Personal Demons

PHOENIX

It was the year 2000, supposedly the start of everything new, but everything new was already old again. True, the New Year's Eve celebrations had been noisier than most, and a bunch of people had been shot dead downtown, killed by pistols and rifles fired jubilantly in the air.

Brett Ellis had thrown a party in a marquee for two hundred people. Some of the guests were his friends. Most were colleagues. Brett was an American success story; a wealthy, handsome Los Angeles advertising executive who had made his own way up the corporate ladder. Married with a young son, the thirty-two-year-old businessman lived in a beautiful Spanish-style ranch house in the Hollywood Hills with his elegant wife Mara and Davey, who was six.

Brett was a vice-president of merchandising development for one of the new multimedia agencies now controlling American advertising. He had a reputation for being a hard negotiator, and for getting what he wanted. Remembering his own humbler beginnings, Brett simply wanted the best for himself and his family. His life was comfortable and predictable. He did not fear his enemies (of whom he had plenty) because he was at peace with himself and sure of his abilities. He was a little smug, perhaps, a little too complacent. In a town like LA, that didn't exactly make him a criminal.

He certainly never paid much attention to the increasing number of homeless people on the streets, or the escalating incidents of violence he saw on the news. In his determination to assure himself that life was perfect, he had even managed to turn a blind eye to the obvious evidence that his wife had taken a lover.

Then one day, Brett became aware that someone was following him, a shabby little man in a beaten-up red Volkswagen. The car was parked outside his office for a whole day, and parked outside his house while Brett and his wife were throwing a birthday party for Davey. When Brett ran out to speak to the driver, he pulled away from the kerb with a squeal of tyres.

Brett called the cops. He was not prepared to take chances. He gave the police a full description of the man, but they told him they couldn't do anything unless he had been physically threatened. They had bigger problems to deal with. There were riots brewing once more in downtown LA, had been ever since New Year's Eve.

Brett lay in wait for his stalker. He finally trapped him one evening when the day's suffocating heat broke in a cataclysmic rainstorm. Mara had taken Davey to the movies in Westwood. She hated driving anywhere in the rain. Brett was not sure she knew how to operate the windshield wipers. He saw the VW parked across the street when he got up to fetch a soda, and ran outside in his socks, surprising the driver, who was dozing at the wheel.

Frightened, the old man told Brett his name was Elias. He worked at the Church of the Phoenix downtown, and he had been following Brett for several months.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' shouted Brett, losing his cool. His socks were soaked, and the stormy weather had given him a headache. When the old man refused to answer, Brett reached through the open window of the car and grabbed him by the collar. 'I swear I'll break your neck. Do you know what this is doing to me?'

'I don't mean any harm,' begged the oldster. 'I have to be here. I have to watch over you.'

'What are you talking about?' He loosened his grip on the shirt, frightened that he might really break the frail old man's neck.

'You're one of the Chosen Ones,' Elias replied, 'as inscribed by the prophecies of Nostradamus and the Book of Daniel, and revealed in the doctrines of the Phoenix.'

Brett should have walked away then, but he didn't. He hesitated a moment too long, and ended up staying to listen. The Chosen Ones, explained the old man, were a handful of decent law-abiding people who would lead the church – and indeed the whole world – into a pure new era of goodness and natural harmony. Clues and signs in certain church texts led the way to Brett's door. There were other Chosen Ones in the world who would help him to achieve this grand goal of world improvement at the start of the millennium, but he had to be patient. Perhaps Brett would like to come along to the church some time and join in one of the services – they would be very honoured to have him. In fact, some of the hymns were about him.

'Just how am I supposed to change the world?' he asked against his better judgement. It was kind of flattering, the idea of being worshipped.

'Well see, it's not possible to reveal the answer yet,' said Elias. 'We're still waiting for a further sign.'

Elias explained that he was honoured to have been chosen to monitor Brett's movements, and to make sure that no harm came to him before his appointed time to act. In the eyes of his church, it was a privileged position to be in. He told Brett to think of him as a guardian angel.

Clearly, Elias was a nut.

But, Brett decided, he was a harmless one. It fed his ego to know that people were singing his praises, even if they too were all nuts. No-one ever sang his praises at work. However, he warned the little man that if he caught sight of him again, he would call the police to the church and have him arrested for harassment.

