In The Lap Of The Gods Page 11

“Go to the side of the house,” Fat Boy hissed. “Peek through the side door for inhabitants.”

  Absalom nodded and mimicked Fat Boy’s stealthy look. He approached the house cautiously, aware of the great possibility of drug-dog pit bulls or other crazed guard animals. He took a tentative step onto the wooden side porch, and satisfied with its sturdiness, stepped up beside the door. Plastered against the house, he peered over his left shoulder into the house.

  The screen door was pocked with ragged holes, horseflies, and something Absalom hoped was mud. He gazed between the obstructions, looking into what appeared to be the kitchen. Empty pizza boxes stood several feet height on the floor, and he could see a scattering of two-liter plastic soda bottles on the floor. The dim light from the microwave clock gave a slight green tint to the otherwise unlit room.

  He heard a rumbling noise and looked back to see Fat Boy making a serpentine path to the front door. If Fat Boy was a lion, he would have starved in the first week. Even the ants on the ground heard him approach, ducking out of his way. Absalom could hear him slam into the aluminum siding by the front door, panting and wheezing ferociously.

  “Fat Boy,” Absalom whispered. “I just got a call from the National Earthquake Information center. They requested that you try to keep the noise down. They can’t hear the earthquakes.”

  “I see something in there,” Fat Boy gasped. “Come over here.”

  Absalom sidled around the corner of the house, crouching low and ending up pressed against Fat Boy’s side. “A person?” Absalom asked.

  “Just a shadow of movement,” Fat Boy wheezed. He reached around to his back and pulled something from his waistband. Absalom’s eyes widened.

  “Walther PPK,” Fat Boy said, rubbing the polished stainless steel. “Don’t worry. I’m well-versed with it, having seen Dr. No over a dozen times.” He motioned with the pistol and Absalom ducked automatically. They quietly edged to the front door. Fat Boy turned the handle.

  Unlocked.

  With a nod, Fat Boy abruptly flung the door open, smashing the metal screen door against the siding. He burst through the door, arms out in a two-handed firing position, sweeping the gun back and forth like a windshield wiper.

  “Clear!” he said. He flipped on the light switch. Pale yellow light flooded the room from the low-quality chandelier.

  “Welcome to the ‘burbs,” Fat Boy said.

  The carpet was red shag, a holdover from the sixties. Big-eyed kids and gypsies adorned the far wall over the grass-green couch that was spotted with a few unidentifiable stains and a couple of ragged throw pillows.

  “Welcome to my childhood,” Absalom corrected.

  They moved through the time capsule living room into the kitchen. Along with the pizza boxes and bottles, the countertops were stacked with Chinese food cartons and used wooden chopsticks. Four ripped-up vinyl chairs surrounded the cracked-ice diner style table.

  “I smell something,” Fat Boy said.

  He went down to the end of the hallway. Fat Boy was shining a flashlight down the basement stairs. “Down there” he said.

  They crept down the stairs and stopped. Fat Boy shined the flashlight across the floor and up to the ceiling. He walked across and pulled the light cord. A single bulb feebly tried to dispel the gloom.

  “Nothing,” Absalom said.

  Fat Boy cursed. His flashlight had given out. He shook it furiously in vain. He looked around the basement and stopped abruptly, looking at the far wall.

  “Absalom, look at this.”

  Absalom joined him and squinted his eyes in the darkness. Something was traced onto the wall. Two straight lines intersecting in the middle.

  “X marks the spot?” Absalom said.

  “I’ll get the shovels out of the Mystery Machine,” Fat Boy said.

  Two men ducked back into bushes a bulb-shaped man exploded out of the front door of the house. They stayed hidden until Fat Boy had retrieved the shovels and returned inside.

  Elijah punched Enoch on the shoulder and checked off a box on his clipboard. “That’s another prophecy right,” he laughed. “I’m four for four this month. I should hit Vegas before Armageddon comes, get a good bankroll going, have a massage, get really ready for the final roundup.”

  Enoch grimaced. “I think you had a little help with that.”

