Armageddon

Chapter Twenty Eight

Oxford, England. Professor Richard Dawkins was a deeply unhappy man. He had spent much of his career trying to prove that God, and by extension Satan, did not exist. He had even managed to convince himself that he had proven it beyond reasonable doubt. Several scholars disagreed with him and had even gone as far as to write books that argued that Dawkins was wrong, though the professor was so convinced of being right he had not even tried to debate with them, despite the apparent logic of many of their arguments. He was right, and that was all that mattered.

The Message had upset all of his work, God did exist, even if he had abandoned humanity to the tender mercies of Hell. Despite all of his efforts to try and prove it was fake, The Message had been all too real. The only crumb of comfort he could take from the situation was that his thesis that religion was inherently bad had been proven right, and at least he had not had to listen to the faithful said ‘I told you so’, which would have happened had a benevolent, loving God revealed himself.

Despite all that was happening in the world Dawkins had decided to devote his time to writing a book that argued that The Message had vindicated his work, glossing over the fact that he had been wrong about the non-existence of Heaven and Hell; most readers would not remember that, he thought. Evidently he had not been paying enough attention to the news, the Government had implemented paper rationing to go with fuel and food rationing, and very few books would be getting published in the near future. In fact very little other than military manuals and very truncated newspapers would be published from now on. To the intense distress of some, The Sun had decided to discontinue Page 3 for the foreseeable future.

Dawkins’ stomach reminded him that it was time for lunch. He left the Oxford University college where he worked, intending to eat in the pub frequented by C. S Lewis and J.R. R Tolkein, idly wondering whether they continued their theological argument now that they were in Hell.

He passed two Thames Valley Police constables, the thought of John Thaw coming into his mind as he did so. What did bring him up short was that both officers were armed, still something of a rare sight in Britain. The two Police Constables carried the standard Glock 17 as a sidearm, though one carried a G36C rifle, while the second carried a pump-action shotgun. The British police had searched through their armouries to for suitable weapons to arm as many of their officers, whether Authorised Firearms Officers, or not.

“Professor Dawkins?”

Dawkins turned back from staring at the two coppers to see a slightly dishevelled, long haired man in his mid twenties standing in front of him. The professor was not worried, lots of his fans and acolytes liked to speak to him about his work, or ask for his autograph. It wasn’t as if he was likely to be assailed by any religious fanatics these days.

“Yes.” He replied. “I think I have a pen here somewhere…” Dawkins continued absentmindedly.

“Good, good.” The man said satisfied. “This is all your fault!” He suddenly yelled, taking the professor by surprise. “You and your ilk denied the All-Mighty and he has abandoned us to eternal damnation as punishment!”

“Look here…” Dawkins began to say hopping that those two police officers he had seen earlier were not too far away had heard the commotion and would come to his rescue, but was cut off by a sharp pain in his chest.

He looked down to see the wild eyed man pull an eight inch knife out of his chest. The man raised his arm and stabbed again, and again and again.

The two police officers had indeed heard the yelling and had been hurrying to deal with it. Instead of seeing two men arguing they saw one man lying on the pavement surrounded by a spreading pool of red, while the other was spattered with blood and held aloft a dripping knife. He looked straight at the aghast police officers.

“All-Mighty lord, today I have truly done your work today. I will gladly do my penance!” The murderer screamed, his voice rich in exaltation.

The shotgun armed constable brought up his weapon and shot him once. The heavy slug intended for use against baldricks made an incredible mess of a human being, blasting a huge hole in his chest and throwing the corpse out into the road.

“Enjoy rotting in Hell mate.” The copper said as he worked the slide on his weapon. “You’ve condemned an innocent man to hideous torture.”

Headquarters, Randi Institute of Pneumatology, The Pentagon, Arlington, VA

“This letter was received by the Institute a few hours ago. It provides us with eye-witness evidence that angels as well as demons have been behind much of the misery that has afflicted our world over the centuries…. Excuse me.”

Randi turned to a secretary who had brought in a message flimsy. He read it, then turned dead white. “Gentlemen, Ladies, my apologies. I must ask to be excused. Please carry on with the agenda.” He turned and left the conference room, the sharper observers noting that he staggered slightly as he did so.

