Chapter 1: Mark of the Beast by Stephen Simpson
- Chapter One -
The moon, a glowing ball of light in a sky the colour of
grease, followed an 18-wheeler driving slowly through the city streets. On both
sides of the silver container there was a large image of an ostrich with its
head buried in the sand. In an arch above the black and white plumes of the
ostrich, big red, block letters spelled out the word The Awakening. The
truck’s engine rumbled a deep noise that got swallowed by the other usual
night-time sounds. The loud noises of people, the shouts of children who should
have been in bed already, barking dogs, and sirens.
On a continent in the north-western hemisphere of Rheta, in the middle of KyRowen City, population 8.5 million and counting, some people were starting to think about getting ready for bed. Some could not be bothered with getting up from the couch to switch off the TV. Others were waiting for the minutes to tick by so that they could be the first to wish their friends a happy day, while ignoring those in the same room as them. Children who had gone to bed early, tossed and turned because they could not wait for the new day to dawn. It was, after all, the night before Christmas. In fact, it was ten minutes to midnight. The little ones hoped all their wishes would come true. Would they get what they had asked for, begged for, since most probably before Halloween?
Joseph, who preferred not to share his surname, held onto
the steering wheel of the 18-wheeler. One hand at nine o’clock, and the other
at three. His knuckles were turning white. He knew what was waiting for him
when Christmas Eve turned to Christmas at the stroke of midnight, but he was
not afraid. He knew his family was far, far away from here, and that they would
have enough money to live comfortably. They would get the best Christmas gift he
would ever be able to give them. That was all he had ever wanted. To be a good
provider. Growing up poor, without the possibility of going to university, he
never could get those high paying jobs, no matter how big his dreams ever were.
He did not want that for Sissy, his daughter. He wanted her to be anything she
wanted to be.
At 11:54, six minutes to midnight, in the container at the
back of the blue truck, a tiny noise made a sound and in a fraction of a second
a detonate command was sent to the high explosives contained within the shell
of the bomb. As the explosives blew up, it smashed the pieces of uranium
together, followed by a chain reaction of fission causing a nuclear explosion.
A city that inhaled and exhaled chaos, was suddenly silent.
*
On a continent in the south-eastern hemisphere of Rheta, the
hot sun beat down upon the large silver container being pulled along the city
streets. The glare of the sun reflected so brightly off the metal that it was
hard to see the large image of an ostrich or the large red letters on the
sides. The city streets were quiet, and there was not a sign of the usual
weekday traffic.
The rumble from the truck’s engine sounded loud and bounced
back from the tall structures, but nobody took notice.
At 15:54 on Christmas day in Edysyn,
where approximately 5 million people made their homes, people were feeling lazy
after having Christmas lunch. There was lots of laughter and smiles. For just
this one day, people forgot about their worries and their strive, and enjoyed
spending time with their family and friends. Some dripped chlorinated water from
the pool on the tiled floors as they carefully crossed the room, while others
wiped sweat from their brows after playing a friendly game of cricket in the
garden. Some preferred to sit in the shade and to scroll through their
newsfeeds on their phones, totally oblivious of the sounds of happiness around
them.
Stomachs were full after sitting down at lavishly decorated
tables laden with food that smelled delectable. Children, young and old, pulled
their Christmas crackers and dug out their colourful paper crowns, quick to
open them and put them on their heads while unfolding the little scrap of paper
with a bad joke printed on it.
Gloria sat behind the steering wheel of the large 18-wheeler
truck, keeping to the speed limit, and sticking to the rules of the road. Even
if the police pulled her over for driving the big truck within the city limits,
it would be too late for them to do anything.
She must admit, if only to herself, that she feared dying
now. A week ago, she was not really cared whether she lived or not. Last week
as she walked out of the prison gates with nowhere to go, she had nothing left
to lose. The world and everyone living on it owed her nothing, and in return, she
owed nobody anything. She just wanted it all to be over. She was tired. Soon it
would be over. The detonator in the back of the container would count down to
zero any second now.
In a millisecond, a two-kilometre radius ball of plasma
appeared. Within this ball everything sizzled and was evaporated instantly,
like a drop of water on a hot stove. A thermal flash of light pulsed brightly,
illuminating a thirteen-kilometre radius, and everything that could burn was
alight with fire. Plastic. Wood. Hair. Skin.
*
The sun rose about three hours ago over Lindwhee but the lingering smog from burning crops in
the fields nearby in November made the sky look dull. Aanan kept his eyes on
the road in front of him, and the sun from the corner of his eye made a valiant
attempt at creating a glare but could only manage a smudge of pastel yellow as its
rays were diminished by the smoke in the air.
