1

Leo

Beads of condensation were forming on the glasses of iced tea that I was sharing with Cameron "Buck" Williams of the Global Weekly. The esteemed reporter was actually in our house. About three weeks ago Raphael had saved Buck's life, and I had saved Raphael's, but the reporter didn't know that. It was Bruce Barnes that had introduced us, and neither Raphael nor I had felt the need to tell him that a sniper had tried to kill him. Tried, I think, because the Antichrist wasn't sure of his mind control over the reporter.

Summer at the end of the world. Only it wasn't, yet. The temple hadn't been built; the treaty hadn't been signed. That would mark the start of the Tribulation. That would be the opening chapter of the end of the world. But summer just the same, a hot, dry summer in a Chicago suburb, so different from New York City. The fan overhead at our kitchen table whirred constantly. I found myself staring up at huge clumps of dust and dirt. Later, I'd get up there to clean them.

Buck was reading a list I'd printed out for him, looking for patterns. He was a reporter, and he was good at it, and that is why Bruce had gotten us together. April and Don had found the list, and in normal times I'd go to Don to look for patterns. But Don had become more and more reclusive as of late, staying in his room and conducting experiments which he wasn't sharing with the rest of us. April might have been good for looking for patterns, but she was pulling 80 hours a week at Exetor, the think tank where she did the bulk of her work and research. Nobody in their right mind ever asked Raphael to look for such things. He was recovering nicely from the gunshot wound he'd taken to his leg, thanks to the nanite treatment that April and Don had made available to us, but our failed rescue of Casey was weighing on him, and he had plenty to grapple with as a new believer in Christ.

The reporter had sandy blonde curls, one of which was in his eye as he studied the list. He put it down and looked up at me. When we'd first met, Buck had wanted to know everything about us. His reporter's instincts had dug the entire story out of me. I hadn't minded telling it. I had gotten the sense that what drove Buck was a need to know, and once that was accomplished, he was satisfied.

"Leo, I'm not sure that you're going to believe my theory on this list, but I've isolated some things. My name's on it. Chaim Rosensweig. Your friend Casey Jones. April's name is on it. Bruce's. Raphael's name is on it. Your name is on it. Other names. I think this list is a list of people that could be significant in the upcoming war for souls. Some are already believers. Some are already dead. I think in one way or another the Antichrist has taken an interest in the lives of each and every one of these people. They may be getting job offers and too good to be true deals like your pal Casey did. They might be getting a bullet to the head."

"I don't mind telling you it worries me that he knew about us before any of this ever started," I told Buck. He nodded his grim agreement, and I leaned back. I picked up a pencil and started tapping it on the sheaf of paper, which was thick enough to do for a novel when all printed out. Thicker.

Weeks ago I had decided that I was not just going to sit back while God and Satan warred for the souls of the undecided on this Earth. Raphael, for once, had agreed with me. The worst 7 years of Earth's history was coming. It wasn't enough for me to try to win the souls of just Don and April and Casey. Those in our immediate circle. I felt we had to do something, to use our talents to fight evil – just as we always had. This list, I'd felt, was key. I still felt that way.

"I'm going to isolate this down to Chicago," I said at last. "We've always been local workers, my brothers and I. We're not going to get involved in international events like you, Buck. But there's going to be plenty to do." I'd acquired a Blackberry – one of April's old ones, and I had a copy of the database there. I executed the command and slid it over April's lacy tablecloth towards Buck. "Do you have any idea where we might start?"
Buck Williams scrolled through the list of names, then landed on one. "This one. Professor Desmona Stryfe. She's a professor of comparative religion at University of Illinois that's big in scholarly circles. She's releasing a new book three days from now about end time prophecies across several traditions. Her conclusions could support either the Antichrist's goals or God's – I don't know which. But I guess that's kind of the point."

"I guess so. Thank you, Buck."

He shook my hand and smiled. "And now…I gotta get going. I've got a story to follow."

I saw him to the door. The house seemed so empty. I heard Don swearing loudly through the vent though once Buck was safely outside and in his car. I grimaced. It was no longer Raph that I'd have to convince to do anything. In the New World Order, Raph was in my corner. We had achieved an equality where we balanced each other out, and were making an incredible team. No, in the New World Order, it was Don that was constantly at odds with both of us. Don that would have to be convinced.

Going to Raphael would only make Don feel ganged up on, so I sprinted up the stairs and knocked on Don's door myself. Raphael would help me plan whether Don was going or not, but I wanted my brother there. We were a team. We'd always been a team. Even without Mikey, I desperately wanted us to stay a team. Especially without Mikey, who had been taken in the Rapture. Mikey and Splinter, gone to God.

"Don? Can I come in?"

"Just a second!" I heard lots of stuff shuffling and moving in there. Whatever else was going on in there, Don was doing something he didn't want Raph or me to know about.

It was scaring me.

It was scaring me a lot.