'Go on, get out of here,' said Brett, releasing his grip. Elias started the engine. Before he drove off, he leaned from the window and handed Brett a card with the address of the church printed on it. 'You must watch for the signs that you have been chosen,' he exclaimed. 'They will be natural symbols of peace and harmony, and they'll be surrounding you in ever greater force until the appointed time!'

'And don't let me catch you near my property again!' Brett called back. Sure, he thought, shaking his head, I'll keep an eye out. Meanwhile, stay the hell away from me.

Over the next few weeks, he worked long, late nights on a TV campaign his team was developing for a new kind of cola. The primary-coloured commercials they produced together were vacuous and irritating, and somehow seemed to provide an ironic comment on his empty life. Lately he noticed Mara was seeing more of her fancy man, even though she insisted she was visiting a friend in the Valley. After the campaign was delivered, he decided to take the family on vacation to Hawaii. Hiring a yacht, they headed out into the seas around Maui, even though Mara hated the ocean. Brett hoped the enforced intimacy of the boat might help them get back together.

One morning he was swimming aimlessly in the calm clear waters when his wife leaned over from the deck railing and called urgently to him. 'For God's sake, Brett,' she shouted in agitation, 'don't move a muscle!'

All around him, numbering in their thousands, poisonous jellyfish had gathered. The Portuguese men o' war gently bobbed in gelatine star clusters. Gingerly, he pushed his left arm through the water, nudging them aside. Then his right. He made no sudden movements. It was important to do nothing that would scare them into stinging.

Incredibly, he managed to reach the boat completely unharmed. The family watched as the jellyfish gently dispersed like an expanding universe.

Other oddities occurred that spring. One night they were drawn from the house by a scrabbling noise above them, and found birds of every imaginable species landing on the roof. Two days later, a vast brown swarm of bees surrounded the car as he waited in traffic at the corner of La Brea and Melrose. Other drivers got out of their vehicles to watch and take photographs. The bees massed noisily, dancing back and forth on the hood of the Mercedes before dispersing into the sky. Shiny-backed beetles swarmed in the basement, much to Mara's consternation. She shivered in horror as their iridescent bodies rippled crossing the floor. 'Looks like you've developed an affinity with nature, honey,' she half-joked.

It wasn't just living creatures that were affected, either. Technology started behaving strangely, too. Brett's infrared laptop began to pick up odd scrambled signals whenever he was around. One morning it beamed a huge file of biblical gibberish into the RAM of his office computers, crashing the system. The next day he was working on the laptop when his spreadsheet fuzzed away into the ether, to be replaced by a badly drawn image of a bird bursting into a blaze of flame. The repair shop could find nothing wrong with it. They suggested that maybe someone was playing a practical joke.

The episode with Elias had itself become something of a joke in the Ellis household, but it was one that stopped being funny the very next night. Brett had given up waiting for Mara to come home and was getting ready for bed. He was standing in his darkened bedroom when he suddenly had the feeling he was being watched. Pulling his T-shirt over his head, he walked to the windows and looked down into the scrubland beyond the back yard. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw dozens of people standing among the trees and bushes, motionless and silent, staring up at his house. In the flickering shadows they looked like statues. Presumably they were all members of this crazy church. The sight chilled him to the bone. For the first time he felt that something genuinely weird was going on. Furious, he rang the number Elias had given him.

Over at the Church of the Phoenix, Elias answered the call.

'Keep your congregation the hell away from my house,' warned Brett, 'or I'll get a restraining order put on you and your "church". I'd like to know what your leader thinks about this.'

'We have no leader.' The old man spoke so softly it was difficult to hear him. 'I know it must all seem very strange to you.'

'Then perhaps you'd like to explain what's going on.'

'I can't talk on this line. There's someone else in the building, and I think he's listening in. I'm in great danger, Mr Ellis. I've received the true sign at last, only…' he paused uncomfortably, 'only it wasn't at all the sign I'd been expecting, and now I think something terrible is going to happen. I've been so blind. I've been used, Mr Ellis, duped. My life may even be at risk. I need your help. I can't trust the congregation here any more. Please meet me somewhere and I'll explain.'

'I'm not going to meet you, not now, not ever,' Brett replied, slamming the receiver down, even though Elias sounded genuinely terrified.

