"What more does a man need to fight hordes of Hell Spawn than a posse of fallen souls from from Purgatory looking to redeem themselves? How about a pair of werehounds name Lucifer and Lilith for starters? Join all of them in Josh Matthews' fast-paced supernatural thriller Rise of the Sataners: Book Three of the Hell Gate Saga as they try to close the remaining portals to Hell before the world plummets into eternal darkness. Like a black hole, this book sucks you in and doesn't let go!" -- Mark Reefe, author of The Road to Jericho and El Sendero
"Jason has a team truly forged in fire. Thoughts echoed in abandoned, empty streets. Too empty. Here, battles are not fought merely with blade and gun, but between heart and mind. Allies will come, friends return, and enemies slink from their master's side. The Seamstress isn't in China for the Haute Couture." -- Nikki Collins-Mewha, author of Widow of the Empyrean
Chapter One
In a Small village, twenty-five miles north of Changchun, Jilin Province, China. The day after the closure of the Hell Gate in Siberia.
Little Ah remembered the
times before the shìjiè mòri, the End
of Days. Being five years old, she did not recall much, only the important things
like watching television, playing with her toys, meeting her friends in
pre-school, sleeping in a warm bed, and always having enough to eat. It had
been over a year since the electricity went out, and ten months since her parents
had abandoned their apartment in Changchun and headed into the country in
search of food. By now, Ah had grown accustomed to sleeping on the ground under
a worn and dirty blanket, living inside of a tent that only partially kept out
the rain and the cold, and eating whatever scraps the villagers could scrounge.
She did not enjoy her new life; she had become used to it. She missed her
favorite cartoons, her soft mattress, and hot meals at the table with her
family. Most of all, she missed those times when her parents were happy.
Although Ah’s mother remained cheerful during the day, she cried at night when
she thought her daughter had fallen asleep. Her father acted the same way,
always pleasant and rubbing Ah’s hair, telling her things might be bad now but
would soon improve. Ah grinned and nodded to make her father feel good. Deep
down she knew things would not get better. She could see the fear and worry in
his eyes, and she decided to make the best of the situation so as not to upset
her parents. Her old life was gone, and nothing would ever be the same again.
Ah pulled the smelly blanket under her chin and
rested her head on the backpack she used as a pillow. She had kept only one connection
to those happier, earlier times—Ling Ling, a stuffed panda, the only possession
her parents allowed her to bring when they left home. Ling Ling had seen better
days. One of her eyes had fallen out, and the white fur had become so dirty it
blended with the black. Ah treasured the stuffed panda because it comforted her
through the uncertainty. She confided in it when she did not want to bother her
mother or father. She cried on it when sad, or clutched it tight when afraid,
both of which happened much more frequently than she cared to admit. Ah kissed
the top of Ling Ling’s head before going to sleep. She would rather die than
leave her panda behind.
A loud commotion outside the tent woke up Ah. She
sat upright, clutching the stuffed animal to her chest. Yelling came from
around the campsite, and people raced back and forth. In the distance, she
heard galloping horses, the noise becoming more intense with each passing
second. Someone barked an order about defending the perimeter. Gunfire erupted.
It lasted for several minutes and mixed with screams. Then, as suddenly as the uproar
began, everything went quiet except for the sound of running footsteps
approaching the tent. Ah tried to remain brave, yet her body shivered with fear.
The flap flew aside as Ah’s mother raced into the
tent and rushed over to her. “We have to get going.”
“Where?”
“Don’t ask questions.” Her mother’s voice wavered.
She grabbed Ah by her left wrist and yanked her toward the exit. Ah dropped
Ling Ling. Breaking free from her mother, the child ran back and picked up the
stuffed panda.
“Hurry up,” her mother snapped.
Ah hugged Ling Ling and joined her mother. Before
they could exit, a man carrying a large gun used the barrel to push aside the
flap and entered. He wore a uniform Ah recognized as belonging to the People’s
Liberation Army, or PLA. Her mother gasped and stepped back, dragging Ah with
her. She wrapped her arms around her daughter and cried. “Please don’t hurt
us.”
The soldier stared at them, his face
expressionless. He waved for someone to join them. Ah’s mother gripped her
tight and sobbed.
