Angelfall

CHAPTER 21

The wind rustles through the treetops. My blood pounds in my ears.

For a few heartbeats, everyone stares into the twilight with eyes wide as if waiting for a nightmare to come to life. Then, as though a command had been given, chaos bursts through the crowd.

Soldiers run to the trees in the direction of the scream, gripping their guns and rifles. Everyone starts talking, some crying. Some rush one way, others rush another. It’s a crush of noise and confusion bordering on panic. Like the dogs, these people aren’t as well trained as Obi would like.

Anita climbs off me, the whites of her eyes showing all around her irises. She takes off, running after the biggest crowd which is stampeding into the mess hall. I get up, torn between wanting to see what’s happening and wanting to hide in the relative safety of numbers.

Raffe is suddenly beside me, whispering. “Where are the wings?”

“What?”

“Where did you hide them?”

“In a tree.”

He sighs, obviously trying to be patient. “Can you tell me?”

I point in the direction of the scream, where the last of the soldiers disappear.

“Can you tell me how to find it, or do you need to show me?”

“I’d have to show you.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Now?”

“Can you think of a better time?”

I glance around. Everyone is still scrambling to grab gear and run into a building. No one gives us a second glance. No one would notice if we disappeared during the chaos.

Of course, there’s whatever it is that’s causing the panic.

My thoughts must show in my face because Raffe says, “Either tell me or show me. It has to be now.”

Twilight is sliding fast into full dark around us. My skin prickles at the thought of wandering through the forest in the dark with whatever it was that caused an armed soldier to scream like that.

But I can’t let Raffe run without me. I nod.

We slip into the darkening shadows for the closest path to the forest. We half-tiptoe, half-run through the woods.

Gunshots fire in rapid, overlapping succession. Several guns fire simultaneously in the woods. Maybe this isn’t the best idea.

As if I’m not freaked out enough, screams echo through the oncoming night.

By the time we run across the camp and reach the hiding tree area, the woods are quiet. Not a single rustle, no birds or squirrels disturb the silence. The light is fading fast, but there’s enough to see the carnage.

About a dozen soldiers had run toward the scream. Now there are only five still standing.

The rest lie scattered on the ground like broken dolls tossed by an angry child. And like broken dolls, there are body parts missing. An arm, a leg, a head. The ripped joints are ragged and gory.

Blood splatters everything—the trees, the dirt, the soldiers. The dimming light has leached the color out of it, making it look like oil dripping off the branches.

The remaining soldiers stand in a circle with their rifles pointing outward.

I’m puzzled by the angle of their rifles. They don’t point straight out or up, the way they would for an enemy on foot or in the air. Nor do they point to the ground the way they would if they weren’t about to fire.

Instead, they point midway down as if aiming at something that’s only as high as their waists. Mountain lion? There are mountain lions in these hills, although it’s rare to see one. But mountain lions don’t cause this kind of slaughter. Maybe wild dogs? But again, the slaughter doesn’t look natural. It looks like a vicious, murderous attack rather than a hunt for food or a defensive fight.

The memory pops into my head of Raffe mentioning the possibility of kids attacking that family on the street. I dismiss that thought as soon as it comes. These armed soldiers would never be this scared of a gang of kids, no matter how feral.

Everything about the survivors looks freaky spooked, as though the only thing containing their panic is their paralyzing fear. Their white-knuckled grips on their rifles; the way they hold their elbows tight near their bodies as if to keep their arms from shaking; the way they move shoulder to shoulder, like a school of fish clustering near a predator.

Nothing natural could cause this kind of fear. It goes beyond a fear of physical harm and into the realm of mental and spiritual. Like the fear of losing your sanity, of losing your soul.

My skin prickles watching the soldiers. Fear is contagious. Maybe it’s something that’s evolved from our primeval days when your survival odds were better if you picked up on your buddy’s fear without wasting time to discuss it. Or maybe I’m sensing something directly. Something horrifying that my reptile brain recognizes.

My stomach churns and tries to reject its contents. I swallow it back, ignoring the acid burn on the back of my throat.

We huddle out of sight behind a large tree. I glance at Raffe crouched beside me. He is looking at everything but the soldiers, as if they are the one thing in the forest we don’t need to worry about. I’d feel better if he didn’t look so uneasy.

What spooks an angel who’s stronger, faster, and has keener senses than man?

The soldiers shift. The shape of their circle changes to a teardrop.

The men ooze nervousness as they back slowly toward the camp. Whatever had attacked them seems to be gone. Or at least, the soldiers seem to think so.

My instincts aren’t convinced. I guess not all the soldiers are convinced either, because they look so freaked out that the slightest sound might be enough for them to open fire, spraying bullets every which way into the dark.

The temperature is plummeting, and my wet t-shirt clings to me like a sheet of ice. But sweat trickles down my temples anyway and pools greasily in my armpits. Watching the soldiers leave is like watching the basement door close, shutting out the only light in the house and leaving me alone in the monster-filled darkness. Every muscle in my body screams to run after the soldiers. Every instinct is frantic not to be the lone guppy separated from its school.