On the TV news the next morning, the Ellis family heard how a man's body had been found hacked to pieces and thrown in a dumpster. A short-order cook had discovered the corpse in the car park of a sleazy strip-joint near the airport. As they watched the screen, a photograph of Elias appeared inset in the corner.

Feeling partly to blame for the death of a man who only wanted to watch over him, Brett decided he had to do something. He did not want to spend several hours in a police interview room. The LAPD still had a long way to go to win respect from the local populace. Instead, he decided to head downtown and pay a visit to the church.

As his shiny blue Mercedes coasted the intersections across town, Brett began to realise how far away he had grown from his roots. He never visited areas like this any more. His life was a rat-run from home to the agency and back. The strangeness of the streets and the people bothered him. He eventually located the clapboard church on a dusty litterstrewn backstreet. It was one of many fringe denominations that existed in the run-down Spanish area. Apart from two teenaged boys hanging out beside an abandoned truck, there was no-one around. Brett double-checked the alarm on his Mercedes.

The door of the church was open. Inside it was clean and smartly kept, lit by natural light alone. An attractive young woman in jeans and a white T-shirt stepped out of the shadows by the vestry, making him start.

'I'm Lisa Farrell,' she said, brushing her hair from her eyes and shaking his hand. Her voice surprised him. She had a middle-class English accent. 'I know who you are. We all do. Come in back, I'm making some tea.

'I only recently joined the Phoenix,' she explained as they sat across from each other, sipping from hot mugs. 'I have to get this tea sent out from London. You can't buy it here, and it still doesn't taste right because of the water.'

'I heard what happened to Elias.'

'It's a terrible world, Mr Ellis.' She shook her head in bewilderment and sipped. 'The police say they have some leads, but I'll be very surprised if they do.'

'Aren't you rather a long way from home?'

'My father invited me over. He lives here with his new wife. Originally I had only planned to study Phoenix for a sociology project, but I came to believe in quite a bit of what they were teaching.'

'And what is that, exactly?'

'Elias and his followers believe in the eventual heavenly redemption of mankind. From their own "scriptures" and other archive sources, they've selected a group of people who are somehow going to lead the world into a new dawn of enlightenment.'

'How convenient. Just in time for the new millennium.'

'That's right,' she said, missing the irony in his voice, 'commencing in this year of 2000. They have dates for each of the big events, worked out accurately to the hour.'

'I guess they failed to predict the murder of one of their members. Tell me something I'd like to know, Lisa. Why have I been selected for a part in all of this? I'm an advertising executive, not a politician. Even if such a crackpot theory had some grain of truth, how could I have any influence on world events? I met Mel Gibson once at a premiere. That's about as far as I go in the "six degrees of separation" chain.'

'Well, there you have me. Elias didn't tell his congregation everything.' If she didn't know, she didn't seem particularly curious, either. 'Your future has already been decided for you, Mr Ellis, just as it has been decided for me and everyone else. All you have to do is go along with it. Decisions will be made for you that are entirely beyond your control.'

Lisa did not look or sound crazy. Despite his scepticism at her blind faith, he found himself drawn to her. She was very attractive. She replaced her mug and rose, holding out her hand once more. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, it's been a long day, what with the police…'

As he left, looking back at the shabby little church from his car, he noticed the iron phoenix on the roof that acted as a weather vane. He did not expect to see it, or Lisa, again.

But the strands of a strange fate were shaping themselves around Brett.

For some time he had been thinking of moving the family out of Los Angeles and starting afresh elsewhere. His company had a vacancy in their Chicago office. The move would force Mara into a decision about their relationship. Brett discussed the possibility of a transfer with his boss, and two weeks later was in the middle of making all the appropriate arrangements when his son suffered an odd accident. Davey was kicking a football around in Griffith Park when a bird became trapped in a wire-mesh compound where leaves were being burned.

Trying to rescue the panicked creature, whose wings were alight, the boy's face and arms were seared. His nanny, who had only stepped away from his side for a moment, managed to drag him clear of the fire, saving his life.

The doctors told Brett that his son could not be moved from his hospital bed. The family's relocation would have to be delayed, or possibly even cancelled. Brett resigned himself to staying in LA, at least for the immediate future.

It was an odd feeling, that his life was somehow no longer his own. He could find no way to explain it, nor his decision to contact Lisa Farrell and ask her about Elias. Specifically, he wanted to know what the old man foresaw that made him locate Brett in the first place.

