Metacognition equals sentience. It is what separates men from beasts. If the universe, like any living thing, is the sum of its parts working together, could it not also be metacognitive? If so, mentalists are the universe's expression of its own sentience—its attempt to understand its own nature. Not only are mentalists part of everything around them, everything is part of them. The way they interpret these experiences is as close as we can ever come to God's impression of this world. – Dr. Richard Yollard, Chairman of the advisory committee for the Department of Surveillance and Supervision of Afflicted (DSSA), “On the Origin of Afflicted” (Subject to Restricted Ownership under the Safety Act)

  Prologue

  Six years ago

  “I’m not going to lie to Dad about where you’ve been, Ezekiel,” Samuel said. He sounded calm, but he had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. “What’s gotten into you? Did you go to a party or something? Was it … are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “I’m not in trouble,” Ezekiel said. “I just ran out of money.” He resisted the urge to pat the inner pocket of his vest where he’d stashed a bottle of antibiotics. If Samuel found those, this whole trip would have been for nothing. “Don’t worry, I’m not doing drugs or picking up wild women.”

  “Don’t mouth off to me,” Samuel snapped.

  “I’m sorry,” Ezekiel said. Samuel was sixteen years older than him, and more like an uncle than an older brother. “I don’t expect you to lie, I was just hoping that … you know, you wouldn’t mention it to him right away.”

  Samuel’s mouth tightened. “A lie of omission …”

  “Is still a lie in the eyes of God,” Ezekiel said. “I know, I know.”

  “Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the lord thy God giveth thee,” Samuel said. “You know this. You just preached a sermon on it last month.”

  Ezekiel was struck by how much his older brother looked like their father. Unlike Ezekiel and the rest of their siblings, who had inherited many of their mother’s Native American features, Sam Junior had gotten their father’s dirty-blonde mane and blue eyes.

  The resemblance didn’t end there. Sam shared their father’s mannerisms, voice, and ideas, including the belief that turning to medicine showed a lack of faith in God.

  “We should honor our father,” Ezekiel said. “But that doesn’t mean he’s always right.”

  “It’s talk like that that’s getting you into so much trouble with Dad,” Samuel said. “Like your sermon last week. Dad never would have given you the pulpit if he knew you were going to contradict him. You don’t think the people in our congregation struggle every day with letting God’s will take precedence over mankind’s medicine? Then they hear the preacher’s own son sowing doubts.”

  “They aren’t just doubts. Has it ever occurred to you that Dad might be wrong?”

  Samuel punched the steering wheel. “I know it’s hard to live by God’s law. But The Lord doesn’t want you interfering in his plan. He decides when it’s time; that isn’t a decision to be made by a doctor or anyone else, and that’s the end of it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ezekiel said.

  “Good,” Samuel said. “We won’t discuss it anymore. It’s between you and Dad. We’ll see what he has to say about all this.”

  Ezekiel didn’t care what his father had to say, as long as Gracie got her medicine in time. When she was better, her parents could go on thinking it was their prayers that cured her. All that mattered was that she was okay. In a few years, Ezekiel and Gracie could leave and start their own church. Things would be different in Ezekiel’s congregation.

  A fire truck passed them in the left lane, sirens wailing. “They should turn around,” Ezekiel said. “If God wanted that fire out, he’d put it out himself.”

  Sam’s face turned red. He turned to yell at Ezekiel as a car careened into them.

  Airbags deployed. Safety glass fractured into thousands of tiny prisms. Another vehicle impacted from a different angle. The car spun and Ezekiel's head bounced off the passenger window. It was over before he knew what had happened.

  “Are you okay?” Samuel asked.

  Ezekiel couldn’t see through the broken window, but it sounded like there were dozens of cars crashing. Sirens blared. His heart was beating too fast—he had to make an effort to slow his breathing. “My leg … it’s pinned. It hurts but I don’t … I don’t think it’s broken. What about you … you’ve got …” Ezekiel motioned to the blood trickling from Samuel’s nose.

  “I just hit my face on the airbag,” Samuel said. “Let’s see if we can get you out of here.”

  “You could go get the firefighters. I bet they can get me out.”

  Samuel smiled and reached under Ezekiel’s seat. It slid back. “Or we could do that.”