I look at Raffe, hoping for some kind of reassurance. He’s on full alert: his body tense, his eyes searching the darkening forest, his ears perked as though listening in stereo.

“Where is it?” His whisper is so low I’m reading his lips almost as much as hearing his words.

At first, I assume he’s talking about the monster that could do such damage. But before I can ask how should I know, I realize he’s asking where the wings are hidden. I point beyond where the soldiers had been standing.

He silently runs to the other side of the circle of destruction, ignoring the carnage. I tiptoe-run after him, desperate not to be left behind in the woods.

I have a hard time ignoring the body parts. There aren’t enough bodies and parts to account for all the missing men. Hopefully, some of them ran off and that’s the reason there are fewer of them than there should be. I slip on the blood in the middle of the carnage but manage to regain my footing before I fall. The thought of falling face-first on a pile of human intestines is enough to keep me moving to reach the other side.

Raffe stands in the midst of the trees, trying to find one with a hollow. It takes a few minutes before we find it. When he pulls out the blanket-wrapped bundle of his wings, the tension leaches out of him, and he hunches his shoulders and head protectively around the bundle.

He looks at me, and there is enough light for me to see him mouth the words thank you. It seems to be our fate to continually pass our debt back and forth.

I wonder how long it takes before it’s too late to reattach the wings to his back. If it was a human body part, it would be past the expiration date already. But who knows about angels? And even if the angel surgeons or magicians or whatever manage to reattach them, I wonder if they’ll be useable or just decorative, the way a glass eye is just decorative so that people can look at your face without cringing.

A cold wind teases my hair, making it brush against the back of my neck like icy fingers. The forest is a mass of shifting shadows. The whipping of the leaves sounds like a thousand snakes hissing above me. I look up just to make sure there aren’t really snakes above me. All I see are redwoods looming under the blackening sky.

Raffe touches my arm. I practically jump out of my skull but manage to stay quiet. He hands me my pack. He keeps the wings and the sword.

He nods in the direction of the camp and walks in that direction, following the soldiers. I don’t understand why he wants to head back to camp when we should be running the other way. But the forest has me so creeped out that I’m not inclined to linger alone, nor am I eager to break our silence. I slip on my pack and follow.

I stick to Raffe as close as I can manage without having to explain why I’m hugging his back. We reach the edge of the woods.

The camp is quiet under the mottled moon shadow under the camp’s canopy. No lights glow from the windows, although if I look hard enough, I can catch a glimpse of metal glinting in the moonlight in some of the windows. I wonder how many rifles they have trained through the glass, seeking targets?

I don’t envy Obi having to maintain order in those buildings. I’m sure panic in a confined space can be pretty ugly.

Raffe leans over to me and whispers so low I can barely hear him. “I’ll watch to make sure you get safely into the building. Go.”

I blink stupidly at him, trying to make sense of what he is saying. “But, what about you?”

He shakes his head. It seems reluctant, for all the good that will do me. “You’re safer in there. And you’re safer without me. If you’re still set on finding your sister, head for San Francisco. You’ll find the aerie there.”

He’s leaving me. Leaving me at Obi’s camp while he goes on to the aerie.

“No.” I need you, I almost blurt it out. “I saved you. You owe me.”

“Listen to me. You are safer on your own than with me. This is no accident. This sort of ending…” He gestures toward the massacre. “It happens too often to my companions.” He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s been so long since I had someone to watch my back…I’d fooled myself into believing…things could be different. Do you understand?”

“No.” It is more of a rejection of what he’s telling me than an answer to his question.

He stares into my eyes for a moment. His eyes are so intense.

I hold my breath.

I swear he’s memorizing me as though his mental camera is firing, capturing me in this moment. He even inhales deeply as though filling up on my scent.

But the moment passes when he looks away and leaves me wondering if I imagined it.

Then he turns and melts into the darkness.

By the time I take a step, his form has completely merged with the darker shadows. I want to call out to him but I don’t dare make that kind of noise.

Darkness closes around me. My heart hammers in my chest, telling me to run, run, run.

I can’t believe he left me. Alone in the dark with a demon monster.

I clench my fists, digging my nails into my skin to help me focus. No time to feel sorry for myself. I’ve got to concentrate if I’m going to survive long enough to rescue Paige.

The safest place to spend the night is the camp. But if I run to the camp, they won’t let me go until they’re ready to move. That could be days, weeks. Paige doesn’t have weeks. Whatever it is they’re doing to her, they’re doing to her right now. I’ve already wasted too much time.

On the other hand, what are my options? Run through the forest? In the dark? Alone? With a monster that tore apart half a dozen armed men?

I frantically beat my brain for a third option. I come up with nothing.

I’ve hesitated long enough. Being found by the monster as I stand frozen in indecision is the stupidest way to die that I can think of. Rock or hard place?

I steel myself to ignore the creepy sensation crawling up my back. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to calm myself. It doesn’t work.

I turn away from camp and plunge into the forest.