The Last Days Of Planet Earth Vol I: Gods and Monsters

By L J Hick

When you are afraid to dream, you value your consciousness. FBI agent Jack Abrahams is afraid to dream. The recurring nightmare that haunts his sleep fills him with fear and dread. When reality starts to twist and turn, playing out a series of bizarre events, Jack is asked to investigate them. A priest, nailed to the side of a log cabin and a homicidal biker are just the beginning of these strange events. Fellow agent, Helen Foster wants to travel to England to investigate a man called Adam Blake. Helen suspects that Blake was responsible for the mock crucifixion of the priest but Jack is reluctant to begin the investigation. He changes his mind when he sees a photo of Blake, the man who lives in his nightmares.
The Last Days of Planet Earth is an amusing and interesting re-working of history, myths and religious icons, with references to popular culture threading neatly throughout.

Gods and Monsters is the first book in the series, The Last Days of Planet Earth.

Tribes, the second book in the series, will be released in November 2014.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L J Hick
• Release date: Nov 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311433022

L J Hick

L J Hick is the author of The Last Days of Planet Earth series and lives in Warwickshire, England.He released the horror/mystery novel, Atom, on the 30th June 2016.

Book preview

The Last Days Of

Planet Earth

Volume I:

Gods and Monsters

L J HICK

Published by L J Hick at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 L J Hick

Third Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold

or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,

please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did

not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to

Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work

of this author.

For my wife and family.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Calling

Chapter 2 - Blood

Chapter 3 - Floodland

Chapter 4 - Denial

Chapter 5 - Isolation

Chapter 6 - Cash

Chapter 7 - Regeneration

Chapter 8 - Jericho

Chapter 9 - Moonlight

Chapter 10 - Mist

Chapter 11 - Kerberos

Chapter 12 - The Bridge

Chapter 13 - Benny

Chapter 14 - Dust

Chapter 15 - The Task

Chapter 16 - Hole

Chapter 17 - Die Halle Der Nacht

Chapter 18 - Changes

Chapter 19 - Trade

Chapter 20 - The Return

Chapter 21 - Khan

Chapter 22 - Esda

Chapter 23 - Home

Chapter 24 - The Return

Epilogue

About The Author

Connect with L J Hick

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to express my gratitude to Nigel Dean, who read, offered comments, remarks and assisted in the editing and proofreading.

PROLOGUE

"The blame for Armageddon lies on man.

And the millennium will come only when the average man exhibits a scientific integrity about all he is and does--instead of half of it.

Many a psychological Archimedes has put signposts on the hard road man must follow if he is to avoid self-destruction and come into his own.

A few very great modern scientists have added to the lore.

Indications of what man may expect of himself are everywhere at hand.

But most men must first be persuaded that the task lies ahead and not behind--that we are infants still, with loaded guns for toys."

PHILIP GORDON WYLIE

GOLGOTHA

33 AD

A solitary man trudged along the dusty road that circumvented the small cemetery. The cemetery stood at the bottom of a hill that resembled the physical features of a skull. The man wondered how the forces of erosion and time had conspired to produce this natural sculpture. The horsehair crest on his helmet and the mail armour shirt were the attire of a soldier. A long flowing cloak that would have graced any state occasion trailed behind him as the soldier continued his walk, accompanied by his shrill and loud whistling. His sword hung on his left side and his dagger was sheathed on the right side. He tapped the ground with the crooked but ornate stick that occasionally received a baton twirl around his head. The considerable amount of phalerae he wore indicated the number of battles this particular soldier had participated in.

Crows circled the hill in front of him and filled the air with their cries as if mourning the passing of a soul. The skies were dull and grey, although, no thunderclouds were in view and there was no sign of rain. The air around the man bristled with static electricity, which crackled as he walked towards the hill. The area itself was quiet. Only the screeching of the crows broke the silence. He smiled and raised an eyebrow as he reached the foot of the hill because now he could see the tops of the wooden structures that broke the horizon and he could hear the soft moaning of human suffering. Yet there was still a fair distance to walk as the road continued upwards on its spirally route towards inhumanity, desperation, and death. The soldier’s eyes lifted towards the skies, displaying his yellow pupils for a brief second or two as electricity crackled and popped in the air around him. He resumed his whistling, which became increasingly pronounced and discordant as he neared his destination.

