The Descent

We will beat  this ancient enemy.  We will loose our terrible  swift sword upon  the  forces of darkness. And we will prevail. In the name of God and freedom, we will.'

The  picture immediately switched  to  the  Press  Room  downstairs.  The  White  House spokesman and a Pentagon bull  stood  before  the  roomful  of  stunned  journalists.  Even in his fever,  Branch recognized General Sandwell, four stars  and  a  barrel  chest.  Son  of a bitch, he muttered  at the TV.

A woman from the LA Times  stood, shaken. 'We're at war?'

'There  has been no declaration of war,' the spokesman said.

'War with hell?' the Miami Herald asked.

'Not war.'

'But hell?'

'An upper lithospheric environment. An abyssal  region riddled with holes.'

General  Sandwell  shouldered  the  spokesman  aside.  'Forget  what  you  think  you know,'  he  told  them.  'It's  just  a  place.  But  without  light.  Without  a  sky.  Without  a moon.  Time  is  different  down  there.'  Sandy  always  had  been  a  showboat,  thought Branch.

'Have you sent reinforcements down?'

'For now, we are in a wait-and-see  mode. No one goes down.'

'Are we about to be invaded, General?'

'Negative.' He was firm. 'Every  entrance is secured.'

'But creatures,  General?' The  New  York  Times  reporter  seemed  affronted.  'Are  we talking  about  devils  with  pitchforks  and  pincers?  Do  the  enemy  have  hooves  and horns  on  their  heads  and  tails,  and  fly  on  wings?  How  would  you  describe  these monsters, sir?'

'That's  classified,'  Sandwell  spoke   into  the   mike.   But  he  was   pleased   with  the

'monsters' remark.  Already  the media was demonizing the enemy.  'Last question?'

'Do you believe  in Satan, General?'

'I believe  in winning.' The  general pushed the mike away.  He strode from the room. Branch  slid  in  and  out  of  fever  dreams.  A  kid  with  a  broken  leg  in  the  next  bed channel-surfed  endlessly.  All  night,  every   time   Branch  opened  his  eyes,   the   TV showed  a  different  state   of  surreality.   Day   came.  Local  news   anchors  had  been prepped.  They  knew  to  keep  the  hysteria  out  of  their  voices,  to  stick  with  the  script. We   have   very   little   information   at   this   time.   Please   stay   tuned   for   further information.  Please  remain  calm.  An  unbroken  stream  of  text  played  across  the bottom  of  the  TV  screen  listing  churches  and  synagogues   open  to  the   public.  A government  Web page was set  up to advise  families  of  the  missing  soldiers.  The  stock market  plunged. There  was an unholy mix of grief and terror  and grim exuberance. Survivors  began  trickling  upward.  Suddenly  the  military  hospitals  were  taking  in bloodied  soldiers  raving  childishly  about  beasts,  vampires,  ghouls,  gargoyles.  Lacking a  vocabulary  for  the  dark  monstrosity  below,  they  tapped  into  the  Bible  legends, horror  novels,  and  childhood  fantasies.  Chinese  soldiers  saw  dragons  and  Buddhist demons. Kids from Arkansas  saw Beelzebub and Alien.

Gravity  won  out  over  human  ritual.  In  the  days  following  the  great  decimation, there  was  simply  no  way  to  transport  all  the  bodies  up  to  the  surface  just  so  they could  be  lowered  six  feet  back  into  the  ground.  There  wasn't  even  time  to  dig  mass graves  in the cave  floors. Instead,  bodies were  piled into  side  tunnels  and  sealed  away with  plastic  explosives  and  the  armies  retreated.  The  few  funeral  services  with  an actual body featured  closed caskets,  screwed  shut  beneath  the  Stars  and  Stripes:  NOT TO BE VIEWED.

The  Federal  Emergency  Management  Agency  was  put  in  charge  of  civil  defense education.  Lacking   any   real   information  about   the   threat,   FEMA   dusted   off   its antiquated  literature  from  the  seventies  about  what  to  do  in  case  of  nuclear  attack, and handed it out to governors, mayors, and town councils. Turn  on your  radio.  Lay  in

a supply of food. Stock up on water.  Keep away  from windows. Stay  in your  basement. Pray.

Foreboding  emptied  grocery  stores  and  gun  shops.  As  the  sun  went  down  on  the second  night,  TV  crews  tracked  national  guardsmen  taking  up  lines  along  highways and  ringing  ghettos.  Detours  led  to  roadblocks  where  motorists  were  searched  and relieved  of  their  weapons  and  liquor.  Dusk  closed  in.  Police  and  military  helicopters prowled the skies, spotlighting potential trouble spots.

South  Central  Los  Angeles  went  up  first,  no  surprise  there.  Atlanta  was  next.  Fire and  looting.  Shootings.  Rape.  Mob  violence.  The  works.  Detroit  and  Houston.  Miami. Baltimore.  The  national  guard  watched  with  orders  to  contain  the  mobs  inside  their own neighborhoods, and not to interfere.