Even though it was Christmas morning, traffic in the city
had already built up to a snail’s pace. Aanan sat behind the steering wheel of
a large 18-wheeler; his earphones tucked tightly into his ears. The rumble of
the engine beneath him made his thighs wobble a little.
There was always traffic congestion in the city centre, but
he knew it was probably worse today as many devoted Christian families were on
their way home after attending morning services at their Church.
He was dressed in his new clothes bought specially to wear
on this day. His wife had cleaned the house thoroughly and he had made all the
repair works that were needed. Some days it felt as if that list grew longer
and longer as his wife added to it, but yesterday he ticked off the last of the
things he had to do.
Last night, he and his wife stood in the corner of their
little kitchen and admired their hard work before she left to go to her
mother’s house in Arlkea. Even though they achieved
to give their humble abode a fresh look, Priya would be spending it away from
the city.
She would not be in Arlkea yet. It was a long way to go, but
she was well on her way. She thought he was going to join her there.
A few weeks ago, they found out that Priya was expecting a
baby. When she told him, he felt an immediate pang of anxiety. Having children
was expensive and he knew he could not afford to look after a child. It was one
of the main reasons he was sitting in this 18-wheeler, in this traffic, on this
Christmas Day.
He was promised a considerable sum of money, not for himself
but for Priya. He knew he would, obviously, not be around to share this fortune
with his wife or child but he wanted to make this sacrifice. He had always
looked for a way up and out of being poor, that’s why he joined the book club.
The founder promised to show him the way. At first, he was not completely
convinced but the longer he listened, the more he became persuaded.
He turned his head to look in the direction of Adan Durham Park, a slum about a kilometre away. Although
he could not see it from here, he knew it well. He lived in a small brick house
there, a step up from the mud houses. He walked its narrow streets daily and
skipped over the sewer line running through it. He did not want his child to
grow up with a lack of safe drinking water and sanitation problems.
At 10:24, in a city where about 31 million people worked,
slept, and ate, a blast of wind, faster than the speed of sound, radiated from
the centre of the city, flattening every building and every house in one
hundred-and-seventy-five-square kilometres.
In the sky, a fast-growing mushroom, spanning hundreds of
kilometres, cast a dark shadow over the tall skeletons of the steel re-enforced
concrete frames still standing. The mushroom sucked in vast amounts of oxygen,
fuelling the already burning city and melting everything until there was
nothing.
*
Even though the Arelbus Capital was
set aglow with Christmas lights, many of the Christmas traditions that were celebrated
elsewhere on Rheta served as New Year’s traditions here. Instead of a Christmas
tree, there was a New Year’s tree. People exchanged gifts on New Year’s instead
of on Christmas Day, depending upon family tradition. Those who did not have a Christmas
Eve feast would instead have a large New Year’s Eve dinner. So, at 7:54 on
Christmas Day in Arelbus, it was a dark winter’s morning like any other.
Ava, sitting in the cab of an 18-wheeler, driving slowly on
the slick, icy roads through the city centre blew on her left hand while the
other hand was holding onto the steering wheel. The blood circulation had never
been good to her fingertips and sitting out in minus Celsius weather turned the
numb feeling into a painful needles-and-pins prickling sensation. Her long
blonde hair peeked out from under a fur cap, and the warm air blowing from the
vents around her made strands of her hair flutter around her face. Every now
and again the tips of her hair stroked against the side of her nose, making it
feel itchy.
Last night, she met Ivan at the Christmas market on Arkty Haystackins Square, and she was wearing the felt
boots he bought for her. She smiled a little smile. They had been friends for
years now but lately she had been getting the impression he wanted more than
just friendship. Since she joined her online book club, she had known there
would never be a future for the two of them. She wondered what he was doing
right now. What would his last thought be? Would it be about her?
She never thought of herself as an activist. When she joined
the book club, she was looking for something but what she was looking for was
not something tangible. It was for a deeper meaning. A higher spiritual
awareness. She was looking for a connection beyond earthly things. There were
only a few members in the online book club, but she did not mind. It felt
easier to communicate. When a group had too many members, there inevitably also
came a disconnect which was the opposite of what she was looking for. They
shared book memes, links to motivational speeches and TED talks.
After the mushroom cloud over Arelbus, where almost 2
million people were just starting to wake up, turned the sky back into night,
petrol stations exploded adding fire to fire to fire. What was left of the city
was hotter than Hell.
Up to twenty kilometres away, a tsunami of wind shattered
windows making it rain splinters of glass from the sky and flattening trees in
its wake.
