After the Fall

After the Fall

By

William Meikle

The Hummer bounced along a road rutted by mortar blasts and studded with the wrecks of long abandoned cars. The battle had finished months ago, but the desert had not yet started to reclaim the aftermath. Rogers studied the wreckage with something approaching despair.

What the hell are we doing here? The locals don’t want us, the enemy is as elusive as a weasel and the folk back home couldn’t give a toss. I signed up to fight, to be a warrior. There’s little honor in this.

They were a long way from base, in hostile territory, and it had been a while since any of them had got a rest, never mind a good night’s sleep. The strain showed on the men’s faces, and Rogers knew that they should be heading back to the relative safety of the barracks.

Indeed, he had been intent on doing just that, but aerial support had reported something going on in the hills to their west, and Rogers had been ordered to investigate.

Sammy Brown had driving duty and he wasn’t happy at being taken off road.

“I’m just saying Sarge,” he said. “The roads are shit enough round here, but if we hit a rock of any size, you can wave bye-bye to the back axle. It’s rusted to buggery and ready to go.”

The wind blew sand in whirling vortices that s
pattered
against the windscreen like gunshot. The other four men in the back of the Hummer seemed oblivious, lost in a game of three-card brag that had been going on for hours.

The
comm
whispered in Rogers’ ear.

“You’re getting close,” the pilot said. “Two klicks further. Whatever it is, it’s kicking up a shit-load of sand. I can’t make out a thing.”

Rogers turned to the men in the back.

“Settle up lads, it’s show time.”

The cards disappeared fast, and the metallic clang of weapons being readied filled the interior of the Hummer.

The
comm
whispered again.

“It’s right in front of you.”

The view through the windshield cleared enough for them to see where they were headed.

“Holy shit Sarge,” Sammy whispered. “What the hell is
that
?”

Rogers had no answer. He stared at a wall of blackness – a deep, pitch black vortex that spun, counterclockwise, in a one hundred yard area straight in front of them.

Tornado?

But he knew this was no natural phenomenon.

But it could be a new weapon.

He’d heard stories. Who among them hadn’t? The Yanks were close to perfecting the HAARP weather modification and rumor had it that they had successfully tested it in Alaska.

Maybe this is an enemy attempt at something similar.

But it didn’t just
look
wrong. It
felt
wrong. It felt like something that was completely out of place. Rogers didn’t want to have anything to do with it.

“Back off, now,” he said.

Sammy didn’t need a second telling. He flung the Hummer in reverse. Tires screeched and sand flew. The back axle took that moment to live up to its description of being
rusted to buggery
and gave way, sending the vehicle lurching to one side. Rogers fell sideways, body pressed tight against the passenger door, as Sammy struggled with a steering wheel that bucked in his hands.

The black wall was getting closer. Metal screeched against metal as Sammy tried to get them turned. It was too late. The blackness engulfed them, falling on the Hummer like a wave crashing on an inexperienced surfer.

Everything went dark.

~-o0O0o-~

Rogers felt like a cat in a washing machine as the Hummer rolled and tumbled. Only his seat belt kept him from knocking his body against the doors and the roof. Someone screamed behind him, and he heard the unmistakable
crack
of bones breaking, but he couldn’t move to turn as the vortex sucked them deeper inside. The sensation of speed grew stronger, as if the vehicle was flying at vertiginous velocity.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the vortex was gone.

The Hummer came to a grinding halt in a flurry of sand and dust. At first Rogers did not realize the ordeal was over, for it was still dark beyond the windscreen. But when Sammy turned off the engine, and the dust settled, they looked out onto a desert scene.

It’s nighttime. How long were we in that bloody thing?

A moan from the back seats reminded him that he did not have time for rumination. He looked round.

Greg Chalmers had an egg sized bruise on his forehead, Jimmy Scott was rubbing a mashed, bloody nose, and Ewan McLeod held one arm in the crook of another, inspecting it for breakage.

Dick Jones had got the worst of it. He’d been the only one without a seatbelt. He lay draped over the rearmost seat, bent at an angle that immediately told Rogers that his neck was broken. The dull lifeless stare only confirmed it.

He had no time to grieve. That would come later. For now, the living was what mattered.

“Sammy. Can this thing go anywhere?”

The little man took his hands off the wheel and shook his head.

“It’s totally buggered this time Sarge. It’s Shank’s pony for us.”

About what I thought.

Rogers tapped at the control on his ear-piece, expecting to hear the familiar crackle and hum. All he got was dead air.

“Try the
comm
,” he said to Sammy Brown.

Sammy shook his head. 

“Ahead of you there, Sarge. It’s dead. And look at this.”

He pointed at the dashboard GPS system. It showed only a blank green screen.

“It looks like all
comms
are down. Probably a result of that… whatever it was.”

Rogers nodded.

“OK Tool up lads. Time to be going.”

“What about Dick?” McLeod asked from the back.

“Leave him,” Rogers said softly. “We’ll be back for him later. First we need to get the lie of the land.”

He led the squad out into the desert night.

~-o0O0o-~

The first thing he was aware of was the quiet. The only sound was the
ping
of metal as the Hummer engine cooled.