Lisa asked if they could meet at her apartment; she had something to show him. She lived in a rented mock-Tudor Santa Monica condo of astonishing ugliness just behind the freeway. Here they knelt on the kitchen floor going through stacks of Elias's documents and hardcopy computer files. Brett was amazed that the old-timer had even known how to switch on a computer.

'All churches are on-line these days,' Lisa explained. 'You should take a look at the fringes of cult worship on the internet some time. Talk about scary. There's a group of obsessives who translate prophecies, supposed "seers" who monitor signs of the coming cataclysmic change. They mostly preach new age gobbledygook, but there's this one priest among them who refers to the Book of Daniel, the only book of the apocalypse in the Old Testament – Revelations is in the New – and he points out that Daniel dreamed of four beasts who came to lay waste to the peoples of the earth. He and Elias found corroborative evidence from a variety of independent sources pointing to four people who will eventually change the fate of the modern world. Not by healing or restoring faith, though, but by "a cleansing test of righteous fire".'

'Are you trying to tell me…'

'That's right, Mr Ellis,' said Lisa with a smile. 'You're one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.'

'The sixth chapter of the last book of the New Testament, The Revelation of St John the Divine, tells of the seven-sealed scroll held in God's right hand. When the first seal is opened the four horsemen will appear, and represent the hardships the world must face before judgement, specifically conquest (pestilence), famine, war and death. The horses are white, red, black and yellow-green.

'The world as we know it will then cease, wiped free from the poisonous effects of humanity so that life has a chance to grow anew. That's why nature has been reacting so favourably to you, Mr Ellis.' Father Matthew paused before a bush of English tea roses and checked the buds for damage. The manicured emerald lawns behind the church seemed to be the only green life left in this part of the San Bernadino Valley. The priest was clearly ill, and walked with difficulty. His skin was the colour of the pale dead petals that littered his rose beds. 'The final cataclysm will be triggered by events occurring to four people in four different locations,' he continued. 'We know that one of those locations is Los Angeles. Even the stars foretell this. The area is pinpointed by everything from ancient biblical scrolls to NASA maps.' He paused for breath, leaning on Lisa's arm. 'Any one of the acts occurring around the world could lead to a catastrophic disaster, but all four deeds must occur in order for the conditions of the Apocalypse to be fulfilled. The writings are most specific on this point.'

Brett tried to tell himself that this was absurd, insane. But facts fitted with a terrible inevitability. This was the news the priest had broken to Elias that had led to his death; that he was not guarding a latter-day saint but protecting someone destined to participate in the world's destruction.

'If you and Elias knew about me, who are the other three chosen "horsemen"?'

'One is a woman working for the World Health Organisation in Africa. Another is a European minister of trade, currently residing in Brussels. The third is a Chinese military leader.'

'Then I'm the odd one out.'

'It would appear so.'

'Who do you think killed Elias?'

'When I told him the truth, that he was protecting a man who would eventually be instrumental in destroying civilisation, he was horrified by his misunderstanding of events. Obviously he was murdered by someone who wants to protect you.'

'Your life could also be in danger.'

'I suppose so, but I don't think you'll hurt me. I haven't very long to live.' The priest guided them to an arbour shaded from the fierce valley heat, sat in his favourite armchair and fell into an uneasy doze.

Mara simply refused to listen to her husband, citing his behaviour over the last few weeks as a form of mental breakdown. 'For God's sake, will you just listen to yourself?' she cried, pacing the lounge. 'You're talking about astrology, predictions of fate! It's ludicrous, Brett! Your son is lying upstairs in a state of trauma and you're running about all over town taking advice from these – cranks!' A sudden thought occurred to her. 'Are you giving them money? Are they getting funds out of you for all this mumbo-jumbo?'

'You've seen the signs, Mara! You've been there when it happened!'

'I want you to see someone, Brett, get some professional help. Until you do, I can't talk to you. You're not making any sense. Try to see things from my point of view. I'm as upset about Davey as you, but this is – no way to react.'

'I have to go on with this, Mara.' He shrugged, picking up his jacket. 'I believe it. I just know it's all true.'

That night he stayed in a West Hollywood hotel. The next morning, he began researching the church's accumulated evidence in order to discover how the other three 'horsemen' might unwittingly change the world.

The information was surprisingly easy to come by. All three cases were well-documented in the international press. It was simply that nobody had thought of connecting them.

