The Purging

Newborn God

CHAPTER 11

The destruction from the blast is catastrophic. A three mile radius has been ripped to shreds by the crackling wall of electrical energy. Every living thing caught in the bomb’s area of effect has been flash fried in place; everything with the singular exception of Sergeant Mohammed Rasheed. Considering what he was enduring however, death would have been a welcome alternative.

Laid out on the street, curled up in the fetal position, he convulses perpetually. Waves of current surge endlessly throughout him. Every inch of his body feels like a single pulsating raw nerve. It is as if his heart had been replaced by a kettle drum that was being beaten relentlessly by a hundred men at once. As much as he wanted to scream, his jaw felt welded shut, forcing him to suffer in tortured silence. What little of his brain function that remains is being used to pray to Allah to make it all stop.

Skies above churn and clouds slide apart. The dark blue tint above has returned, and each successive jolt he feels inside seems to darken it just that much more. Claps of thunder boom overhead and flashes of lightning stream across the horizon.

Bolts of lightning collide with Mo's body, one after another, after another. Each bolt makes him feel more himself, and the torture gradually subsides, giving way to a sensation of serene inner strength. Mo can't bring to mind a single moment in all of his life when he felt like this.

Any excitement he feels is squashed the moment he tries to inhale. A thick cloud of dust is falling over Detroit in the explosion's aftermath. Visibility is almost zero and trying to breathe in at all is a hazard to his health. Choking and sputtering, he crawls along the ground doing the best he can to cover his mouth. He is bound and determined to find his companions. A few feet away he stumbles over what's left of Vice President Mitchell.

The torso has been melted to the point of being totally unrecognizable. Were it not for the oversized canine teeth in the mouth, he would not have been able to identify it. Its eyes are gone, replaced by hollow scorched pits. His VIP is stone dead.

For the first time in his long military career, he’d failed completely. He curses at the top of his lungs and pounds his fist down on the ruined body. On contact, sparks flicker from his fingertips, causing the corpse to flop about like a fish on dry land. Mo pulls back quickly and studies his hand up close.

It is emitting a sustained low frequency hum and a faint halo of white light dances around it. Each digit seems to be resonating on a uniquely discernible wavelength. The veins in his palm are all clearly visible beneath the skin. He gazes mesmerized at an intricate web of incandescent lines that travel all the way up his arm. Intermittent sparks dance back and forth between his glowing fingertips.

Fascination gives way to panic as he feels his lungs rapidly filling to the brim with dust particles. He gets up and takes off running south, in an attempt to get out of the blast radius and hopefully, out of the cloud.

As he runs, he picks up momentum exponentially. It is almost as though he is moving forward without effort. He weaves between buildings and down side streets at incredible speed. His reaction time has become impossibly quick. The world stands still as he races past. In no time, Mo has cleared the cloud. He comes to a stop in an instant, sending a massive sonic boom ripping through the nearby structures.

Turning about, the sheer scope of the attack finally dawns on him. All that remains of what used to be the Motor City is a stack of crumbling edifices. The roaring fires across the skyline can barely be seen through the murky haze obscuring the horizon. He falls to his knees and pounds his fist into the street, shattering the pavement.

What was he supposed to do now? Why did Allah do this to his friends and his country? How the hell did he manage to survive the blast? Most importantly, what was happening to him? People aren’t supposed to shoot sparks from their fingers. None of what had happened over the past three days was possible. His ruminations are interrupted by a sequence of terrified shrieks.