The Paradise Prophecy

51

Batty hadn’t expected this.

For centuries, biblical scholars had been arguing over the location of Eden. Some believed it could be found in the heart of Iraq, while others said they had uncovered evidence of it in the industrial city of Tabriz, Iran. Still others claimed Turkey or Egypt or India.

There were those who pointed to Mount Olivet, in Jerusalem, where Jesus wept, was crucified and rose from the dead. Where he had ascended to heaven.

Batty himself had always thought of Eden as a frame of mind. An ideal. A symbol that didn’t really exist. It didn’t matter where it was located, but what it represented.

The dawn of sentience.

But if Michael were to be believed-and Batty saw no reason not to believe him-then the ground on which this shantytown stood had once been Paradise.

And apparently still was.

Paraisopolis.

Paradise City.

The earth rumbled again, and somewhere in the distance behind him Batty heard cries of pain. He realized that he was still gripping the sword, had carried it with him from the car, and as he thought about what Michael had said, he found himself starting to have second thoughts.

What if he was wrong about this?

What if it couldn’t be fixed without sacrificing that poor girl?

Yes, she was an innocent, but hadn’t innocents died before in the name of freedom?

And wasn’t this about the ultimate freedom? The freedom of thought?

John Milton had fought strenuously, had risked his life in the name of free expression, had burned those pages because he feared they’d fall into the wrong hands and humankind would be stripped of that freedom forever.

And now that they had fallen into the wrong hands-because of Batty when it came down it-wasn’t it his duty to set things right? Not merely slow their progress by snatching the girl away from them, but to create the heaven on earth that so many desired?

Yet it kept coming back to the girl.

That single, breathing, walking, talking, living human being.

And as he and Callahan and Michael crossed the street toward Paradise City, he had absolutely no idea what choice he would ultimately make.

Beelzebub watched as the others gathered around Belial and the girl. Make no mistake about it, Belial was a master at what she did, and he could see young Jenna succumbing to her power, giving in to her will.

It was thing of beauty. A true gift. And as he looked up at the darkening moon he was happy he had trusted Belial’s instincts. Was happy that Michael had betrayed the traveler with his impulsiveness. Had it not been for him, they never would have known that she was one.

That was something he’d have to live with for a long, long time, as he sat in his cell in the seventh city.

Beelzebub thought it only fitting that they had brought the girl here to this rooftop. The place where the tree had once grown. It was, he thought, a final, symbolic fuck-you to their fraudulent, self-aggrandizing father and his precious creation.

All along the skyline, he saw more eruptions, the earth giving way to a seething abyss. The gates breaking open.

And he knew it was like this all around the world. Soon his brother would rise from the fires of Abyssus, once and for all, and take possession of his true dominion.

Lord of the Earth.

King of the New Creation.

Father to all who embraced his sovereignty.

And Beelzebub was fairly certain they would not be given a choice in the matter. This was one of God’s mistakes that his brother would not repeat.

What a shame, he thought, that he didn’t have a piece of fruit with which to tempt the girl. That idea, however, seemed a bit simplistic now. Human beings had become such complex animals over the years, and while they could certainly be predictable, they couldn’t always be relied upon to succumb to such easy temptation.

Better to let Belial do what she did best. To persuade the girl to take her life in the name of Satan.

The moon was in three-quarters eclipse now.

Batty, Callahan and Michael moved together through the favela, Michael taking the lead. They wound through its streets, surprised to find it curiously empty, but then many of the people here had probably fled during the chaos, and those who were left had undoubtedly gathered near where the ceremony was to be held.

Except for the dead. As the three guardians moved from street to alleyway and back to the street again, there were bodies everywhere. Some with weapons at their side. Others shot down without mercy.

Michael snatched up a couple of guns along the way and tossed them to Batty and Callahan.

“Through here,” he said, then cut to the right, moving up a narrow cement pathway. The shacks on either side were in ruins, thick black smoke billowing from within them, spewing its noxious fumes into the air.

They were turning the corner when the earth began to shake again and before them a row of shacks shuddered and collapsed, sinking into a fissure in the ground.

Fire shot up in front of them and they pulled back, quickly changing direction.

But then something moved from inside the fissure.

“Look out!” Batty shouted.

And out of the fire and smoke came a platoon of creatures, the likes of which Batty had never before seen, their skin charred, their teeth barred as their feral eyes took the three guardians in with a hunger that sent chills up his spine.

One of them dove for Callahan, but she ducked away as Michael jerked his knife from his waistband and cut the thing in two. It howled and burst into flames, tumbling to the ground, as three of its friends advanced on Callahan.

She brought her shotgun up, shot one in the chest, then kicked, whirled, and kicked again, knocking the other two aside as Michael quickly finished them off with a couple bullets of his own.

But still more came at them, and Batty brought his own gun up, blasting them back into the hole.

Then it was over. For now, at least.

But as they gathered themselves and continued on, Batty knew there would be more to come.

It was time for the ceremony, and it looked as if Belial had the girl primed and ready. She came over to Beelzebub now.

“She’s all yours,” Belial said. “When she sees that dagger, she’ll think it’s candy.”

Beelzebub smiled and kissed her full on the lips. And they were very nice lips indeed. “I really do like this new skin.”

“The girlfriend of the local drug lord. He used to own this place.”

“Used to?”

She smiled. “He’s one of ours now. Are we ready to begin?”

Beelzebub checked the moon. “Just waiting on Moloch and Mammon. Where are those fools?”

A voice behind him said, “I’d watch that tongue, if I were you.”

They turned to find Moloch and Mammon walking toward them across the rooftop.

“I have to congratulate you two,” Mammon said. “You were right after all.” There was a sneer in his voice that led Beelzebub to question his sincerity. “But before we begin, we have a little surprise.”

“Surprise?”

Now Moloch stepped forward and pointed toward the far horizon. “Watch,” he said.

Within milliseconds of speaking the word, a mushroom cloud rose in the distance, followed by a thunderous boom.

The shockwave rolled out across the landscape, toppling everything in its path.

Down!” LaLaurie shouted, “Get down!”

Callahan dove to the ground, feeling the earth rumble beneath her as the shockwave leveled the buildings behind them, stopping just short of the favela.

“Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus,” she moaned, buffeted by a hot, harsh wind.

She kept her face buried in her arms, not wanting to see the destruction behind her, not wanting to move.

But when she finally forced herself to look up, she found nothing but a fine dust swirling around her, and she was unable to see more than three feet in front of her. Then the dust began to clear, blowing back the way it came, to reveal that half of Sao Paulo had been reduced to nothing but ash.

“Oh my God,” Callahan moaned, tears filling her eyes.

This couldn’t be happening.

It just couldn’t be.

But just as she thought she’d seen the worst of it, the ground began to shudder again, and a fiery chasm splintered and forked, two enormous cracks cutting to the left and right, spewing flames. And from within those flames came the bodies of the dead, crawling over the cracks like ants from a mound, silhouetted by the massive bloodred ring of the eclipsing moon, only a sliver of which still shone in its glory. The animated bodies of the dead seemed to take their power from it, spreading out toward Callahan and the others, their eyes filled with malice.

“Oh my God,” she said again, and scrambled to her feet.

This wasn’t going to end well.