The Chinese military leader was a member of the new hard right, an anti-Semitic fascist currently precipitating a dangerous conflict with Russia and the USA over failure to declare unofficial chemical warfare sites – there was no doubt that he was the Horseman of War.

The Belgian minister had agreed to allow the creation of an amalgamation of charities that would distribute food mountains to starving areas – but the man he had gullibly entrusted with the task was a crook, now facing trial. The scheme had gone broke, stranding millions without food he had to be the Horseman of Famine.

The woman in Africa was a doctor's assistant, moving from town to town trying to cure sickness, but without realising it she had been causing fresh outbreaks of a particularly virulent form of bilharzia, the second most widespread illness in the world. It was a water-borne germ, and she had been discovered accidentally spreading the lethal new strain as her medical convoy moved across the plains, their jeep-tracks filling with water, the virus following in the path it created. Newspapers reported that the disease had caused such depopulation in certain areas that opportunistic dictatorshipswere moving into power – the poor woman who unwittingly started this was without doubt the Horseman of Conquest.

Which made Brett Ellis the Horseman of Death.

Brett realised that the church's idea of a 'fresh start' for the world involved burning away the existing debris of humanity. According to Father Matthew, there were plenty of priests who were perfectly happy with the idea. No wonder Elias could be so easily sacrificed. Uppermost in Brett's mind was the need to discover what single act he could be responsible for that would lead to destruction on a massive scale, but it was hopeless. He had no idea where to begin. He tried usingnews networks sited on the internet. He trawled the LA newspaper archives. He attempted to check out the other three 'horsemen', and even managed to reach the medical team travelling with the WHO, but they were unable to return any of his calls. The other two were even less reachable. For all of the world's advances in global communication, it was still virtually impossible for an ordinary citizen to access people in power.

At night he studied Elias's teachings. According to the church's documentation the Awakening of Daniel – the final dying moment of the human world – was due to take place at midnight just five days from the present date.

Tired and heartsick, he was preparing for bed when Mara knocked on the door of his study. 'I thought you might be interested in the health of your son,' she said, remaining on the far side of the room, her hands at her sides. 'The doctor came while you were out. Davey's going to be fine. The shock to his system is subsiding, and it seems likely he'll make a full recovery. I want to take him away from here, Brett. And I don't want you to stop me.'

'I won't do that if you tell me where you're going,' said her husband. 'I don't want to lose what we have as a family.'

'It's a little late for that, don't you think? You don't need us, Brett, you never have. You only ever think about yourself.' Her hands shook. She left the room before she started crying.

She and Davey left the house three days later, on a warm autumn morning with the faintest hint of winter chill in theshadows.

He tried calling Lisa half a dozen times, but there seemed to be something wrong with her phone. In the afternoon he drove over to her apartment and found the front door wide open. The hallway was deserted. It was the kind of condominium where nobody ever saw or heard anything. In the bedroom a chair was upturned, and clothes were hanging from closet drawers. There was broken glass on the floor of the kitchen. It didn't take a genius to work out that Lisa had either been abducted or had left in a hell of a hurry. He wondered if the same zealots who had murdered Elias had now made off with the old man's most attractive disciple. He called the police on his mobile, told them what he thought had happened and asked them to check out the building. He refused to leave his name and address, which was stupid; they could easily trace his mobile.

He arrived back at his house to find the lounge filled with the members of the Church of the Phoenix. The maid had let them in. The praying men and women were now wearing white robes, in accordance with their instructions from the Book of Revelations. There were even little kids draped in cut-off bedsheets. Their numbers had certainly grown. It seemed more and more people were being converted as the foretold time approached.

'Join us!' they cried as he tried to disperse them. 'Stay and pray! Stay and pray!' Listening to their cries made him realise that there was a simple way for him to defeat the prophecy and forestall his fate. All he had to do was leave town. He couldn't influence history if he wasn't in the foretold place at the right time, could he?

Shoving the tiniest bedsheeted members of the church from his front door, he returned to the lounge and tried to call the police, but all the LAPD emergency lines were busy. Next he tried to purchase a flight out of the city, only to find that his credit card numbers had apparently been changed on the booking computer.

'That's impossible!' he complained to the girl at the airline office. 'Check them again, will you?' As he held on, he accessed his personal identification numbers on his home PC files. They all seemed in order. But as he watched, the numbers of his accounts flickered into serials of random lettering, and these in turn were replaced with a single word – PHOENIX.