A few minutes later, Julie Adams knocked quietly on the door of his office and went in. Randi was sitting at his desk, his face in his hands, sobbing quietly. She slipped behind him and put an arm around his shoulders, she owed her sanity to this man and some comfort was the least she could provide.

“What’s happened James?”

“An old friend of mine, Richard Dawkins, has been killed. He was attacked in the street, in Oxford. He never stood a chance.”

“A baldrick?”

“No, that’s what is so horrible. It was some religious nutcase, witnesses say he was screaming stuff about how Richard and I brought all this down on humanity, that by denying God, we brought about all humanity’s damnation.”

“That’s ridiculous James. The poor man was probably insane – or possessed. Was he wearing his hat?”

“Is it so ridiculous? Really. We were so sure we were right, that all this talk of gods and devils and great sky pixies was just old, outmoded superstition. Just ancient people without the knowledge to understand what was going on around them giving the only explanation they could think of. We laughed at them, ridiculed their ideas and beliefs and all the time there was a higher dimension, there were creatures who influenced our lives. The old legends did have a base of truth in them and we laughed them off. Just as we laughed off the people who tried to tell us we needed these tinfoil hats. Now its the people who refuse to wear them that are the dangerous cranks. So did we condemn humanity by our arrogance?”

“When did Heaven get closed to new entrants James?”

“Nobody knows. Everybody has different theories but 1000 AD is the most popular.”

“And you and your friend are really that old?”

Rand started at the suggestion and frowned. “This isn’t funny.”

“No it isn’t James. It’s not funny at all. You’re blaming yourself, your friend and all those who thought like you for something that happened more than a thousand years ago. That’s absurd, not funny. Got news for you James, the world does not rotate around you any more than it rotates around any one of us. Your friend was a victim of the same mean, treacherous deception that made victims of us all. So stop blaming yourself and try to think out how we can help your friend.”

“What?” Randi was stunned by the comment.

“Well, we know he’s in hell don’t we. Everybody who dies is. We know kitten can find people in hell and contact them if she has enough to go on. You have pictures of your friend, personal stuff, things he gave you? Then give them to kitten, see if she can contact him. Then we can work out how to get him out of there.”

“Bring him back from the dead?”

“Why not? We’re sending enough occupants of hell in the opposite direction. At least let’s try instead of wallowing in self-pity.”

Inner Ring, Seventh Circle of Hell

Richard Dawkins writhed and twisted on the burning sand, trying to evade the flurries of searing flakes that tormented him. As far as he could see, he was in a featureless desert, broken only by the forms of other victims thrashing about in the same agony as him. He had no idea how long he had been here, all he could remember was the knife plunging into him and then everything round him converging into a single bright dot, the way an old-fashioned television did when the station closed down. Then the impression of a tunnel and the sudden impact of the pain as he had found himself here.

This was it, this was hell and he was stuck here forever. Then he mentally struck himself, no, he wasn’t here forever. He was here until humans could blast their way down to him and free him. That was it, that was it all. He had to hold out until then.

The burns from the sand and those accursed flakes made thinking difficult and Dawkins believed he was going mad. There was a voice calling him. “Richard, Richard.”” He knew the pain from the burning was making him hallucinate. “Richard, Richard?” It was still going on.

“Lalla?” It couldn’t be, she was still alive. He was imagining things.

“No, its kitten. Is this Richard Dawkins?”

“Who are you?”

“You don’t know me, I work for James Randi. You are Richard Dawkins. If you are, we’re using you as an experiment.”

“I’m Dawkins. Please, help me.”

“We’re trying. Hold on.”

Headquarters, Randi Institute of Pneumatology, The Pentagon, Arlington, VA

“I’m through, I got him. Poor thing, he sounds terrible.”

“Being knifed and sent to hell will do that to a man.” The speaker was one of four Special Forces men in the room, wearing orange-red BDUs and armed with the new M4A5s.

“Get ready to move Lieutenant Madeuce. Once the portal is open, we can’t hold it for long. And don’t forget the bolt-cutters. Ready kitten? Here we go.”

James Kirkpatrick started turning up the dial, artificially boosting the signal they’d recorded connecting kitten and Dawkins. Soon enough, the now-familiar ellipse started to form. As it increased in size kitten was threshing round helplessly on her couch, her partner dabbing her forehead and whispering comfortingly to her. Then, it was large enough and the Special Forces H-team stepped through.

