On Black Wings (18 page)

“Care to tell us how that is?” I look over at him, and he’s taking notes. “It’s not every day someone can wake up half their age.”

“Special Agent.” Becks takes the file and throws it under the seat. “Enough. She’s an American citizen who has met biblical figures, and she is also the acting Angel of Death. I don’t think you should piss her off.”

“Thank you.” I’m staring at the tops of the ash clouds. It’s hard not to think down there people are dying, undead hunters are terrorizing people, and the world has gone to Hell. Up here, it’s so peaceful. Blue moonlight paints the tops of serene clouds with the soft bristle brush of diffuse night. The stars shine like the eyes of a million souls staring down from Heaven.

It is quiet for the rest of the trip.

CHAPTER XXVII:

We Come From the Sky

Flashing lights illuminate a small rural airport far below us. A blue and white 747 sits on the runway, tanker truck refueling the behemoth, and police and black SUVs surrounding the massive aircraft on every side.

We land across the runway, and we’re greeted by dozens of men in black suits, bulletproof vests, and military-style assault rifles. I’m helped out of the chopper, and the entire crowd stares at me like I’m some sort of oddity. I adjust my wings on my back to make them more comfortable, and then pull my hair out of my face. Agent Carson flashes his badge and walks me through the crowd. Colonel Becks stays at the helicopter, waving goodbye.

“Wait!” I scream over the sound of the rotors, pointing at the Colonel. “He comes with me.”

Carson holds my arm, looks at me, and then the Colonel. He points at Becks, and then at the 747 sitting across the runway. Colonel Becks nods, surrenders his weapons to the men in black, and walks beside me. He pats one of his men on the shoulder, a sergeant named Harris, and he follows Becks. Azrael is wheeled out of a chopper and follows our path towards the massive aircraft.

Carson directs me up the steps of the 747, and I climb to the top, Becks walking behind me, and Azrael being carried up the steps by a group of soldiers. The security men at the top of the steps take a look at my wings, and then each other.

A handsome man in a suit is talking to the pilot inside and shaking his hand. He walks to the door and I can see the surprise on his face. I know this man.

Agent Carson leans beside me. “Mr. President, this is Jessica White, acting Angel of Death for the Kingdom of Heaven.”

“You’re President Barrett Obermann.” I sound so stupid saying it to his face. I hold out my hand.

One of the security men steps between us. “I’m not so sure you should shake the hand of the Angel of Death, Mr. President.”

“She’s safe, she’s a good angel of death.” Becks salutes. “Colonel Anderson Becks, US Army. She helped me and my men conduct a mission to rescue the biblical angel of death, the Archangel Azrael, and he is the man we’re bringing aboard on the stretcher behind us.”

“Is that so?” The President pulls the security guard aside. “It’s okay men, this angel of death is an American.” He reaches out to shake my hand, but I end up giving him a hug and burying my face in his coat.

“Welcome aboard Air Force One.” He laughs and hugs me back, taking an arm around me as he walks me inside. “Are these wings for real? They are beautiful. You look like one of those runway models, Miss White.”

“They are real, trust me.” I turn a corner and drag them inside the door. “I hope I’m not getting charged extra for them as carry-ons.”

I struggle to fit my wings inside the cramped airliner hallway, bumping into things, dragging along the walls, and giving several security men face-fulls of black plumage. In moments, we are in a large den-like seating area, and I drop onto a couch, rubbing my eyes.

They carry Azrael past us, telling us they are taking him back to the medical room near the back of the President's plane. I still can’t believe where I am, I thought this was just some military plane at first, but it is all hitting me all at once and making my head spin.

The President sits across from me, and Becks stands by the door. Agent Carson walks in and drops a box full of files on the table. He grabs a remote, turning on a television monitor.

Outside the engines of the plane roar to life, and we are moving.

The President sits back. “Special Agent, please bring them up to speed on the current situation.”

“I don’t know, what can I do?”

The President holds up his hand. “Miss White, you need to hear this, I don’t care if it makes much sense, but if you are the acting Angel of Death, I want you to be certain that this country is sharing everything it knows with the Kingdom of Heaven and we will cooperate fully with God’s will.”

“I don’t see what it will accomplish, but sure.” I let my wings rest off each side of the couch.

