Prologue

2020

2020 is as rough as it got for years in a long time. Race relations in the public eye had unwinded like loose threads. A pandemic ravaged the globe, executing those who didn't take it serious and terrorizing those who did. Economies tightroped the line of booming and total collapse. And to cap it all off, natural disasters felt free to do as they felt. The year was rough on most everyone, no matter the demographic. But still everyone looked to next year with optimism.

It can't get any worse. This is rock bottom.

Well little did we know, these were warnings. 2020 was a whole year of doomsday preppers. One last chance to get our mess together as a species. And arrogant as we were, we only took the year as an anomaly instead of a message.

2021

This was probably the first New Years many people spent in quarantine. Vaccines were still undergoing testing and the copyright process. Good old caring big pharma.

Some people had small gatherings. Very few had legitimate parties, they were technically illegal. Most decided to bask in their seclusion. They were used to it by now.

Time Square was no where near as jam packed as normal. Coverage of the ball drop was on as background noise for many. Obviously a tradition, but it was the one thing controllable in a year of uncontrollable events.

5...4...3...2...1

And that's when the screen went blank. Then a bright blinding light filled home across the globe. Whether your television was originally on or not, whether you were originally watching the ball drop or not. All the televisions were on one accord.

When the light finally died down a figure stood where the ball would've descended. It was a man, 6' 7" in height. His olive tone skinned look at those it was chiseled from marble. Clean shaven beard, all nails clipped equally. Pure white sweats and a white vest were his attire. His hair shared their color as it flowed in the windy winter New York City air. Any woman would deem this being as an Adonis. But his features were the least captivating thing about him. On his back were two huge condor wings, at least a nine foot wing span.

The winged man stared down at the New Yorkers as if they were peasants, as if physically was not the only way they were beneath him. Then he looked directly into the camera. All of them felt as though he was looking directly at them, peering into the depths of their souls. When he spoke EVERYONE heard him. From those in the audience to those in their homes. From those who were deaf to those not near a television. All heard his words.

Hear me and hear me well sinners. I am one of God's children. Not like you all whom have strayed from his path and grace. But just because you have strayed the lord's path and mercy, does not mean you have escaped his all seeing watchful eye. My father gave his son, his first true son, so that you may all live a blessed life. You have sullied my father's gift. You have been unappreciative and he has taken notice.

Everyone watched and listened shocked, speechless. It was almost spell like the way they were entranced into silence. The people of earth hung on every word.

Even though he has seen how rotten his once most prized creations have become, he still lives up to his title of being ever so merciful. He has sent me, Hezekiah, to deliver this message. He will not automatically damn you, albeit you are all deserving of it. But just know, his patience and mercy have wore thin. Your protection under his blessings are over. Your limitless second chances are over. Your moment of repentance are over. You are on your own and will suffer as deserved. Hear me and hear me clear. And never forget this day.

The angel that introduced himself as, Hezekiah, glared at humanity in silence. Then with a thunderous clap of his hands, there was a blinding light. Winds rushed through the world like a herd of wild stallions. And as quickly as he appeared, did he disappear.

Time seemed to reset itself. Everyone and everything was back as it was in the moments before Hezekiah made his presence known. The lit televisions sang in unison.

5...4...3...2...1...HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Somewhere in Brooklyn, New York, a five year old boy shivered. Not from a chill in the house but he did feel a chill in his spine. His mother walked in and wished her son a happy new year. She hugged him tight and kissed him. He feigned the emotion of the gesture back, but what he experienced wouldn't settle in the back on his mind.

What was that? Did mommy not see? Did I imagine it?

Chapter 1

2043

The wind was calm but the air was painfully crisp. This early before sun rise, wildlife hadn't even really gotten up yet. The woods were so quiet, it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility to hear the snow fall. All was quiet, save the sound of dragging.

The back hooves of a huge deer were dragging through the deep snow. The rest of the deer rode the back of a man bundled up as much as he possibly could be. Heavy but fitted winter coat, ski pants, fur boots, a ski mask, and a skully over it. All black. The 6'1 man trudged along with the deer.

Took a little longer than I thought, but my folks should be ok.

Although the man was clearly in shape, his every ached. Catches this big were rare and the walk was long. Each breath felt like needles probing his lungs. He always tried to be grateful no matter the haul, but these 8 mile trek homes were demanding.

