Afterworlds: The Book of Doom

The door to Zac’s bedroom was old and heavy. He closed it firmly and pushed his bookcase in front of it, just to make sure he wasn’t disturbed. He needed time to think, to figure out who the Monk was, and why he was trying to kill him.

He sat on the end of his bed, facing the window. The adrenaline that had been pumping through him for the past few hours was wearing off, and he could now feel all the cuts and bruises he’d earned on his way through Geneva’s front door.

A car. With a single punch, the Monk had flipped a moving car. It had to be a trick of some kind. It had to be. Like the birthmark on his hand, which had vanished again by the time he’d got home. Those things weren’t possible.

He looked through the window, along the leafy suburban street lit up orange by the glow of the streetlights. For a moment he thought he saw something glint on a roof at the other end of the street – a reflection of moonlight off a lens, maybe. He jumped up and quickly drew the curtains, suddenly unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched.

He was agitated. That was new. He never got agitated. Whatever the situation, he was a master at keeping his cool.

But a car. The Monk had flipped a car.

“Get a grip,” he told himself. “You’re being paranoid.”

He turned from the window. A figure in brown stood against the wall near the corner of the room.

“See, kid?” said the Monk. “Told ya I was stealthy.”

The roar of a gunshot echoed through the house.

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AC OPENED HIS eyes and instinctively grabbed for his stomach, where he expected the gunshot wound to be. He had felt the impact of the bullet hitting him. The brief but overwhelming agony as it had torn up his insides.

The last thing he remembered before the world went dark was the Monk’s voice, soft in his ear: “Don’t worry, kid, I’ll stick your body in the cupboard.”

And now...

And now...

Nothing. There was no pain. No blood. He hadn’t yet sat up, but he could tell he wasn’t in his bedroom, and he wasn’t in the cupboard, either. He was... somewhere else, lying on his back with something soft and fluffy below him.

“It’s awake,” said a gruff voice.

“He’s awake, Michael, please,” said another. It sounded friendlier than the first, but with the sort of upper-class lilt that Zac had never been keen on.

The smiling face of a youngish-looking man leaned over him. “Why, hello there,” the face said. “You must be Zac.”

Zac tried to leap to his feet, but the ground was squishy, like plumped-up pillows, and it took him longer than he would have liked. He stared, first at his surroundings – bright blue sky, fluffy white ground, with an imposing gate standing off to one side – and then at the two men he had heard talking.

They looked similar, and yet different, like twins whose lives had taken them down very different paths.

The one who’d spoken to him – the smiling one – was still smiling. He had long blond hair, hanging in curls down to his shoulders, and eyes that sparkled a brilliant shade of electric blue. He wore a long white... Zac hesitated to use the word dress, but he couldn’t think of a more appropriate one. It was plain in design, and reached all the way down to the floor. The sleeves looked to be a little on the long side, with gaping cuffs that hung several centimetres from the man’s wrists.

The other man – Michael, was it? – was facially very similar. Same blue eyes, same blond hair, but there the likeness ended.

Instead of a gown, Michael was dressed like a Roman soldier. He wore a tunic of red leather, decorated with golden trim. On top of this was a breastplate, also the colour of gold. It wasn’t real gold, Zac guessed, because real gold would make useless armour. It would be steel, painted to look like gold. Unless the wearer had no intention of actually using it in battle, of course.

A sword hung in its scabbard at Michael’s side. The first man appeared to carry no weapon, although he could’ve probably hidden a bazooka up those sleeves if he’d wanted to.

“Please don’t be alarmed,” he said. “My name is Gabriel. It’s a pleasure to—”

“What’s going on? Where’s the Monk? Where am I?”

“The Monk is on Earth,” said Gabriel. “You, on the other hand, are not.”

Zac’s gaze went between the two men. “What? What do you mean I’m not on Earth? What are you talking about?”

“I thought you said it was smart,” Michael grunted. “Doesn’t seem so smart to me.”

“Heis smart. He’s just a little... jet-lagged,” said Gabriel, not taking his eye off Zac, and not lowering that smile. “It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it, Zac? Take a moment. Look around, and then tell me where you are.”

For a long time, Zac kept watching Gabriel. The man’s voice, like his smile, was as insincere as a politician on the campaign trail. Despite Michael’s sword and demeanour, something about Gabriel made Zac suspect he was the one to watch out for.

“Go on,” Gabriel urged. “Look. See.”

Zac shifted his eyes to the left. The swirling mist that covered the ground stretched out in all directions, extending far beyond the limits of his vision. There were no hills, no buildings, just an endless plane of wispy white, and a dome of bright blue sky overhead.

Then there was the gate. It was, Zac realised, actually two gates, fastened together in the middle. They stood fifteen metres high, an elaborate tangle of silver and gold. There was no fence, just the gates themselves, standing proud and alone.

And a small desk. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but there it was, right at the foot of one of the gateposts. It was fashioned from dark oak, with faded gold-leaf gilding decorating the carved legs.

A rectangle of cardboard had been propped up on the desktop. On it, someone had written:

GONE TO LUNCH

BACK IN 20 MINS

“Well?” asked Gabriel, seamlessly shifting his smile from friendly to encouraging. “Any ideas?”

“I’m in a coma,” Zac said. “That’s the only explanation.”

Michael made a sound like the growl of a wild animal. “This is a waste of time.”

Gabriel’s smile faltered, just briefly. “No, you’re not in a coma, Zac. Would you like to try again?”

“Not really,” Zac said, with a shrug. “Because the only other explanation is that I’m dead, and this is Heaven.”

“Aha!” began Gabriel.

“And I don’t believe in Heaven.”

“Oh.” Gabriel’s smile fell away completely, but rallied well and came back wider than ever. “Well, believe in it or not, that’s exactly where you are. Or on the outskirts, at least.”

“The outskirts?”

“Yes. Heaven itself is beyond the gates. This –” he gestured around them – “is sort of the suburbs. Outer Heaven, if you will.”

“No,” said Zac. “It’s not. That isn’t possible.”