Two soldiers stood either side of the road, guarding the approach and observing the passers-by, making sure that nothing untoward was about to occur. When they observed the man strolling towards them, both guards stood up straight and made sure their weapons were sheaved correctly whilst straightening their armour and cloaks to make themselves look more presentable. They looked at each other and then walked down the hill towards the whistling soldier.

The soldier looked up and saw the two guards. He smiled to himself and tightened his grip on the stick. Electricity crackled around his fingers. The crackling stopped when the guards joined him. The guards now stood directly in front of him, raising their hands to salute the soldier.

Centurion! one of the guards said. My name is Gaius Rustius. How can we help you?

Seriously? asked the centurion.

I have given you my name. I would have yours and know your intent, said Gaius.

My name is Lucius Curiatius Priscus. I command one thousand men of the Roman infantry who wait patiently for my return. I have come to see the one some call saviour.

I would ask what it is that you want of him, centurion. We have been told to keep a strict eye on him, said Gaius.

And yet you elevate him by the side of a road for all to see. On my way here, I have seen soldiers forcing the natives of this place to take this road when there are other routes to use. They do this so that the people witness his suffering. Yet you question my right to pass by him despite my rank and standing in Rome? said Lucius.

Gaius looked nervous and offered an apology.

Forgive me, centurion, but there is much talk of this one. You may proceed, he said.

Lucius offered his thanks, and Gaius moved aside to allow him to pass.

Lucius resumed his walk along the path. Eventually, he reached the line of crosses that held the suffering men. He paused at each cross, paying his silent respects to the dying until he reached the man on the fifth cross. Lucius knelt in front of the suspended man.

These people call this justice. I call it barbarism, said Lucius.

Lucius kneeled down and smiled as he spoke. The man on the cross opened his eyes slowly and gazed upon the Roman in front of him. He smiled gently and addressed the kneeling soldier.

I have been here a long time, brother. You wait until now to come and see me? You carry the tone of defiance but wear the uniform of compliance. Tell me what you call yourself, said the man.

Lucius Curiatius Priscus. It’s very Roman. I was not sure you would want to see me. All the same, when the mighty civilisation of Rome deems it necessary to nail you to a cross, I feel I have little choice but to come and take a look.

Just that, you just want to take a look? asked the man.

I have an army of two-hundred men a little over a mile from here. They would burn Rome itself to the ground should I command them to. Let me take you from this place and you can return home, free from this pointless torment, said Lucius.

In exchange for what? asked the man.

You know what I want. The one thing that I want, said Lucius.

You cannot go home. You made your choice a long time ago, said the man. I cannot offer you a deal.

At least let me free you from this. It is…undignified, said Lucius.

No. This is my choice. I am here to show them that death is not the end. I will die very shortly, be taken from this cross and placed in a garden tomb. After three days, I will rise and leave the tomb proving to the mortals that death is merely a transition. I will spend forty more days reinforcing this message before ascending and returning home. Once they have witnessed this, they will realise their time here is not fleeting and that they will be here long enough to witness the fruit of any actions that will damage the earth, other species or themselves. They will know that accountability is not avoided through death. I do not need rescuing. Joseph will ask for my body from Pilate when the time is right. You understand?

Pilate? The man who allowed this? said Lucius.

He argued against it, said the man.

He gave in to the mob, though. He did what they all do. Run scared of the majority, said Lucius.

What choice do any of them have? asked the man.

They could be brave enough to be the men they imagine themselves to be. Where are your followers now? The ones you place so much faith in, where are they? In what world is it right for one man to torture another? They will not understand what you are going to do; they will misinterpret it like they always do. You cannot even force sentience on these primates. They are not ready. If they believe there’s no death, then what do they have to lose? Carnage, murder, slaughter, rape, and genocide, where would it end?

