“But God loves us.” Bruce was louder now. “I believe in God. So I believe He’ll come back for us.”

Wiley knew where Bruce was coming from. Fear was taking over. “Bruce, we’ve battled God and His people for too long. We had our chance. We didn’t want to be amber people.” They were empty words. Had he forgotten what happened in the little police shop. He was an amber person.

Pastor Gil gave a puzzled look.

“I agree, Wiley. God could have come into my life at any time, but He chose not to,” Bruce said.

“So it’s God’s fault?” Wiley asked.

“Yes.”

A loud roar shook the house. They all looked to the ceiling as another roar came, followed by a high-pitched whine. Thunder? No. The higher pitch and shaking of the house suggested fighter jets. Military. What were they doing out this way?

“Military planes, I’d say.” Bruce reached out and steadied a vase on a nearby table.

They all nodded with blank looks.

Bruce took a seat near the table. “So, pastor, why didn’t God come into my life?”

Pastor Gil paused, looking sideways as if expecting a bomb to drop. “It was all about us and our terms. We told God what to do instead of doing what he wanted. He wanted obedient people up there.” He pointed to the ceiling. “To put it bluntly, I used God. I taught from His book without understanding it. I did it because it was a job and it paid well. And it was vanity. People would do anything for me. They would come up to me after a service, telling me how great it was, how much they got out of the message. They’d send my wife and I away on holidays, air fares and accommodation all paid for. Great job, hey?”

Some people had all the luck.

“Ego. My ego took over. I should’ve known. There’s a darkness out there that we’re happy to embrace. It’s sneaky, covert, shadowy. I don’t think I understood sin and repentance until now.”

As Pastor Gil spoke Wiley sensed a heaviness in the air. The thunder and roaring jets added to it. The heaviness had settled over the land. The bad thoughts were coming, the dark whispers that used to control his life. They were back.

“You know, I’ve always believed man needed God. Without God’s influence, we would destroy His creation. I think He’s been patient, very patient. We can’t argue with Him. He gave us a chance, and we blew it. I blew it.” The pastor bowed his head as if in prayer.

Wiley understood. He’d blown it too. So had the others. He looked around the room, at their nervous expressions, avoiding eye contact. They all knew. The door of the ark had been sealed. God was honouring their decision to reject his offer.

A thunderclap shook the whole house. The lights flickered and went out. Bruce yelled a command to his voice-activated system, but nothing happened. Lightning flashed outside lighting up the deck. There was no sign of Sarge.

Their phones became their lights.

“I have auxiliary power,” Bruce said. “Not sure why it hasn’t kicked in. I’ll go and switch it on manually.” There was nervousness in his voice. He looked at Wiley. “Best you come with me. I may need you to hold the torch.” He pointed to the phone.

Wiley moved to follow Bruce, then heard a sound resembling a gunshot. He stopped and cranked his head towards the outside.

“Thunder.” Bruce urged Wiley on.

They entered a stairwell and headed down to the basement. Bruce opened a door, and Wiley could make out the shadow of a piece of machinery in a far corner. He shone his phone torch in that direction. The beam of the light passed over a rat bait station. Goosebumps appeared on his arms. He rubbed them away.  

“Rats,” Bruce said.

Wiley tensed.

“Rats,” Bruce repeated. “They’ve eaten through the wires. Need to get some tools.” He indicated the stairs.

There was another shot. This definitely wasn’t thunder.

Wiley gestured to Bruce to turn off the phone torch. Darkness. Bruce’s breathing was heavy. A cool soft breeze passed, seeking a way out. The door to the deck must be open. Wiley pressed his body against the wall and silently worked his way up the steps. Bruce followed.

He reached the top and cautiously peered into the gloomy room. A large sheet of lightning flashed, showing a figure lurched over a body on the floor. Darkness returned, and the person fumbled around, as if looking for something. They found what they were after and light shone from their phone. Pastor Gil was on the floor, moaning, his arm tucked to his side. The person—a man—leaned beside a puddle forming on the floor. Blood.

“Where is my wife? What have you done with her?” The man yelled. “And we trusted you.” He hit him across the face, stood, and pointed the pistol at the pastor. “I’ve been following you, hoping you’d lead me to my wife. Where is she?”

Wiley started to move forward but Bruce restrained him.

“Now you’ve made me go and kill someone. The man on the deck. He had a pistol.” The man held up the pistol. “This pistol.” He shook his head. “I thought it was you. I jumped him, got the pistol, and boy was I angry. It was like something took possession of me. So I pulled the trigger, but it wasn’t you. You made me do it.” He looked around the room. “Or something made me do it.”

Without another word the crazed man pointed the pistol at the pastor, fired, then turned it on himself and fired again. The thump of the men hitting the floor vibrated down the stairwell. Wiley and Bruce charged into the room, and into a dark and heavy atmosphere. Their phone torches scanned the scene. Wiley had never seen anything like it. Both bodies had taken what looked like fatal hits. Bruce leaned next to the pastor, his life ebbing away.

Wiley ran to the deck, where Sarge lay. Wiley checked but Sarge looked gone. He was no more. Wiley wondered about death. His dad tried to describe it once, but it didn’t make sense. He talked about sounds like the tossing of the sea, the tumbling of waves. Heat. Being thirsty. No peace. Why had he been so stupid, so stubborn? Bit late to be thinking of such things.

Sounds. Wiley raised his head. There were other people in the backyard. They needed to get out. He ran inside.

Bruce stood, frozen in shock. Wiley picked up the pistol from the floor and yanked Bruce’s arm. “We need to get out of here. There are people outside, and they don’t look like they’re coming to party.”

Shadows moved on the deck, in the direction of the garage. Bruce picked up his tablet device, viewed the security CCTV, and pointed to the front door. He gestured for Wiley to follow him. They scooted along the front hedge to the garage. Bruce patted his pockets and shook his head. No keys.

Something black and metal shot past, high in the grey night sky. Then the roar came.

What was happening?

Bruce led them onto the footpath and down the path to the beach.

“Wiley. Look.”

Wiley pulled himself out of his bleak thought pattern and looked to where Bruce was pointing.

Now he understood the presence of those fighter jets.

* * *

Darkness was advancing fast. Lightning flashed on the horizon against a dark storm cloud. Wiley stood on the beach with Bruce, watching events unfold. Some distance out, a ship was on fire, its searchlights still beaming into the sky, searching out the enemy. Smoke filtered up, mixing with the dark clouds above. The noise of a sole jet fighter could be heard above the wash of the waves.

There was a dark object to Wiley’s right, out where the waves were breaking—a dolphin or other large ocean creature, perhaps.

“Bruce, look.” He pointed. The creature caught a breaking wave and rode it close to shore, then tried to stand up. After a few attempts the creature found its balance and headed towards the beach, dragging what looked like a small raft. It was a pilot.

Wiley and Bruce rushed over to assist.

“You okay, mate?” Bruce asked.

The pilot let go of his raft and caught his breath. “Best ocean in the world to end up in. It’s warm.” He rubbed his shoulders and moved them from side to side. “There’ll be some bruising there, but nothing is broken. Lucky. We don’t look forward to ejecting.” He headed up towards the sand and sat down.

Others had now gathered around.