Free Demon Gate: Beyond the 9th Circle: The Rapture Was Just The Beginning. by Joel Heath Page B

horrified apprehension took over as he read
another article in the paper. “Reports of portals in
Paris, France; Tokyo, Japan; London, England
and Moscow, Russia.” “They’re everywhere, in
every country, on every continent and every
major city around the globe.” Spencer mumbled.
He got back into his car and drove to the west
end of town.
He started looking for a place to stay the
night and happened to come to the city cemetery
at the west end. Hallowed ground. Maybe it
might offer some protection. Spencer pulled into
the cemetery grounds and parked near the center
of the graveyard. He soon fell asleep. He hadn’t
slept well since fleeing his home, and the added
exhaustion of guilt from being forced to leave
Gretchen wiped him out. It was a deep and
immediate sleep.
Some time in the night a face appeared in
front of him, the face of a girl. “Why did you
leave me behind?” Gretchen asked.
“Gretchen?” Spencer asked. “I’m sorry.”
“Why did you leave me behind?”
Gretchen repeated. She spoke a third time but
with a growl before transforming into a demon,
dark and vicious with eyes as dark as the deepest
levels of hell. The demon paused for split second
before lunging, jaws gaping open and snarling.
Spencer woke up screaming. Then,
realizing that he was just having a nightmare, he
managed to calm himself down. It was not yet
light out, but Spencer figured that the safe zone
was only hours away so he started his car and
drove away. He wouldn’t get back to sleep for
hours, so he may as well travel on.
Leaving the city of Winslow behind him,
he turned his attention to Flagstaff, which was
the path to Prescott and a veritable army of allies
that had survived the onslaught. Or so he hoped.
For more than an hour Spencer drove in silence,
not that he had any other choice. He switched on
the radio hoping to hear an emergency beacon,
something to indicate he wasn’t alone. There
wasn’t much more than silence with the
occasional static burst. The static bursts
continued to grow in frequency never more than
one every twenty five minutes.
Getting to Flagstaff, Spencer turned south
onto I-17 which continued south for another
fifteen miles to state road 169. Smoke on the
horizon left Spencer with a feeling of dread. It
hung in the air like a thick fog. As state road 169
turned into state road 69, the thickening smoke
turned the feeling of dread into a rising panic. A
sign indicating Gurley Street passed on his right
and the city of Prescott fell into view under a
wall of black smoke. Thousands of human bodies
littered the streets; none appeared to be battle
ready. Every last one of them was a civilian that
had been dead for at least two days.
“What the hell?” Spencer began in
disbelief. “Where’s the resistance?” A thought
crossed Spencer’s mind; it was Gretchen’s
question from when they were outside Dallas,
Texas. Spencer felt the need to arm himself with
more than the P-90 that was sitting in the back
seat. The grenade launcher in the trunk offered
the best protection. It was easy enough to load
and arm the weapon.
“HELLO?” Spencer shouted. He guessed
that everybody was dead, but was not willing to
abandon the hope that he was not alone. After
three hours of searching and screaming for
someone, anyone, all he could hear was the
sound of his own voice echoing through the
derelict town of Prescott.
It was noon when Spencer decided to
leave and head back to Flagstaff. His plan would
take him to Vegas; maybe there was something
there he could use for his own protection.
Leaving Prescott behind he headed back to I-17.
As he merged back onto I-17 he saw
something in his rearview
mirror. It looked like someone dressed in an offwhite cloak. The figure’s face was concealed in
the shadows of the hood. In their hand was a type
of weapon, a sword; the blade was about three
feet long, sharp and smooth. Light reflected off
the silvery blade, the ivory white hilt was held
firm in his right hand.
Spencer slammed