Lucius stopped his rant, transfixed by the sign that hung over the head of his brother.

King of the Jews? So, who is the king of everyone else? asked Lucius.

Lucius looked up at the man on the cross and realised that there would be no reply. The man hung lifelessly; a single tear falling on the kneeling Lucius.

Lucius patted the leg of the dead man.

I guess that would be me then, said Lucius.

Lucius reached inside his cloak and produced a golden chalice. He held the chalice below the body until a single drop of blood fell into it. He smiled as the blood soaked into the chalice and disappeared from view. The silence was broken by the sound of shuffling behind him. Drawing his dagger, he lurched to his left, snarling as he caught the hooded figure by the neck and drew the blade close to his throat.

Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me! shouted the figure.

Lucius pulled back the hood to reveal a young man. In his hand, the man carried just a gourd of water, nothing else, no weapon. Lucius relaxed his grip and stood the man in front of him.

What were you thinking? asked Lucius.

Forgive me, sir, but I have brought water to ease the suffering, said the young man.

You charged up the hill, armed with a gourd of water, to give relief to a man you did not know? You would risk death to do this? asked Lucius.

It seemed the right thing to do. This crucifixion is barbaric and unworthy of us all.

Lucius placed his hands on the young man’s shoulders and smiled.

I am afraid you are too late. Our brother has gone. What is your name? he asked.

My name is Ben Ezra, the young man replied.

Lucius smiled and removed his hands from Ben Ezra.

I have searched for someone like you for so long, Ben Ezra, said Lucius.

Lucius grabbed the hand of Ben Ezra and drew the knife across his palm. Ben Ezra struggled but Lucius was too strong. He held the hand of Ben Ezra over the chalice until the blood found the bottom of the vessel. Ben Ezra tried to call for help from the guards but Lucius clamped a hand over his mouth.

Don’t be afraid. This is a gift for you because you have shown compassion today, said Lucius. Will you be quiet?

Ben Ezra nodded his head and Lucius relaxed his grip. Still holding Ben Ezra’s hand he folded the fingers, forming the hand into a fist. He smiled at Ben Ezra and unfolded his fingers. Ben Ezra gasped when he saw that the wound had gone.

How? whispered Ben Ezra.

There is a little more, said Lucius.

Lucius placed three fingers on Ben Ezra’s neck.

This might sting a little, he said.

Lucius forced his fingers into Ben Ezra’s skin. Ben Ezra convulsed as electricity filled his body. When he fell to the ground, the pain stopped. He grabbed the hand of Lucius, who pulled him to his feet.

I don’t understand, what was that? he asked.

In time, you will understand, said Lucius. Now return to your family and give the water to them.

Ben Ezra turned and ran back down the hill. Although Lucius caused him no lasting harm, he still moved quickly, afraid that Lucius would give chase. He would have been more afraid had he been able to see the three glowing circles that now adorned his neck. Resisting the urge to turn and see if Lucius was still watching him, he carried on running.

Lucius turned and shouted to the guards at the bottom of the hill.

GAIUS RUSTIUS!

The air crackled and warmed as Gaius made his way towards Lucius. He was terrified but knew that the sooner he responded, the better it would be for him.

Gaius! Inform Pilate that the King of the Jews is dead.

Yes, of course, immediately, said Gaius.

There is something else, said Lucius.

Lucius reached beneath his cloak. He produced the chalice, detailed with hieroglyphic symbols and inscriptions, and handed the chalice to Gaius.

Guard this with your life. It is a gift for Pontius Pilate. Tell him that Lucius Curiatius Priscus wishes him to accept this as a reminder of the efforts Pilate has made here today. Consider it a tribute, so that he will always remember, said Lucius.

I will guard it with my life, centurion. You have my word, Gaius replied.

Gaius turned and ran back to the other guard at the foot of the hill.

Gaius Rustius sat on the ground looking, open-mouthed, at the chalice. The second guard made his way towards him, seeing that something was wrong.

Gaius? Gaius? What is it? You have stared at that chalice for ages now. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Pilate will be delighted with it, he said.