Finally he reached his destination. It was an old abandoned post office. The bricks the formed it looked beyond weathered. The windows, all broken, had been boarded up. He pushed the tarp for the door aside and dragged the deer in after him. Once inside he dropped it as he shrugged the feeling of all that weight from his shoulders. He quickly bowed his head and offered thanks for a safe journey. This relief of safety and weightless shoulders was also met by the heat of a warm fire, but it was nothing compared to the relief from the smile of his mother.

She was a short woman who's age showed, looking as weathered as the bricks that offered them shelter. What was once a rich mocca tone was a pale tan. Wrinkles gave her the delicate appearance of cracked glass, still holding together, but ever so fragile. Her hands shook as she stirred the pot over the flames. But no matter how old she seemed, her smile gave off the radiance of spring time youth. James always appreciated coming home to that smile. It made everything worth it.

"How you feeling today ma?", Jason asked with a winded breath.

"Oh you know I'm happy as long as we're all alive praise be the most high!", she responded. "You're a little late today, but I can see why". She chuckled and she gestured her chin towards the carcass.

"Yeah forget how big he was, I had to go pretty deep to track him". Jason's mother pursed her lips. Concern covered her face.

"If the food keeps moving further and further out, it might be time for us to relocate. We'll discuss with your father and brother when they get back"

"Well, it's no rush either way. Bucko over here should last us a little bit". Jason crouched by the fire, grateful that the warmth embraced him. Sometimes it felt as though the heat missed him as much as he missed it.

"You notice anything since we been gone?", Jason asked.

"No change"

"Hmmm okay, but I'll look around just incase". Jason got up then thought better of it.

"Had your fill of walking today", Jason's mother laughed.

"For a lifetime to be honest".

Jason took off his mask. His sandy curls briefly danced, almost as if elated to finally be free. He was brown like hot chocolate mix and the flames reflected in his deep hazel eyes.

"Ma, I know Michigan is home, but we gotta find someplace warmer. Winters ain't good for you, especially these harsh winters".

"I mean", she started, "we can talk to your father about that, but I'm not sure to be honest. We just don't know what is out there".

Jason knew she was right. She always said the devil you know is better than the devil you don't, but he hated living like this. He hated seeing his parents get battered by Michigan winters. But he did know that here all he had to worry about was wildlife predators. That was much more appealing to the alternative...

Jason's mother gave him some leftover Hare, the last of their pervious catch. He was the only one who hadn't eaten yet. Jason removed his thick winter gloves. He put the small meal to his head and bowed his head. He muttered a prayer his grace. Once Jason lifted his head again, he inhaled the little bit of remaining meat. He didn't have to savor this meal, after all look what he'd brought home.

"Oh and Jason", his mother called as she prepared to ready his most recent catch, "don't forget to set things up outside". Jason grunted in agreement. He didn't particularly enjoy any of the things he HAD to do, but they had to be done. It was either that or risk things greater than death. He finished up and carried the bone outside to toss.

Once again donning his full winter attire, Jason walked out of the warmth of the post apocalyptic post office. His body shivered in protest. He pushed the thoughts of cold to the back of his mind. He walked about two blocks forward. There he saw a wooden cross. It was about 4 feet tall, dug into the winter ground. It was very weathered but that wasn't anything new. These elements will do that to you. It was a little slighted, but he put it back up right. He put his right hand over it and bowed his head. He muttered a quick prayer. All of this had become routine. He would have to do this 3 more times at houses that would create about a 2 block square radius around the post office that he and his family called home.

As Jason walked to the next spot, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Instinctively he crouched ever so slightly. He could feel he wasn't alone. He could feel eyes on him. His eyes carefully took in the land. The sun was out, but it reflecting off the snow was almost as blinding as if it were pitch black. Slowly he turned.

A twig snapped and Jason snapped in that direction ready to act, but nothing. All was quiet. All was still. Then from his left.

"JASON!"

Jason turned, face going as pale as his mother's. It was his little brother, Chase, he seen running at him. His brother favored their father more so than he did. They shared their shady hair color that Chase refused to cover no matter what. Between infrequent meals and a 15 year olds metabolism, Chase was super slim. He was bundled up much like his brother, but in all white and his eyes were the crimson of his father. Today that crimson was a little diluted.

Jason's heart stopped racing for a second, but only for a second. It was tears that diluted that crimson. The realization that his brother was alone hit him. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders. But before he could even ask what happened, a shadow jumped from the trees at the pair.