding.

Within the ruins of the church, a foreboding sense of danger lurked, unseen, but felt, and the thought chilled Rob to the bone. And in this savage world, fraught with hidden dangers, Rob's sense of danger, at least where he himself was concerned, was well-developed now.

It seemed to get stronger as Rob approached the door, and as he opened it, the evil melted away, and calm returned to Rob.

The door swung on its hinges, but had to be forced, but eliciting a pained shriek and ran up Rob's spine, as if screeching, almost screaming, in pain, as if it had a voice to release the years of pain it would have witnessed and felt. It was the kind of sound that would put most peoples' nerves on edge, and the hairs on the back of their neck to stand to attention.

Beyond the door was a dark, foreboding presence, as if they were being watched by an unseen assailant. Rob felt it, as did the dog, which barked loudly, and resolutely, but not with malice, they entered.

Slowly, carefully, they entered the darkness, and yet it seemed that there was a reflection on whatever wall was nearest to them, a dim glow could be seen from Rob's cloak.

Rob reached into his cloak and drew out the glass ball from his pocket, and it was emanating the eerie glow, just a little off-white, like a candle in the darkness, lighting the way. The ball itself was empty, but once or twice, Rob looked into its depths, wondering if there really was something there.

The thought of it chilled Rob a little. This ball was not all it seemed to be.

In front of the door, Rob saw some spiral steps, leading down, below the church. His way, lit by the candle-like orb, took him down, down, spiralling down into the bowels of the ground.

At the bottom, the light of the glass ball was all that could be seen, not able to penetrate the evil darkness. Rob fumbled around the walls, and gradually found a switch, which illuminated the entire room, in the iridescent glow of lumitin, one of man's last inventions, a metal which could be embedded into a wall and glowed without any requirement for power. Rob didn't think there was any left on the planet. He would have taken some, but it was too deeply embedded in the wall, and not long before the final war, had been linked to evidence which suggested that it caused damage to the brain - it would light your office, your house, anywhere you were, until the light it gave off killed you.

The ball became plain again, as if nothing had happened. Somewhat unnerved, Rob put the ball away in his pocket again, and turned his attention on the room around him.

Rob was a little surprised at what he saw. He was in a small circular room, deep underground. Along the side of the room opposite him was a small bed, crumpled, and at the end laid a small box, made of wood, with metal edges.

Forcing off the lock, somewhat unethically, Rob felt, revealed a small leather notebook, the pages very worn and faded, as if the book was very old, perhaps from before the war.

Rob picked it up, and slowly began to read, unsure what he would find. His reading skills weren't that highly developed, much of humanity's knowledge had been stored electronically, making books redundant, and the electronic devices wouldn't function without power.

The book seemed to have been a diary. Mostly illegible scrawl, but the later pages made some kind of sense. Clearly the writer was fluent in English, with a large vocabulary, although not of written communication. It took Rob a while to decipher the badly-scrawled words, though what was used to mark the paper was nowhere to be seen.

Quote

Day 279, Year of Our Lord 2137

Today, I went among the rooins, and spred the word of Our Lord, the Almitey

I spoke to the wise woman, who went on and on about the evil across our land, as uzual, yet I see no syne of this evil, for I have not witnessed it, yet I feel that a prezanse is arownd, evil, pervading me.

Day 280, Year of Our Lord 2137

I collected my things, and strowd out among the rubbel of our wurld, hoping to find peepul to speek to, to help them embrayse the noo fayth, for that is my tarsk upon this wurld, to scurge the evil. Alas, I fownd no one. Am I alown on this desolate wurld? Am I the ownly one left? Has Our Lord dezerted us in our time of need? I pray that he haznt but I feer that he has indeed forgotten us.

Day 281, Year 2137

Went foraging for food again today, but fownd littel of worth. A few misselaynious tins of meet, and a tin of something I no not wot, but I think it is eddibul.

My tin-opener needs repairing or I need a noo wun, becoz it doeznt open properly.

Day 287, in the Year of Our Lord 2137

Spoke to the old woman again, who thinks the evil will come soon, and destroy the peepul of this wurld.

And in another hand, different, more harsh, the word, "Judged" was written, with "Day 291, year 2137" underneath, but not in any kind of pen. It had been written by someone or something that had seemed to burn the paper, as if the pen was of fire.