It’s not that. It is beautiful, but… don’t you hear it? asked Gaius.

What? Hear what?

The chalice, don’t you hear it? asked Gaius.

His fellow guard put his ear next to the chalice and then sprang back in alarm.

That’s impossible. It cannot be, he said.

Gaius held the chalice between them and smiled at the strange melodic sound that came from it.

You hear it as well, said Gaius. The chalice is singing to us.

CHAPTER 1

THE CALLING

"Kill one man and you are a murderer.

Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror.

Kill them all, and you are a god."

JEAN ROSTAND

The log cabin stood in a remote woodland area. The cabin had a wooden stairway, leading to an elevated decking area. Whilst the cabin was a recent addition to the landscape, the area itself was swamped with history and the beauty of nature. The old maple trees reached into the sky as far as the eye could see whilst the mountain flora hid the ground in a variety of covering and rich colour. From the front of the cabin, a walking trail descended the hillside towards a busy road. On the opposite side of the road, there was a scenic picnic area. At the side of the cabin, a small creek cascaded down towards the lower levels of the hillside making that crinkly sound more commonly associated with light rain. The eastern side of the cabin had a seating area, which looked across a steep drop, with panoramic views of the valley and road below.

Adam Blake, dressed entirely in black, walked towards the cabin, pausing now and then to look at the screen of his mobile phone. As he reached the steps to the raised level of the cabin, he sighed and placed the phone back into his pocket. Climbing the steps, he produced a set of keys and after fumbling around for which one might be appropriate to open the front door, he unlocked the cabin and entered. He was struck by the size of the dining area, which was graced by a very large circular wooden table with eight ornate wooden chairs surrounding it. To the right of this area was an open plan kitchen area. He glanced at the stairway, which led to the sleeping and bathroom areas, but his attention was taken by the large full-length mirror that stood at the end of the dining area. He resumed his whistling as he approached the mirror, a smug grin now deepening across his face.

Looking good, he said to himself.

He stared at his reflection. Black jeans and t-shirt accompanied the long, black, lightweight coat that draped around him like a cape. Black deck shoes completed the look, and slung over his shoulder was a black holdall. He moved closer to the mirror to check out his face. He was aged around thirty with medium length black hair. The stubble on his face complemented his angular features. He thought that this was probably the best he had ever looked. He blew a kiss towards the mirror and started to laugh, only to be interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

About bleeding time, he muttered and answered the phone. Hello?

It’s me, said the voice at the other end of the phone.

I know it’s you, Victor, said Blake.

You told me to ring you when I was ready, said Victor.

And are you…ready? asked Blake.

Almost. I just need to check something, said Victor.

Go on. Hurry, though; he’ll be here shortly, said Blake.

I’m about to pull into this rest area, but there are cameras everywhere. How does this place give you an alibi? asked Victor.

It’s not the place that will give me an alibi, said Blake.

So what is it? asked Victor.

You’ll see, said Blake. Have patience.

Patience? I have to hang around here, whilst you wander off looking like Johnny Cash, said Victor. I think I’ve got plenty of patience.

You don’t like the black look? asked Blake.

Blake heard Victor sigh.

I’m going to wait here…patiently, grumbled Victor.

The phone went silent and Blake scratched the side of his nose.

Nice to speak to you too, murmured Blake.

Just off the main road, the rest area was filling with people. Truckers and motorists stopped there to take a break and enjoy the break from the drive. Victor positioned the hired camper van perfectly between the white lines. Immediately to the right of the vehicle, there was an unoccupied wooden table. He left the vehicle and opened the side door to reveal a brand new picnic hamper, which he deposited on the table. There was food and drink inside the hamper together with two knives, two forks, two plates, two glasses and a roll of serviettes. Victor examined the contents.

Two of everything? he muttered.

Victor set out the plates and cutlery on the table as if they were for two people.

As per instructions, he grumbled to himself.

He opened the driver’s door on the camper and reached across to turn on the audio system. A blast of heavy metal roared across the rest area as Victor frantically tried to turn the volume down.

Jesus Christ, Blake, he stammered.