  Elijah laughed. “Sure, I got a list of prophetic suggestions, but it’s the interpretation that’s key. Here we are, in the right place at the right time. I’m the one that put that together.”

  Enoch pulled out his cell phone and looked through his speed-dial numbers for the one he had always dreaded calling. One push of the button, he thought, and it’s the beginning of the end.

  “Do you want to call him and tell him?” Elijah said.

  “No, you’ll just take all the credit. I had some input in this operation, after all,” Enoch said.

  “Crybaby,” Elijah laughed. “I can’t help it if he likes me better.”

  Enoch motioned him to silence and left a voicemail. Those poor bastards, he thought, have no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into today.

  Chapter 41[41]

  When Jehovah decided to wander the Earth, he decided to take on a human body so he could blend in with the human race. It was the same way he had approached his earlier brief stint as attempted Messiah, all human with a Deity filling. He was able to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, which included wine and song, Mediterranean cuisine, and Mary Magdalene. Okay, not Mary Magdalene, not that he didn’t try. Jehovah, to his chagrin, was socially awkward with his creations. He was determined to figure that out on this round. There would be little proselytizing and absolutely no sermons or Jerry Springer style brawls with moneychangers. Just one of the guys.

  Taking on the human form even allowed him the pleasure, of all things, of going to the bathroom. He enjoyed the peace and quiet and the satisfaction of getting something done. Some of his favorite moments occurred in the bathroom, a window open, birds chirping, and reading about Andy Capp and his working-class exploits.

  He was in the midst of one of those moments when a shadow danced on the wall. Jehovah recognized it immediately and felt a vast unease in the pit of his stomach. This is not good, he thought.

  “So,” the shadow said as it morphed from inky black to a lithe blonde girl, willow-like with huge emerald eyes. She laughed at him. “Interesting throne you’ve found there, Master of the Universe.”

  “I should have killed you when I had a chance,” Jehovah said.

  “Chance,” Synchronicity said, “had nothing to do with it.” She turned on her heel and left him to finish up.

  Jehovah entered the living room and found Synchronicity stretched out on the couch. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot as she ignored him. The standoff lasted for a couple of minutes until Jehovah finally cleared his throat a few times.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said. “My mind was elsewhere.” She turned her head and stared at him. “So what do think of all these exciting things going on?”

  Jehovah sighed. Games. How he hated playing games. Synchronicity was humming something from the Music Man. He hated musicals.

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” Jehovah said. “What things are going on?”

  “You don’t know?” she taunted.

  “You know damned well I got nothing,” Jehovah said. “If anyone should know, it’s you,” Jehovah said. “This is your show here on Earth, after all.”

  Synchronicity laughed. “You started this circus,” she said. “I can’t help it if the ringmaster lost control of his menagerie.”

  Jehovah gave her the finger.

  “Not very god-like,” she said. “You’ve been hanging out with your creation just a little too long. What’s next? A Bronx cheer?”

  “Since you are here and are taking the time to actually make your presence known to me, which you haven’t done in a very long time,” Jehovah said, ignoring her taunt. “I assume that you have a reason for these events you allege that are unfold
ing and wish to share it with me?”

  “Wheels within a wheel,” Synchronicity quoted. “This is your passion play. I’m just sorting out a few of the players, making sure they are comfortable in their roles.”

  “You have a hero in mind?”

  “A cute one. He’s a little unsteady on his feet, but I think he’ll make good progress as we get to the climax. It was a shame that his wife had to die, but sometimes you have to break a few eggs to get to the omelet.” She winked at him. “Of course, I don’t have to tell you about that, do I?”

  “Any hints or clues for me?”

  She laughed again, melodiously. “No hints,” she said. “That would take all the mystery out of this whole affair.” She jumped off the couch and reached out, tickling him under the chin. “What fun would that be? Your only decision is to figure out if you need to get in on this and hope that you can influence events, or should you stay out and let the chips fall as they may and hope for the best.”

  His cell phone rang. He looked at the caller id and back at her teasing face.