He stared at the word in disbelief. It was as if everyone and everything pointed in one direction, toward the fulfilment of his destiny, no matter how terrible that might prove to be.

Stopping only to throw some clothes into a suitcase, he descended to the garage and revved up his Mercedes. There was more than one way to get out of town. He drove down from the hills, across Hollywood heading for the Santa Monica Freeway, and was just approaching the on-ramp when he saw a motorcycle cop approaching in his rear-view mirror. The cop gave a whoop of his siren and made a gesture to pull over.

Brett wearily coasted the car to the side of the road and turned off the engine. The cop dismounted and approached, shaking his pant-legs free, taking his time.

'I wasn't speeding, officer,' Brett called out, leaning from the window.

'Maybe not, sir, but you weren't telling anyone where you were going, either. You just changed lanes back there without any indication.'

'Did I? I'm sorry, I didn't realise – I'm in kind of a hurry…'

The cop made no move to write him a ticket, but just stood there, staring down at the car. His glasses reflected Brett's sweating face. 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you in,' he said finally.

'What do you mean?' he asked, incredulous. 'Can't you just write me out -'

'"And I looked, and beheld a pale horse,"' said the cop, '"and his name that sat on him was Death." Get out of the car, sir.'

Brett had only a second to make his decision. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and fishtailed on to the freeway ramp in a plume of blue smoke before the cop had a chance to run back to his bike. As he tacked across the busy lanes and the Mercedes' powerful engine gave a guttural roar, he knew he had to get out of town fast, but how? Heading down the freeway, it seemed as if everyone was watching him. The guy in shades in the convertible, the gardeners in the truck with rakes on the roof, the family of Born-Agains in their RV, everyone was goading him on. Who could he trust? Worse still, it looked as if the other drivers were laughing at him, knowing that he couldn't escape. Was he losing his mind?

There was no time to think. Behind he could see the flashing blue lights of two motorcycle cops as they wove smartly through the traffic toward him. Ahead, two lanes of the freeway were closed for repairs. Pulsing electric arrows were redirecting columns of vehicles. Already, the traffic was starting to back up. He slowed down and swung hard right on to a downtown off-ramp, his tyres screaming as they fought to grip the edge of the curve. Before the bikes had a chance to catch up, he pulled down into the shadows beneath the freeway bridge and killed the engine. Dust sprayed around the car. He stayed there for some while with his head resting on the wheel, sweat dripping into his eyes.

Brett punched out the number of his office and waited for his secretary to answer, but the call was switched over to her voicemail. That was strange – Irene hardly ever left her post during the day. Suspicious, he quickly rang off. He rolled the Mercedes into a backstreet and tried to formulate a game plan. He had no functioning credit cards and about forty dollars in his pocket. It was 11.45 a.m. He had until midnight to prevent the prophecy of the Book of Daniel from fulfilling itself.

The owner of the used car lot was naturally suspicious, but not so suspicious that he was going to pass up the bargain of a lifetime. After all, the guy's papers were all in order, every Mercedes service scrupulously entered in the logbook. If he wanted to trade it for a clapped-out '79 Oldsmobile Cutlass convertible and a fistful of bills, why argue?

Brett headed for the airport in his downgraded new car, tearing the price stickers off as he drove, but the freeway was at a standstill. It seemed as if the whole city was gridlocked. In desperation he considered driving to Long Beach and chartering a boat, but even that option proved impossible. The traffic was flowing in one direction only, and it was not the direction he wanted to go. Resigned to being grounded in LA, he figured that the best thing would be to find Lisa; she seemed to be the only one who might have an idea of what would happen to him. As he headed into Miracle Mile, he was amazed to see the church's symbol painted everywhere – on buildings, cars, sidewalks, even on people's clothing. The cryptic symbol looked more and more like a giant bird in a ring of flame. It was as if the entire city was going crazy, as if everyone wanted this cleansing apocalypse to occur.

The Cutlass coasted past crowds of worshippers gathered along the sides of the road. They made the salute of the church as he passed, the sign of Daniel Waking. It was almost as if they had been expecting him to pass along this route. He tried tuning the radio. LAX was shut for some reason. Airport security hoped to have the terminals open soon. According to an international news report, China had made a threatening gesture toward the West, expelling all US diplomats. A local news report said that mobs were stoning the office buildings in Century City because they were shrines to Mammon, places that would not survive the coming cleansing. The news announcers didn't even sound that worried.