The chill ran again up Rob's spine. This had been the phrase used by the dark stranger. 'Judgement.' Who saw fit to judge the crimes of the human race, save the human race itself? And yet, this stranger clearly saw this as his role, and would complete it, or die trying.

Puzzled, Rob climbed back up the stairs, and when he did, he noticed the brightness of the sunlight, and an almost sweet quality to the air, unlike the musty air he had been breathing deep underground, as if being daytime made a difference to the quality of the air.

Rob spent about three days wandering through the ruins of man's empire, followed meekly by his furry companion. The sky grew increasingly darker over the time, even accounting for the day and night variations, Rob wondered if the sky were personally linked to his mind, it kept getting darker, like his mood, even at noon, when the sun was at its highest. But he shrugged the idea off, it seemed far too coincidental, and far too improbable to be the case.

One of Rob's many thoughts was a name for the dog, which he now called Dave. Dave had seemed happy at being given the name 'Dave,' and the dog's anthropomorphic joy was well-received by Rob. Anything to cheer him up. The events previously had not been good. The sky got marginally brighter.

Rob's thoughts were heavily preoccupied by death, war, more death, dark strangers with harsh voices, death and more war and killing. Oh, and the odd thought of death just occasionally. It began to prey on his mind, so completely that at times, he felt little else.

Rob had often wondered what insanity was, and how, or even if, you knew. He wondered if homicidal tendencies were a factor. Surely, he reasoned, if you were insane, one of the most common thoughts would be that you yourself were actually sane?

He wandered, lonely, feeling a little overtaken by the loneliness, which the ruins did nothing to help, amid the chaos, the evil, the rubble. The sky grew darker with the ever-increasing volumes of clouds.

And yet, Rob still wondered what the eventual fate of the human race would be. Something he had read, or heard, came back to him, that "four thousand throats may be slit in one night by a single running man."

Time and again, Rob looked into the depths of the glass ball, seeing nothing. Until after another day's travel through what had been Greater London, he looked again, and saw a human, covered in metal. Within the ball, it turned and looked out at Rob, but Rob put it away, haunted enough by the other inner demons he had faced. He hoped that he was merely seeing things, for meeting a large metal-clad human would do nothing for any vestiges of self-confidence at defeating the dark stranger.

Around him, clouds drew together, and a roar of thunder pierced the air, blasting through any illusions or dreams he had, while a flash of lightning blasted the land.

Rob wondered, though, just how resilient the human race was, surviving through three world wars, through many, many... many smaller wars, and were still there. What had caused this dark stranger to try and eliminate what remained? The question drummed itself into Rob's mind further and further, until he was forced to accept that the only way he would learn, was to speak to the dark stranger himself.

And where was the Almighty, when his followers needed him, in their darkest hour. Then the obvious hit him.

Their God had deserted them. Not recently (by their standards, of course, but by immortal standards it was), but over the last couple of thousand years, when man was fighting and killing himself, no-one had been there to help, to stop it. He made a rueful face as he asked himself, 'well, would you help a race of people if they killed your son?' For that was essentially what had happened.

Their God had left them, not able, or more likely, not willing, to help.

And yet, Rob had a glimmer of hope, of redemption. Maybe God was waiting for humans to admit their failures, to seek forgiveness. Rob had not heard the conversation God had had with Holy Paul, for he had been underground, scavenging for food, unable to hear Him speak.

Rob sat amongst the junk, and prayed, hoping he would be answered.

And nearby, on a taller mound of rubble, the lightning blasted. Rob felt as though he had indeed been answered, and should he pray again, he had little doubt the lightning would strike him down, his work undone.

He got up, unaware of the amount of time he had spent praying to God, hoping that he would be heard, yet the continuing silence, and apparent lack of forgiveness, or even of enlightenment failed to happen. All that he had received was a nearby blast of lightning, and he felt that it was no coincidence, but a message from the Almighty, a message that his want of redemption would not be fulfilled.

Still on he wandered, Dave close behind, yapping excitedly. Someone was afoot.

Looking at the ball again, it seemed to have something of its own power, as if reaching within Rob, taking knowledge from him, or something, and it seemed to drag his soul, guiding him. Rob needed guidance, and this was by far the best he would get.