  She smiled. “First decision came pretty quickly, didn’t it? It’s more fun under pressure, don’t you think?”

  She tussled his hair playfully and turned away, fading into the shadows.

  “I’m beginning to believe,” he said aloud, “that on the first day I should have just slept in.” He flipped open the phone, feeling like a puppet on strings. A marionette, he thought. That’s much more sophisticated than a puppet. The word parsing made him feel a little better. “Hello, Enoch,” he said into the phone. “I suppose you have some good news and bad news for me.”

  Chapter 42[42]

  They were both sweating furiously from exertion. They flung dirt wildly across the basement, creating a man-sized hole. Something clunked under the fury of Absalom’s shovel and they stopped and peered inside.

  It appeared that a small hole had been boarded up. They used their shovels to clear the spot around it. Fat Boy leaned his foot against the wall and grabbed a board and gave it a pull. It came free with a thunk and he tossed the lumber to the side. Light poured from the newly opened space. He pressed his face up against it and peeked through.

  A cool mist hung in the air. The grass was a beautiful verdant green and the nearby hills were covered with thick vibrant trees.

  “Hell looks like the English countryside,” he announced.

  Absalom looked at him. “I suppose you want to find out what’s behind Door Number One?” he asked.

  “It’s something I have to do,” he answered. He peered through the hole again. “It looks muddy and cold. We’ll just step through and take a quick look and get right back out.”

  Absalom mulled it over. He was so tired of waiting on something to happen. His novel, his business, his whole life, he was waiting for somebody else to make something happen. It’s about time, he thought, to make something happen himself. “Let’s do it,” he said.

  Fat Boy moved his flying ace goggles from his neck and snapped them onto his head. “Who would have thought this morning that by lunch we would be stepping into a place where anything can happen? It’s like a dream,” he mused.

  “That,” Absalom said. “Is probably the most accurate thing you have ever said.”

  “This way!” Fat Boy shouted, and plunged through the hole. Absalom sighed and followed through, still reluctant despite his previous resolve.

  A few unkempt individuals clustered around a tree near a slow-moving stream. They all wore iron helmets with chain mail attached, draping their shoulders like rings of metal hair. They looked up from whatever they were doing and glared at Absalom and Fat Boy. One of them lifted an axe and shook it at them.

  “Absalom, those are Norsemen,” Fat Boy whispered. “Honest to God Vikings.”

  “Are we in Scandinavia?”

  “It doesn’t seem like it.” Fat Boy looked around. “It seems more like Britain than anything.” He noticed the large monastery near them. It looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place it.

  The Vikings were arguing loudly with one another and there was a lot of pushing and shoving going on. Absalom noticed that the wooden round shields they carried were brightly painted and more than a yard wide. The gaudy shields seemed oddly out of character for a group of rumble and tumble sailors.

  Fat Boy elbowed him and he turned around. A stream of Vikings was pouring from the monastery, screaming and yelling triumphantly. They were covered with blood and grinning from ear to ear. Absalom and Fat Boy pulled back behind a clump of trees and watched them pound each other on the back. The blood and gore and screaming was like a Manson Family reunion.

  “Absalom, look at that!”

  The Vikings were holding a thick book up high in the air. The golden cover was studded with what appeared to be rubies. Rough hands pulled at the cover, trying to yank the precious stones free.

  Fat Boy didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his pistol and shot the Viking holding the book. The man dropped like a ton of Norwegian salmon.

  “Fat Boy, what the hell are you doing?” Absalom shouted, ducking as a very sharp battle-axe embedded in the tree beside him. He tried to pull it out to no avail.

  Fat Boy charged. More Vikings dropped to ground as he picked them off. The others scattered, leaving the book on the ground. He picked it up, rubbing the mud off it.

  Absalom huffed and puffed up to him. He could see the Vikings off in the distance regrouping.

  “I got it!” Fat Boy smiled. “My Irish blood started boiling when I saw it.”

  “You’re Irish?”

  “One-sixteenth,” Fat Boy answered. “There’s often a leprechaun in the woodpile.”