He parked the car at a motel and took a walk through the thronging streets. A group of teenagers stood huddled together in the distance. As he approached, he saw that they were cutting the sign of Daniel into their right hands. At the next corner a sea of bloody palms passed lightly over him in a grisly wave of worship. He pushed against the rising tide of fanatics, all moving in a single direction, and passed a crowd gathered around a TV store window. On the multiscreens they stared at horrific footage of people rioting for food in the East; it appeared that the work of at least one of the horsemen had been carried out successfully. A newsreader announced that the new hard-right Chinese leader had taken advantage of this growing dissatisfaction with Western policies to stage a military coup against Russia, and would challenge the USA over the secret missile sites; clearly, a second horseman's work was paying off.

When the transmission fuzzed and dispersed across twenty identical screens, the international news footage was replaced by one of the 'lifestyle' cola commercials produced by Brett's company. The crowd hissed angrily.

The phonecall startled him. He felt in his jacket for the mobile and checked the number, but failed to recognise it.

'Brett, it's Lisa.'

'Lisa! Where are you? I went over to your apartment. I was worried sick.'

'I had to leave quickly – one of the neighbours – it was becoming too dangerous to stay there. I tried calling you but there was something wrong with the phone system.'

'I know, I had the same problem. Where are you now?'

'At my father's building downtown. There are mobs of people outside, just hanging around the entrance. There's been no trouble yet, but it's only a matter of time. Everyone's wearing these robes.'

'Give me your address, I'll come and get you.'

He reached the building a little before three, entering the deserted building from the underground carpark. The silence came as a shock after the chanting in the streets. Carefully, he made his way to the seventh floor. Lisa was there to meet him at the elevator bank, and rushed thankfully into his arms. She was clearly terrified.

'The world's going mad,' she said, 'I've been watching the news broadcasts. There was a report from the WHO about the new strain of bilharzia spreading overseas. All of the horsemen have been called into action except you.'

'In a few hours this – celestial deadline – is going to be met, and I still don't know what role I'm supposed to play.'

From below came a distant crash of sheet glass. 'We have to get out of LA,' he said, taking her hand. 'I have a car in the basement.' He looked around at the deserted office floor. 'Where the hell is everybody?'

Lisa shrugged as she stepped into the lift. 'The police chief has declared a state of emergency, and at the same time he's appealing for calm, don't you love this town? Everyone's been sent home. I heard someone say there are roadblocks all around the city. We'll need to cut through back roads. How's your driving?'

'Listen, Lisa, maybe you should leave by yourself. You're in danger so long as you're near me.'

She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the elevator. 'I'm not afraid of being with you.'

The new religious zealots were terrific with matters philosophical, but not so hot at building roadblocks. The Oldsmobile crashed through the oildrum-and-fencepost cordons that had been set up, and soon headed out on to the freeway, which was now curiously deserted. The road ahead was wide open and clear all the way. Los Angeles was disappearing in their rear-view mirror. As the sun started to set, Brett began to believe that the final part of the prophecy would not be fulfilled, and that they had averted the end of the world.

They kept the radio on as they drove. The US military had issued China with a deadline to declare all covert missile sites and chemical weapons factories. Clinton was demanding an immediate answer. The roads remained strangely empty. As night descended, the suburbs fell away and the desert appeared. On the other side of Palm Springs, Lisa took over the driving so that Brett could reread Elias's notes.

'We're going to need gas soon. Can't I slow down for a while?' she asked. 'This wheel is making my arms stiff. Surely we're safe now.'

'Use the cruise control. And keep your eyes on the road.'

As they drove, they saw vast burning pyres in the hills, signs that the population had instinctively prepared themselves for a cataclysmic event. He counted over a dozen glowing patches on the horizon.

The car radio was now their only link with the outside world. Its announcers continued to report on the deteriorating situation between the world powers. China had its missiles trained on Russia and was prepared to use them if their demands were not met.

The road ahead appeared ever more brightly lit. There were torches lining either side of the freeway, like burning spears on the approach to an ancient city. Puzzled, they sped on past the darkened countryside below.

'We have to stay in the desert until the deadline has passed,' said Brett. 'It's the only way to be sure. The priest said all four horsemen have to act or the Apocalypse can't occur. Where are we now?'