Eventually, he managed to turn down the volume and selected one of the quieter west coast radio stations. He looked around to see his fellow picnickers staring at the noisy individual who had destroyed the tranquillity of this haven with that noise. Victor stared right back at them and smiled.

Go screw yourselves, he whispered through gritted teeth.

Victor Luzny was a slightly overweight, balding anglophile of distant Polish origin. He had developed a disdain for the rest of the human race during his years of failure. Despite being intelligent and assertive, Victor was aware that his inability to focus had cost him dearly over the years. His lack of discipline denied him the chance of a successful career. The sad truth was that Victor was easily bored. Coupled with a hatred of authority, this sentenced him to a lifetime of frustration and under-achievement. Until the day he answered an advert taped to a post office window and met Blake, the man sat in a log cabin behind the line of trees across the road.

Blake slung the black holdall off his back and onto the wooden dining table. Unzipping the holdall, he placed the contents on the table, a box of nails, a hammer, a bottle of Malbec and a gold chalice. Blake left what seemed to be towels and rags in the holdall and put it underneath the table. Taking his mobile phone from his pocket, he sat at the end of the table and examined his text messages. After finding nothing new to read, he sighed and slumped back into the wooden chair. Placing his hands behind his head he muttered, Veniet cito.

Nick Donato drove the car up the winding road towards the parking area of the log cabin. A Catholic priest of some years, Nick, who was now approaching middle age, could have done without this trip to a remote holiday area. He had no alternative, though, due to the personal nature of the call and the need to retrieve a family heirloom. David had rung him, apologising for the theft. David asked to meet the priest one last time, before returning the item to him and leaving to start a new life. Nick pulled the car into the parking area and donned an unusually long coat given the time of year and the heat of the day. Nick deemed it necessary, as the pockets were wide and accessible, making the concealment and retrieval of the handgun in the right side pocket easy. He crossed himself and climbed the steps to the cabin. Inside the cabin, Blake’s eyes sprang open and he grinned from ear to ear. Standing up, he leant on the table, tapping out a rhythm with his fingers whilst he waited for the man to reach the door.

Nick stood outside the cabin door his hand poised on the handle. The door opened and he was greeted by the sight of the bearded man, grinning from ear to ear.

Come in, Nick, he said. I’ve been waiting for you for a long, long time. You must have so many questions for me. I know I have for you.

What the hell? Who are you and where is David? asked Nick.

Blake gestured to Nick to take a seat.

Please. Sit down. I will explain it all. Look, the chalice is on the table. I have returned it to you, said Blake.

Nick sat down at the table, his hand resting on the gun in his pocket. Blake took a seat at the opposite end of the table and proceeded to pour himself a glass of wine.

Oh, I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Would you like to try the wine? Of course, you would. It’s been a long journey, hasn’t it? he said.

Nick looked around the room. The chalice he had came here for, sat in the middle of the table. The chalice had never been lost or damaged in two thousand years. It had survived fire, water, disaster and war, and yet it still looked new, uncannily new. Blake smiled and passed him the glass of wine.

Strange what folks use as the blood of Christ, smirked Blake.

I don’t know who you are. I came to see David. Where is he? asked Nick.

You don’t know me? Look deep inside yourself. I think you will find me there. I have travelled all the way from England just to see you. So please afford me a little of your time. It’s interesting that you are so concerned where David sends his apologies.

So where is he?

Do you actually care? asked Blake.I thought you had washed your hands of him. A recurring theme in your life story.

What? he asked.

You cannot be both men, can you, Nick? You cannot yearn for the love of other men but be a priest as well. Those are the rules. Your make-believe God says no and you deny what you are instead of embracing it, said Blake.

Blake stood up and walked around the table towards Nick. Nick’s hand tightened on the gun in his coat pocket.

It made it easy to persuade David to take the chalice. He felt unwanted and I needed a lure. Do you remember when you first received it? The day he died on the cross, more than two thousand years ago, said Blake. Of course you remember. You know who you are.

Who am I? asked Nick. I am intrigued.

You are the catalyst. I need your blood, said Blake.