Inner Ring, Seventh Circle of Hell

“Get a poncho over him fast. Damn these blasted flakes, what the hell is this place?” Madeuce was angry and hurried, this was nothing like what had been described to them.

“Hell boss. Sir, stay still Sir, we’ll get you out of this. Just hold still.” The tool-steel bolt-cutters sliced easily through even the thick bronze shackles.

“Shit we’ve got company!” A figure, tall and black had suddenly appeared. Madeuce squeezed off a burst from his carbine at him and saw the figure lurch with the hits. Then a streak of fire shot across the burning desert and the baldrick exploded. “Well done Frankie. They don’t like them AT-4s.”

Behind them the other two members of the team had freed Dawkins and dragged him through the ellipse. Madeuce and Frankie Portello followed them out and the ellipse closed behind them.

Headquarters, Randi Institute of Pneumatology, The Pentagon, Arlington, VA

“We got him!” The voice from the Special Forces team was triumphant. All four were back in the room and the portal had been open for less than a minute.

The body of Richard Dawkins was in the room with Doctors applying instruments and probes. “We’re getting readings, he’s errr….” The doctor was about to say ‘alive’ but stopped himself. “With us.”

“Richard can you hear me.” Randi was urgent, almost frantic, far removed from the gentlemanly, calm demeanour he usually maintained.

“James how did you… what’s happening?”

“We got you out. Don’t ask how but we did.”

“Mister Randi, energy levels we’re getting are fading, its as if his life, if he wasn’t already dead, was leaking out.”

“Right.” Kirkpatrick was already speaking to kitten. “Can you contact Lieutenant Kim please. Then we’ll open a portal to her.”

“All right, please hurry though.” kitten relaxed on her seat and closed her eyes, concentrating on her picture of Jade Kim. Over the other side of the room, the H-team was loading up with supplies for the PFLH. No point is wasting trip.

“Richard, we can’t keep you here, we’re sending you back to the Fifth Circle. We have a resistance team there, they’ll shelter you until they can get you into hiding.”

“Ma’am.” Lieutenant Madeuce was speaking to kitten. Don’t hold the portal open after we’re through. Once we’ve arrived, we’ll be staying there for a while.” kitten nodded with her eyes still closed.

On the Shore of the Styx, Fifth Ring, Hell

Kim’s eyes suddenly defocused. “Message coming through guys. Our resupply hopefully.

Lieutenant Kim? It was kitten again.

“Yes kitten”

“Get ready, portal opening. There’s a special forces team and a passenger coming through with some supplies. They’ll explain what’s happening. Get ready now.”

The black ellipse formed as a point and rapidly swelled to its full size, large enough for a man to step through. Five figures came through, four in red-brown BDUs that matched the foul air of Hell very well. The fifth man was naked, his body burned but already starting to heal. Kim recognized that, it was the enhanced healing power of hell. This person was one of the dead, just like Kim and her little unit.

“Ma’am. Lieutenant Madeuce. Special Forces. This is Richard Dawkins, we pulled him out of somewhere else in Hell and brought him here.”

“Why? We haven’t room for passengers.”

“We needed to know if people can be brought from hell to earth and stay there. Well, they can’t, he was, well, dying for want of a better word. The egg-heads needed to know if kitten could find other people, we needed to know if we can do transits like this. So many things. Look, we’re staying on to help you here. In your reports you mentioned a refugee organization. Can they look after him?”

“Why can’t I fight as well.”

“Because you’re not trained to. This is a job for professionals.” Madeuce’s voice was curt. “Can we get him to safety. Ma’am. My orders are to place myself under your command.”

Kim nodded. Being dead had its advantages, if this war went on long enough, she would be the most senior Lieutenant in history. “There is a refugee organization, headed up by a woman called Rahab. We don’t know if we can trust her, this will make a good test. OK, Bubbles, Mac, we better find Rahab. Madeuce, you bring supplies?

“120 kilograms of Semtex, another M107 a lot of ammunition for same and six M4A5 carbines. Oh, and a video camera. The brass want pictures and films of hell.”

Kim nodded, the Semtex wasn’t enough but it would do. “Who are you Sir?”

“Richard Dawkins. I was an author.”

“I know, I read one of your books. Guess you must be pretty embarrassed huh? Don’t sweat it, we’ll look after you.