  “Ha. Yeah. Good thinking.” Ezekiel rubbed his leg.

  Samuel pulled on his door handle, then shoved. Metal groaned as he forced it open. Samuel’s eyes widened and he pulled the door shut. Ezekiel had never seen his brother afraid before.

  “Stay in the car,” Samuel said. “It’s happening.”

  “What’s happening?” Ezekiel heard another crash. He pressed his face against the fractured glass.

  Samuel gripped his shoulder and pulled him away from the window. “Revelations. We’ve got to get back to the …” Screams sounded nearby, then something thudded into the car, rocking it.

  “Help me!” It was a woman’s voice. “Oh God, please, help!”

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  Samuel opened his door again. “I’m going to go help her; you stay here.”

  Ezekiel crawled across the console in between the seats and followed Samuel out the door. The fire engine was stopped two car lengths ahead of them, its front side smashed against an eighteen-wheeler. Next to it, two firemen were laid out on the pavement, while two others performed CPR on them.

  A sobbing woman held a little boy’s lifeless body out to Samuel. She kept repeating the words, “Please, no,” over and over.

  Ezekiel swallowed and looked away, only to see an even worse scene: in the car next to them a man choked another. He turned to call Samuel just as a firefighter emerged from the other side of the truck carrying a spear-like tool.

  “Look out!” Ezekiel shouted. No one heard him through the chaos.

  The tool-carrying firefighter charged at one of his companions and impaled his head at the base of the neck from behind.

  The third firefighter turned. “What the fuck, you killed him!” Whatever he was going to say next was cut short when the other firefighter charged at him, blood dripping from the weapon, and knocked him to the ground. The two firefighters grappled, rolling around until Ezekiel couldn’t see who was who anymore.

  Screams came from every direction now as more fighting broke out. People pulled lifeless bodies from cars, but like the two firefighters laying out on the pavement, many of the dead appeared to be unwounded.

  A distant explosion shook the ground with a deafening boom. Plane crash?

  The entire world, as far as Ezekiel could see, had gone mad. It’s happening, he thought. It’s really happening. He should help Samuel, or pray—or something. But he just stood there.

  His mind was still reeling when he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head. The last thing he remembered was a hazy vision of Samuel, charging to his rescue.

  When Ezekiel woke up, he knew it hadn’t been a dream. He was back at Bethel in his father’s church, lying on a blanket on the floor. Other people were laid out nearby.

  He tried to sit up. The motion made his head spin.

  “Thank the Lord.” The sonorous voice was familiar from a hundred sermons, and Ezekiel felt better as soon as he heard it. A second later, the Reverend Samuel Daniels Sr. towered over him, holding a bottle of antibiotics.

  “You’re lucky, son. You were out doing the devil’s work. You left the circle of the Lord’s protection.” He shook the pills. “And you picked a bad day to do it. If your brother hadn’t gone after you … well I don’t like to think about it.”

  “What about Gracie? Is she better? Where is she?” Ezekiel twisted his head around in spite of the pain. That’s when he noticed a long row of body-shaped lumps lying side by side along the wall under a series of mismatched sheets. “What’s … going on?”

  “The End Days, son. It was Gracie’s time and the Lord took her home. It’s time you stopped rebelling. We have work to do.”

  “Gracie’s … dead?” Ezekiel wanted to ask more questions, like how it happened, but his mind wouldn’t move past that thought.

  Dead. She’s dead. He started crying. His head pounded in tune with his heartbeat, and he thought he might vomit.

  His father knelt down and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry son. I know you loved her. I figured she’d be my daughter-in-law one day. It’s hard, but you gotta get it together. They’ve been talking about it on the radio. She’s just one of millions—billions. They figure half the people on the planet dropped dead—and before they died, a bunch of them just up and started killing everyone in sight. Now people are showing up with demonic powers. Satan’s warriors. Witches and warlocks.” The timbre of his father’s voice dropped. “They may have power now, but they’ll be burning for all eternity in return. It’s our job to …”

  Ezekiel lost the rest of what his father was saying beneath the montage of memories of Gracie playing out in his head. “Where … where is she?” His father sighed and motioned to one of the bodies lined up against the wall.