Blake produced a knife from his pocket and stood up. Nick sprang to his feet, drawing the gun from his pocket and pointing it at Blake.

You crazy son of a bitch. Two thousand years ago? asked Nick. Well, I’m looking pretty good for my age then. I didn’t drive all the way here to get a lecture from some nut job on my personal relationships and beliefs. Give me the chalice and I’ll leave. Just thank God I haven’t blown your head off, said Nick.

Blake gazed briefly at the floor and then snarled. In a second, the handgun hurtled across the cabin floor and Blake pinned Nick to the table by his throat. Blake was quite deliberately choking the life out of Nick.

This is what slow death feels like, Nick. Crucifixion is a slow death. Now you know how it feels, said Blake.

Nick waved a hand, gesturing for Blake to stop. Blake released the coughing priest and helped him to a chair. As Nick regained his breath, Blake sat beside him.

I’m sorry about that, Nick. Please, don’t ever point a gun at me, he said. Tell me about the chalice and I will tell you why you are here.

Nick cleared his throat.

Okay. The chalice is a family heirloom, around two thousand years old. It’s said it was presented to Pontius Pilate by a Roman soldier, the day Christ died on the cross. The soldier received the chalice from a centurion who visited Christ. The inscription on the chalice is in Latin and says that the centurion will always know Pilate, whatever that means, said Nick.

Go on, said Blake.

Legend has it that the chalice can never be damaged or destroyed. It is also said that the chalice can only be handled for any length of time by Pilate, one of his descendants or the centurion himself. I know that people who have handled or cared for the chalice, who were not descendants of Pilate, became very ill, and in some cases died. That is as much as I can tell you. It would be in your best interest to give me back the chalice. The sickness curse is no myth, said Nick.

Blake stood up and started to walk around the table.

That’s very good, but it’s not all. The wording on the chalice says that the centurion will always know where and who Pilate is throughout eternity. Tell me who you really are, said Blake.

Nick sighed and threw his hands up in the air.

My name is Nicholas Donato. I am a priest, said Nick. Who, exactly, are you?

Man misconstrued the actions of Christ. He gave his life to prove that death is just another step in evolution. Unfortunately, man thought that it was Christ who was immortal. Man failed to appreciate that man himself was immortal. They missed the point. Why the façade, Nick? What have they promised? The second coming will not be what you think. Do you know who I am now? My evolution is different to anything else on this planet. They paint me as a figure of darkness. My only crime is to care. Think carefully about the company you keep and review your choices, said Blake.

This has gone on long enough, said Nick. Who the hell are you?

My name changes throughout the years but I remain the same, said Blake. The chalice was my gift. They called me Lucius.

Victor sat biting through the cheap beef sandwich that constituted his lunch and surveyed the scenery around him. What a brilliant place, he thought. He was surrounded by tall trees, singing birds, young families and meandering, rippling streams on a beautiful summer’s day. This was surely the best job in the world. Well except for the death and torture that popped up every now and again. Blake had said he would not hurt the priest. He just needed something from him. A small drop of blood might be spilt and that was it. To be honest, Blake was not the type to complicate things but he did have a temper. Victor hoped that the priest didn’t anger him in any way.

Hey young fella, sorry to interrupt, but could I get past you to empty that bin over there? said a man behind him.

Victor looked up and saw an old man with a grey cloth sack and a litter picking stick, looking at him. Victor realised he had his feet sprawled across a narrow footpath and the man was just being polite.

Oh! Sorry, said Victor. I didn’t realise you were there. I was lost in this place. It’s fantastic.

Yes. I have come here on and off for forty years now. I love it so much that I volunteered to help with the upkeep of it and keep it tidy, said the old man, smiling.

Here, let me pass you the bin. I’ll have done my bit too, then, smiled Victor.

Victor leapt to his feet, extracted the steel bin from its wire holder and passed it to the old man.

Here, he said, I am pleased to meet you, name’s Victor.

My name’s Earl, pleased to meet you too, son. said the old man, emptying the contents into the sack. Enjoy your day, he said and walked off towards the other tables.