The sky overhead was filled with stars, the Milky Way stretched across from horizon to horizon. Rogers got his bearings and turned to look west, towards Baghdad.  The lights of the city should have been clearly visible, lending a dim red glow to the skyline. But not tonight. The western horizon was as dark as any other part of the sky.

Sammy saw him looking.

“Could that storm that hit us have knocked out the power when it was at it?”

Rogers nodded, but he had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The stars are not right.

He wasn’t about to tell the squad, but something was off -- way off. Several well- known marker stars were not where he’d expect them to be. And he clearly remembered a crescent moon the night before, but a full smiling face had just risen off to his east.

I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more.

That feeling was confirmed by a new sound in the night – the dull
thwup
of wings beating.

Vulture?

An accompanying shriek put a lie to that idea. It sounded like nothing less than a man in mortal agony, and came from back where they had left the Hummer.

“Dick. He’s still alive,” McLeod shouted, and broke into a run before anyone could stop him.

Rogers looked around the other men. They were all staring at him, waiting on an order. He sighed.

“Well don’t just stand there. Get after him.”

~-o0O0o-~

They arrived back at the Hummer only seconds behind McLeod and at first Rogers did not understand what he was looking at.

A tall figure loomed over the Hummer, darker than the night itself. There was something misshapen about it, as if its back were hunched. It bent over the body of Dick Jones who lay half-in, half-out of the vehicle. His head lay at an alarming angle to his body, lolling like a broken doll. That wasn’t the worst. The squaddie’s mouth opened and he screamed, the sound running across the desert like the wind.

McLeod raised his weapon.

“Put him down you bastard.”

The dark figure turned.

Rogers forgot to breathe. The
hump
opened out into a pair of wings, so large that he could no longer see the Hummer behind them. Red eyes flared in a face that was no more than a deep pool of blackness. The
thing
drew itself up to its full height, standing some nine feet tall. It carried Dick Jones in one arm, as if he weighed no more than a baby.

““Put him down you bastard,” McLeod shouted again. He fired a warning burst over the thing’s head.

The black wings beat, twice, and suddenly it took flight, heading up into the sky above them.

“No!” McLeod shouted.

He fired a burst after it.

Dick Jones’ body fell with a dull thud at his feet.

Overhead the black wings
thwupped
.

Then all was silent.

~-o0O0o-~

The squad was in turmoil, all speaking at the same time, all asking questions to which Rogers had no answer.

Not yet anyway
.

He bent to check on Jones.

The squaddie was dead.

Then again, he was dead when I checked him earlier.

Sammy Brown came and stood beside him.

“What the hell was that thing Sarge? Ain’t never seen anything like it.”

Rogers didn’t want to speculate. To do so would open doors to fears he was afraid to give rein to lest they sent him screaming.

He silenced the rest of them with a shout.

“Right lads. The plan hasn’t changed. We’re moving out, headed West. Chalmers… you’re on point. Sammy and I will bring up the rear. Move it guys.”

McLeod couldn’t take his eyes from Jones’ body.

“We can’t leave him here Sarge.”

Rogers started to walk away.

“He’s not going anywhere. And I’m not hanging around to wait for that winged bugger to come back. Now move soldier. That’s an order.”

Their training took over. As a unit, the squad moved out.

~-o0O0o-~

They walked for nearly an hour before Sammy mentioned something that Rogers had already noticed, but kept quiet about.

“Where’s the road Sarge?” he whispered. “We should have reached it ages ago.”

Rogers had been trying not to think about that. What with the stars being out of position, a winged demon torturing an already dead man, and the fact that there seemed to be no other living thing apart from his squad out here, he was storing up a
lot
of things he’d rather not think about. He was saved from answering this one by a call from Chalmers up ahead.

“We’ve got something Sarge. A building of some kind.”

Rogers joined Chalmers on a ridge above a long valley. On the valley floor, in what looked to be a long-dry riverbed, a squat white building sat next to an ancient dead tree. There were no lights visible.

“It’ll be dawn soon enough,” Rogers said. “And we can’t walk far in the heat of the day. That looks a good place to hole up. Take point again, we’ll be right behind you.”

They followed Chalmers down what seemed to be a goat trail and reached the building several minutes later. Rogers had the squad stand, quiet, but there was no noise from within. He silently motioned Chalmers forward. The man gingerly opened a warped wooden door and slipped inside. They heard him moving around, then he cried out.

“Sarge. Get your arse in here. You need to see this.”

He left McLeod and Scott on guard and with Sammy at his back went inside. He thought he was prepared for any eventuality.

He was wrong.

Chalmers stood just inside the door of the only room. His face was pale, eyes wide with shock and, something else… something that looked like awe.

An angel lay spread-eagled on the floor at his feet.

At first he’d taken it for another of the winged
things
they’d seen earlier. But where that other had been dark, this one was light, almost luminescent. The body itself was over eight feet long, but thin, even anorexic. The wings, long feathered like an eagle, lay beneath it. It… or he, for the gender was also obvious in his nakedness, had taken a blow to the head. Blood matted the blond hair and pooled on the stone floor beneath it.

“Is it… is he… dead?” Chalmers whispered.

Rogers bent to check.

A pulse beat rapidly at the angel’s neck, and it was breathing, rapid and shallow. He checked the eyes and found they were rolled up in their sockets.