'The last time I looked we were about thirty miles east of some town called Plaster City. I can't read the map in this light and the glovebox bulb isn't working. Where on earth did you get this car?'

Around the next bend, crimson accident flares were spread before a stack of crushed vehicles spread across the road.

'Shit! Hold tight!'

Slamming on the brakes, Brett carommed the car side-on into the flames and veered off at a fast-approaching junction of the freeway. Suddenly there were people lining either side of the connecting road, waving, cheering and making the handsalute of the church. It felt as though Brett and Lisa were making their entry into Rome. In fact, they were about to enter the city of Phoenix.

The car radio had been operating below Brett's hearing threshold for several miles. Now it boomed into fresh life as the announcer spoke of one last hope for peace; a few minutes ago the Chinese had said that if they were provided with a positive, conciliatory gesture from the leader of the US military within the hour, they would halt their planned strike action on the Russian seaboard. So there was a slim chance of salvation!

'Did you hear that? There's still a hope!' He turned to Lisa, and one glance at her unguarded face told him all he needed to know.

No-one could look so disappointed at the news. He had been duped. She had deliberately led him out here. She saw him looking and stared blankly back.

'This is where you need to be in order to fulfil the prophecy,' she said simply.

He looked up at the road ahead, and saw that once again they had entered a deserted stretch of highway. A sign above him read YOU ARE NOW ENTERING PHOENIX CITY LIMITS. Puzzled, he accelerated – and suddenly on the ramp below the car he saw dozens of police motorbikes crossing in formation. A motorcade was passing beneath the empty road. Brett started to brake, trying to make sense of what he saw, but with a feral cry Lisa stamped her shoe over his, forcing his foot down. The Oldsmobile rocketed ahead to vault the off-ramp barrier and smash down on to the central passing limo of the motorcade, flipping both vehicles and turning one into a thundering ball of flame. A roar of triumphant applause grew from the reappearing crowds.

Hurled from the Oldsmobile, Brett spiralled away in a bellowing sea of flame-lit faces.

Slowly, painfully, he returned to consciousness.

He was stripped to the waist, lying on a warm granite slab that formed a dais in the middle of a field near the freeway. He was surrounded by thousands of celebrating people. Fires filled the horizon. He could smell barbecued chicken in the air.

Lisa, Mara and his son checked with each other to see who would go first, then stepped bashfully forward in turn. Davey's arms were unbandaged, and completely unmarked. He gave a Candid Camera kind of smile and shrugged. Brett's work colleagues were there. So were most of his friends and family.

'You did it, Brett!' Mara cried happily. 'You fulfilled your destiny as the Horseman of Death!' There were whoops and hollers. Everyone was joyous. The noise was like a hundred sitcom audiences cheering the entrance of a sexy woman.

'I don't understand,' he croaked weakly.

They tried to explain that he had hit the motorcade bringing the military heads back from Nevada. A simple accident on the road to Phoenix – that was all he had been needed for. They all talked at once, and weren't sure if he could hear them.

Now the only remaining moderate military leader was dead, Lisa explained. No answer could go back to the Chinese. She felt bad about killing Elias, but he'd had a good life. Hadn't it all turned out for the best? She poured him a plastic beaker of Californian champagne, but he knocked it out of her hand.

The apocalypse ran a little late. It was some time after midnight that the sky from the East began to light up with the arcing trails of the arriving missiles. Lisa gripped Brett's arm and told him not to worry.

'Your destiny isn't ours,' she said sadly. 'You and your three partners will live on, through destruction, death and decomposition. You'll see it through – right through – to a time of rebirth and regeneration. Then you'll be released from your earthly duty, to return to dust.'

As the world erupted around him, Brett demanded to know why he was chosen, out of anyone in the world.

Lisa stroked his face gently. 'Don't you know that the greatest harm can only be carried out by the blind?' she whispered, kissing his forehead as the cleansing conflagration filled the sky.

Brett stood naked at the centre of the blinding sun, the brightest light in the universe, his limbs outstretched, the living personification of Leonardo Da Vinci's drawing of Man. Like the phoenix he would die and be reborn in flame.

Around him he could see four galloping stallions of fire, racing like missiles. And through them, the merest glimpse of something else, the world far into the future, a world that was green and clean and pure, ready to begin again.