Victor reached into the food bag for another sandwich but looked up when he heard Earl shouting towards him.

Hey, that’s okay fella. I’ll remember that and thanks for the tip. I’ll pop down the store and get me some tomorrow. You and Victor have a nice day now, you hear?

Earl turned away and walked off once again. Victor realised that Earl had been looking towards the empty space opposite him where he had laid the second plate. You and Victor? Victor waved his hand over the space that Earl had addressed, there was nothing there.

Hi. You must be Harvey the invisible rabbit; I’m Victor, sane bloke, said Victor, quietly.

Victor laughed to himself again. Nice bloke Earl, but completely crazy, thought Victor, before launching into the remaining sandwiches.

In the cabin, Nick looked in disbelief at Blake.

I understand that you might believe in every word you tell me, son, but these things you believe, are not real. You know this might be schizophrenia. Have you sought any help? Is there a doctor I can contact? I can give you a lift to a surgery or a hospital if you would like, said Nick.

Blake laughed.

I knew you would call me crazy. Still, I don’t blame you for that. You have to keep up the pretence of ignorance. Over time, I think you will come to see that your faith is misplaced. You use the cover of a religion based on dubious literature from thousands of years ago. A religion that was written by people you have never met and perpetuated by people with no rationale for it. Its followers have an acute gift for denial when it is brought into question. Still, I digress, time is pressing; onto the reason for our meeting.

Nick looked up at Blake. He was struck by the realisation of something disturbing.

I came here because I received a call from David, actually David. I spoke to him. Was it so easy to convince him to help you? asked Nick.

Blake raised an eyebrow.

A lover scorned, said Blake. You need to make sure that you are not rendered vulnerable by your personal life.

Did you pay him? said Nick.

Of course, said Blake.

Nick stood up and stared at Blake.

You pathetic excuse for a man, said Nick. Preying on the fragility of another to engineer this twisted meeting. I won’t stay here another minute.

Nick stood up and reached for the chalice.

Sit down! roared Blake.

The room grew darker and the cabin crackled with static electricity as Blake issued his command. Blake’s yellow eyes shone through the darkness. Nick sat back down.

You are Pontius Pilate. You have been missing from my sight for centuries but now I do know you again. You are Pilate; the physical form you hold is just a vessel. The chalice you and your family have kept safe over the years was a gift from me to you. At that time, I led a legion of not only men but also other species, evolved along the same lines as humans but developing other characteristics through a series of different choices, environments and events. After I left you the chalice, you thought it a personal insult and exiled my legion and me to another land to fight an impossible war against an unbeatable foe. We fought and settled in this land but my followers were persecuted because they were different. They were hunted and killed by one civilisation after another, a practice that still goes on today. It was impossible to live peacefully and keep my army and their offspring safe, so we split into different parts and spread across different lands. We destroyed the means to track each other and killed all communication to make it more difficult for our human enemies. I knew, however, that the day would come when my brother would return to reclaim the Earth. I need to switch the signal back on, bring the communications back online. I need the chalice. Do you know the proper name for the chalice, Nick? asked Blake.

Calicem sirenis, Nick replied.

The Chalice of the Siren. When the chalice receives the blood of Pontius Pilate, the lines of communication will be open again and the call will be raised. Lucius and the Forsaken will assemble an army once more. Now, if you please, a small droplet of blood will do, said Blake.

Blake produced the shiniest stiletto knife that Nick had ever seen. Nick sprang to his feet.

In God’s name, stop this madness. I won’t be a party to this insanity, cried Nick.

Blake looked at Nick and grinned.

Please yourself, said Blake.

Blake sailed across the room, puncturing the priest’s hand with the knife and forcing it over the chalice. The first drop of blood missed the chalice, falling onto the table, but the next drop of blood fell inside the chalice, landing with the noise of a sonic boom. The last thing Nick remembered before slipping into unconsciousness was the screaming, the sound of the chalice screaming.

Victor looked up at the sky.

Bloody hell, he muttered.

The storm clouds came from nowhere and the static electricity in the air