The Tower: Part Four. Simon Toyne

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       53

      Sergeant Beddoes drummed his gloved fingers on the wheel of the cruiser. He was parked behind a billboard on the verge of the main road into town, waiting for speeding cars, not that he expected any today.

      The snow had taken everyone by surprise. They were used to it up here in the mountains, but not like this and not without warning. It had come down so fast that he hadn’t had time to put the snow chains on his car and twice now he’d nearly slid off the road. On top of that the world had gone crazy overnight. He’d been called out to a near riot at the Wal-Mart on the edge of town after people started panic-buying everything in the store. He’d gone in to help break it up and seen people who’d known each other all their lives, fighting over bottled water and canned food. He’d had to pull his gun at one point, but at least he hadn’t had to use it. He’d heard stories of full-scale riots in some of the bigger cities, police firing on civilians, law and order breaking down as the gas pumps ran dry and the stores ran out of food because the delivery trucks had stopped rolling. It had made him wonder if Reverend Parkes had been right and that judgement day was just around the corner.

      For the last few months the Reverend had preached nothing else, telling his small, devoted congregation how a new Tower of Babel had brought it all about and that demons were already walking the earth in the shape of men to cause chaos and inspire sin that they might be damned and claimed by Satan when the time came. He had told them to stockpile food, batteries and water – and he had been right. He had also talked to him in private, telling about the secret army that was in place, Christian soldiers drawn from every walk of life ready to fight the forces of evil when they came.

      ‘We can all fight for the Lord,’ the Reverend had said, ‘each of us in our own small way.’ And he had told Beddoes how he could help, using his position as a police officer to watch out for the signs and report them to those who would know their significance. Beddoes had nodded and agreed to do whatever the Reverend thought he should, though he didn’t quite understand how he could be of much use.

      Beddoes reached up and held the crucifix he kept on a chain round his neck along with the St Christopher his mother had given him when he first qualified as a patrolman. ‘To keep you safe and bring you home,’ she had said. He’d been thinking about home a lot lately, though home wasn’t the same now she had gone. The Church filled some of the gap left by her passing, but not all of it. Nothing ever could.

      A ping sounded on the dashboard. He looked up to find the LoJack receiver had activated but there was nothing on the road. There was a stolen car in the area, heading north by the looks of it. He grabbed his radio to call the dispatcher then paused. He pulled his glove off with his teeth and fumbled in his pocket for the prayer book the Reverend had given him to keep close by, a weapon in the coming war, and flipped to the back. There was an alphanumeric code next to a cell phone number. He compared it to the one on the display and felt his mouth go dry.

      They were the same.

      He took out his own personal phone and dialled the number written in the prayer book.

      Demons in human form – he thought, just as the line connected.