A young woman entered the tent. She wore civilian clothes—leather pants, a white shirt, and
a tan leather jacket, none of which were soiled or tattered. Her raven black
hair hung past her shoulders, clean and well groomed. She stood five and a half
feet in height and did not have that emaciated appearance the others in camp
did. Her deep brown eyes switched between Ah and her mother. After a few
seconds, the woman smiled. “My name is Mei. Please, don’t be afraid. We’re here
to help you.”
“You shot at us,” growled Ah’s mother.
“Your people shot first.” Mei’s pleasant demeanor
did not falter. “We defended ourselves. Now please, gather your belongings and
follow me.”
“Suppose we want to stay here?”
“I’m sorry. We can’t allow anyone to stay behind.”
When Ah’s mother refused to budge, Mei moved
across the tent and squatted in front of the child. “What’s your name?”
“Ah.” She embraced the stuffed panda.
“That’s a beautiful name.” Mei reached out. Ah’s mother
held her close, but Mei showed no interest in the child. She petted the panda’s
head. “What’s her name?”
“Ling Ling.”
“Do you trust me, Ah? Do you think I intend to
hurt you or your mother?”
For some reason, Ah did not feel threatened by
this woman. Maybe it was Mei’s joyful expression, or the glint in her eyes that
promised her intentions were in everyone’s best interest. Ah swallowed hard. “I
trust you.”
“Good.” Mei patted the stuffed animal on its head.
“Do you and Ling Ling want to come with me?”
Ah glanced up at her mother. “Can we go with her?”
Her mother trembled, and, for a moment, Ah thought
she might cry. Finally, she gave in to the inevitable. “Promise me you won’t
harm my daughter.”
“I promise,” Mei said with sincerity.
Taking Ah by the right hand, her mother headed for
the exit. Mei and the PLA soldier moved aside, each holding up one end of the
flap. Once outside, they followed Mei to a clearing on the western perimeter.
Most of the people from the camp were present, while a group she did not know,
each carrying a gun, stood on either side of them. Ah searched for her father and
could not find him. She wondered if he lay among the bodies scattered around
the field. Before she could ask her mother, something in front of them caught
her attention.
Three horses approached the camp, one in front and
two slightly to the rear and on each flank. The figures riding the rearmost
horses wore black hooded cloaks that covered their hands and extended below the
stirrups. They bowed forward in their saddles so that the hoods draped over
their faces. The rider of the lead horse wore a similar, crimson cloak. The
last two horses halted thirty feet from the group. The animals shook their
heads and stamped their hooves; the drivers remained motionless. The first horse
continued ahead and stopped directly in front of Ah. As the rider dismounted
and approached, Ah tried to view under the cloak, yet the features remained hidden
in the shadows. Mei spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Bai, our leader.
She will take you to the Promised Land. All you have to do is trust her, as we
do.”
A flurry of questions followed Mei’s statement as
those in the group asked at once where they were going, how long it would take,
and what they could expect when they arrived. Mei calmed them down. “Please,
all your questions will be answered in due time.”
“Are you going to hurt us?” asked Ah.
“We’re going to save you.”
“Save us from what?” asked Ah’s mother.
“From all of this.” Mei gestured toward the campsite.
“We’re going to save you from discomfort and starvation, and from the Xiongnu. The world as we knew it has
come to an end. Things will never return to what they used to be. We’re creating
a new way of life, and we’re giving you the opportunity to join us and make
this world a better place. You can stay here if you want, cuddling in fear and
living like vermin. Or you can come with us and have a purpose.”
Ah stepped forward. “Is Ling Ling invited?”
Mei began to speak. Bai raised her right hand,
cutting off the woman. Ah caught a glimpse of Bai’s fingers and shuddered. She
wanted to run away. Then Bai spoke, her voice soft and reassuring, mesmerizing and
unsettling at the same time. “Who is Ling Ling, my child?”
Ah held up the stuffed panda.
Bai reached out and rubbed her forefinger along
Ah’s cheek. This time the child did not flinch. “Everyone is welcome into this
new realm.”
Ah hugged her panda.
Bai remounted her horse, turned it around, and
headed back the way she had come. As she passed the other two horses, they fell
in line behind her. Mei motioned for the rest to move along. Ah surged forward,
dragging along her mother. One by one, the others followed until the entire
camp marched toward their new destiny.
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