  Absalom squinted at him. “Are you sure you did the right thing? If I recall, changing the past is a very bad thing in almost every science fiction story that I ever read.”

  “Saving a piece of history is a good thing.”

  Absalom grimaced. “My great-grandma Peterson used to say ‘Bad is called good when worse happens’.”

  “I didn’t realize they made Norwegian fortune cookies.”

  “It’s hard to squeeze a piece of paper into a Berlinerkranser. By the way, the Vikings are charging.”

  Wielding their battle-axes and shields, the Vikings rushed down the meadow at them. There were too many to kill and he had no desire to be raped and pillaged. “Let’s get back to the hole,” he shouted, and they both scrambled back toward the monastery.

  Fat Boy fired blindly behind him as they ran, hoping to scare them off. Another ax flew by Absalom’s head, almost taking one of his ears off. Now he understood how Bart Starr must have felt. He had better not tell these guys he was a Packers fan. He felt an insane laugh creep to his mouth. Damn Purple People Eaters.

  The hole was close!

  Fat Boy had fallen a couple of steps behind him. Absalom could hear him grunting and gasping for air as they ran. The big man wasn’t going to make it and they both knew it. Absalom couldn’t leave him and he stopped at the entrance and turned. An ax caught him in the shoulder, knocking him back into the basement.

  Fat Boy screamed at him and he looked at him blankly as the book rocketed toward him. Absalom reached out and made a one-handed grab, clutching the book to his chest as he fell onto the floor. And Max McGee makes the catch in the end zone and the Packers defeat the Chiefs in Super Bowl I, he thought giddily.

  Absalom’s eyes quivered dreamily. Vince Lombardi was in his face yelling at him, his porkpie hat bumping against Absalom’s forehead. “No one is ever hurt. Hurt is in your mind,” Vince shouted. The Book of Kills fell to the dirt floor of the basement. “I fumbled it, Coach,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it, son,” Vince beamed. “You may have just won us the game.”

  Chapter 43[43]

  The Remusian ship slowed as it reached high scanning range of Earth. Lane’s stomach rumbled loudly. The re-synthesizer was on the fritz and the regurgitated soup he had for lunch was a little heavy on the urine. H
e belched.

  “More intense audio-visual signals coming in, sir.”

  Lane leaned back as the communications officer put the images on his vid-screen. A uniformed man with pointed ears was discussing something with an earthling who appeared to be his superior. Kirk.

  “Are these actors?” Lane asked.

  “It’s hard to tell,” Lake responded. “Knowing that the Earthlings have time travel puts a whole new spin on things. They could be actors, a documentary, or merely projections from Earth’s timeline.”

  Lane nibbled his fingernail. Phasers and photon torpedoes? It sounded impressive, but how could he find out for sure?

  “What do you know about this Kirk character?” he asked.

  “We’ve been monitoring a large number of images,” the communications officer answered. “Apparently, Kirk is the Captain of the Starship Enterprise. His main task, other than leading his ship, is seducing women. He is also originally from a place called Iowa.”

  “Where is this Iowa? Earth?”

  “Yes, sir. A small agrarian area in the center of one of the northern continents. Should we destroy it first?”

  “Not yet,” Lane answered. “I think, I have a plan.”

  Chapter 44[44]

  The map that Absalom had recreated for Lucifer was criss-crossed with dotted lines, solid lines, and odd symbols and figures. The key at the bottom corner was written in proto-Angel, an early written form of language based on Jehovah’s first jottings. Jehovah liked to write in hug polysyllabic words with a large number of vowels, it looked nice but made directions difficult, not unlike Chinese, so Michael had translated things down for ease of use, and Lucifer was very thankful today. His calculations were rusty, but after redoing them a dozen times, he was sure of the place, and he groaned at the sure fingerprints of Jehovah all over the choice of location.

  Lucifer had not used any of this hemisphere’s roads to Heaven, having spent all of his previous existence as an angel in the Cradle of Civilization. He groaned at the irony of his this particular road, knowing of Jehovah’s finger in it.