  “Look son, I know you’ve been through a lot, but so has everyone else. I’ll give you the day to figure things out. We’re having a service tomorrow for everyone in the congregation who died. If you want to say a few words, that’s fine, but don’t go talking all your nonsense. You can take a look at Gracie if you want a reminder of what happens when these seeds of doubt you plant take hold. The Lord has work for you to do so he spared you this time, but next time you won’t be so lucky.” He dropped the bottle of antibiotics onto Ezekiel’s chest. “Better choose a side, son.”

  Ezekiel forced himself to stand as his father walked away. He was so dizzy he had to grab a pew to stay on his feet. How long was I out?

  He noticed the flies and the stench in the room. There were so many bodies. Billions dead? The scene on the highway became all the more hellish.

  Dad was right all along. He threw the pills aside and turned away, forcing down the sobs that battled to escape.

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Today

  Enki’s throat was dry, but he’d sent everyone away. If he wanted tea he would have to get it himself, and he was comfortable where he was.

  It won’t be much longer, he thought.

  The sun was setting when a tall, slender man entered, blocking the cave entrance and the spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. His features were unremarkable and his clothing plain, but he had the unmistakable bearing of a king.

  “Enlightened one,” the visitor said with a bow. “I have come far to seek your wisdom.” He spoke in Mandarin with a thick Middle-Eastern accent.

  “Please. Enter.”

  “Thank you,” the visitor said.

  “It would be proper for me to offer you tea,” Enki said. “But the cold has been hard on me today. Perhaps I could impose on you to make tea for us both.”

  The visitor nodded and sat on the rug before Enki. The water came to a boil, though there was no fire, and the tea was made by invisible hands, as all the implements and ingredients moved through the air. Steaming cups came to rest in front of them both.

  Enki took a sip of his tea. “You are gifted, stranger. This is very good tea. Perhaps you were destined to make this pot of tea. What do you call yourself, tea-maker?”

  The man smiled. “Shall we dispense with the games? I am no stranger, Enki, my son. I am Anu.”

  Enki took another sip and smiled. “You are not my father, though you carry a small part of him. His tea was much stronger. And he did not spill it as you have.”

  As Anu raised his cup to try the tea, the already-cracked porcelain gave way, spilling the contents onto his lap. His eyes never left Enki’s. “If I had your gifts, I would not have spilled the tea. Perhaps you will be kind enough to advise me as you once did, my son. I am not sure where to begin to clean up this mess.”

  “Ah, but that is not why you are here, he-who-is-not-my-father. You are here to ask me to help you unspill the tea. It cannot be done. The tea you spilled has already soaked into the fabric. It is a shame, since it was the only tea of its kind. You will have to make do with what was left in the pot. Be content. It was no small amount.”

  “Oh, I am sure this fabric will still serve me, in spite of the stains.”

  Enki smiled. “Perhaps.”

  Anu’s mask of serenity fell away. “Who, Enki? Show me those who have taken the rest of my power.”

  “I have this knowledge, but it is not for you. Even if you were my father, I would not give it to you. This is not the world you remember. My father’s children belong to themselves now.”

  Enki took the last sip of his own tea. He knew what came next. He’d known for a long time. Anu wriggled into his mind, hoping to steal thousands of years of memories.

  I cannot let you have them, Enki said as he allowed himself to succumb to the poison he’d prepared for himself earlier. Thank you for the tea.

  Anu’s scream of rage echoed across Mount Kailesh. A group of figures who had been waiting outside the cave entered behind him.

  "You did not get what you needed, Master?" The black-haired woman kept her eyes to the ground as she spoke.

  "I got very little, Nazimi. One name. But it is a start. There is work to do." Anu turned to a man with a beast’s snout and yellow eyes.

  The beast-man fell to his knees. "My life for you, Master. Tell me what I must do."

  Anu’s eyes blazed with an internal light. An image of a big man with distorted features appeared in the others’ minds.

  “Reginald Unglesby. An ... American. He holds a significant portion of my power. I must retrieve it.” Anu placed his hand on the beast-man’s shoulder. “He will be the first to die. You shall be my instrument—my Scourge.”

  The Scourge’s howl echoed off the ancient mountain and filled the jungles below.