*
Lerato was angry. Angry was not the right word. She was
furious, indignant, and resentful. She was sick and tired of hearing how Christmas
was all about the three Fs – family, fun and feasting! She had a family she
would love to have fun with while they were all feasting at their own table
groaning under the weight of all the dishes she liked to like on her social
feed. However, without her job there would be no food on the table for her
family. Feasting would never be an option.
Last week, the Chef told her she would oversee the kitchen
on Christmas day, an opportunity she had been waiting for since she started
working at the restaurant at the age of sixteen and clawing her way up the
ranks from dishwasher. She wished the long-awaited opportunity did not come on
Christmas day.
She decided last night she was not going to go through with
the project. This morning when she caught the taxi to go to the fancy
restaurant in an affluent suburb of Ashebronjung,
where she worked, she decided that she was not martyr material.
Since four o’clock this morning, the kitchen staff had been
working hard for the customers who were booked in to enjoy the feasting part of
Christmas without all the time-consuming preparations and clean-up afterwards.
Diners who would spend this special day indulging in cheerful meals complete
with all the trimmings. People who would not give a second thought to those
working behind the scenes on this Christmas day, for minimum wage.
At 06:15 she got a call from the founder of the book club
she joined a few months ago. She only answered because she recognised the phone
number. A voice said, “My number is six hundred threescore and six.”
She ended the call and walked out the back door of the
kitchen to the end of the street where an 18-wheeler was waiting for her.
With a smirk on her face, she tuned out the angry hooting of
the cars around her on the inner-city roads. The roads were hardly wide enough
for the 18-wheeler, but she did not care. Not anymore. She did not care when
she looked down from the cab and read their lips calling her every filthy word
under the sun. Soon they would all be dead. Good riddance.
Ashebronjung was the largest city in Foursithaca,
on a continent in the southern hemisphere of Rheta, and was classified as a megacity.
One of the hundred largest urban areas on Rheta. Most of the major Foursithacan
companies and banks had their head offices in Ashebronjung, and at 6:54 it was
all gone.
*
It was 1:30 in the morning in Aríbails, and José was leaving
his home where he had celebrated Christmas with his family and friends.
Standing in the door frame of his house, his sister called him back, but he
gave her a smile over his shoulder and a wave of his hand as he continued
walking away. Their Christmas feast started at midnight and finished only a
couple of minutes ago.
When he joined the book club a couple of months ago, he knew
he had found his place on the internet. He became fast friends with Gloria,
Aanan, Ava, Lerato, and Joseph. When the administrator of the group made it
private, he was happy because he preferred it to be just the six of them. Too
many people, and he was sure they would not have become as close as they did.
They were like-minded people looking for a deeper meaning in life. Searching a
higher spiritual awareness. They were all into motivating each other,
meditation, journal writing and yoga.
Although he did not know who the administrator of the group
was, but he had a suspicion it could be Joseph, he did not think twice before
downloading an audio file posted by the administrator about a month ago.
The audio file was titled Awaken the Beast, and the post
description said, Take control of your Spiritual, Emotive, Sensual and
Economic Destiny. He opened the file straight away and had listened to the
calming chanting sounds every day since then.
His sister, Adriana, kept asking him how he could listen to
a hypnosis audio book he had downloaded from the internet. She often teased him
by saying, “What if someone planted weird suggestions under all that chanting
sounds, and one day when you least expect it the most random thing could change
your behaviour? You shouldn’t just download stuff off the internet and listen
to it, you know? You are too gullible, José.” Sometimes she laughed when she
saw him with his headphones on, and she pretended to be a chicken, pointing at
him. He did not care. He did not think there was anything sinister about the
audio file. He trusted all the members of his book club.
It was not like he was being hypnotised. He listened to the
audio while he did his daily tasks. He was even listening to it now as he
reached up to step into the cab of the 18-wheeler. He was wide awake, able to
hear the city noises, the sounds of laughter and celebrations through the open
windows of the houses around him. The audio did not put him in a trance. It was
just calming sounds to help him reach his full potential, to lead him on the
path to his destiny.
At exactly 1:54 the bomb in the trailer of the 18-wheeler
José was driving through the city streets exploded just like the five other
similar bombs in various parts of Rheta. All at the same time in different time
zones. All on Christmas Day.
On this day of our dear Saviour’s birth, six cities were
wiped off the face of Rheta. Not from a natural
disaster like a hurricane, or a wildfire, or an earthquake. Not from a nuclear
accident. It was all these things, all at once, but so much worse.
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