Carson points to the television, and an image of the solar system appears. “As you know Mr. President, three weeks ago NASA detected a previously unknown meteor making a close-call with Earth, and this object as call AP-667. This object was orbiting in close proximity to the sun here, about seven months ago, when it’s course was disturbed by some event NASA is still investigating, perhaps a collision with another object in space. In any case, AP-667 began its journey here in orbit of the sun, and it headed straight towards our world.”

A small dot swings around the sun, leaving a long arc where it traveled. It approaches the Earth and begins to orbit around it. “NASA did not know that this object would get caught in Earth’s gravitational field and become a new satellite. As we all know now, this object somehow affects iron-based life forms in such a way it breaks down the molecular bonds of our atoms, causing instantaneous spontaneous combustion.”

I can’t watch the next couple minutes of crowds evaporating, people burning up, and different news reports of random and senseless death and people burning away. In one a news reporter walks outside and burns away live on the air. I hide my eyes.

“Special Agent,” the President says, “enough. Next slide please.”

“The energy was somehow atomic weak force or microwave based, and certain materials can block it, such as glass or plastic. Once it touches flesh-”

I’m still hiding my eyes.

The President says, “Next slide.”

“The object only worked in line of sight, so it was orbiting the Earth and affecting the entire world during daylight hours only.”

I look up. “
Was
orbiting?”

The President nods. “We destroyed it seven hours ago with a modified ICBM. It was in a fixed orbit, so it wasn’t too hard to hit. A one-megaton explosion was detonated within 35 meters of this object, we got a look at it, it was a small pyramid-like object like what would have fit on top of the pyramids at Giza. It had some damage to it already, like something had hit it. It was covered in ancient runes or hieroglyphics-”

“So it’s gone,” I say, “this is over?”

“At least that part.” He nods. “The atomic weak force energy has stopped, and people are no longer evaporating on contact with this energy. The atomic explosion has knocked out a good portion of the Earth’s electronics and power plants-”

I look at Becks. “When you said the city was going dark in thirty minutes, Colonel?”

He nods. “We were shutting down power plants in anticipation of the electromagnetic pulse. With a combination of the size of the weapon used and the energy of the object, most of the Earth has been knocked back to the Dark Ages, all cell phones, all computers, all electronics, most cars, planes, everything - it’s all worthless junk now. Earth will never be the same again.”

“The dead are coming back to life,” Carson says, pointing to images of zombie-like people walking down ash-covered streets, “and they are armed with guns.”

“I thought zombies couldn’t shoot guns.” The President says, sipping on a cup of coffee. “At least that’s what I see on television. Miss White, coffee?”

I nod and our myself a cup. “These can. They had me tied down in the river when I first met them, a group of undead hunters - and dogs.”

“In a river?” The President winces. “Like, underwater in a river?”

I nod. “I think they were keeping me there for the medieval knights to show up and pick me up. I escaped, but I was captured anyways. These knights, the ones that had me and Azrael, I think they were the ones who cut his wings off.”

“They were the one who cut
my
wings off.” Azrael is standing in the doorway, surrounded by excited doctors telling him he needs to get back in his bed.

“Azrael!” I’m standing, my hand on my mouth, and watching him walk towards me. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, if you want these back you can-”

He walks towards me, slowly, his face peaceful and serene, the scars wrapping around his muscles, a sheen of sweat on his body, wearing a blue hospital gown. His amber eyes glow with some holy energy, a flickering light as each step causes enough pain to make the light fade away.

Security men are watching, raising weapons, but the President’s silent hand gets them to lower them.

“Seraph Jessica.” Azrael puts his hand on my cheek. “They look good on you. It has been so long since I have not had this mantle upon me, I owe you my sincerest gratitude for freeing me of this burden, but I fear they are a burden too great for you to comprehend.”

“Can you take them back? If it’s surgery we need, I’d be willing to-”

He smiles, the pain still visible on his face. “They are not so easily removed, and as you see, they do grow on you. The Scion of War used the scythe of Death himself to remove them from me.”

Death. The skeleton man. His scythe. I clench my fist. “Why? And why me?”

“Can I rest?” Azrael winces again. “I fear without my wings, I am more of an old man than an Archangel in his prime.”

“Please sit.” The President walks over, and fills up both our coffee cups. “I am President Barrett Obermann, of the United States of America, and you are on my plane, Air Force One. Welcome to America, Archangel Azrael, and of course, Sophomore Archangel Jessica White of Cordoba High School.”

I glare at the President.
Seriously?

Azrael sips his coffee and settles back into the couch, wincing as the bandaged wing-scars touch the fabric. “Mmm, this is very nice. I enjoy this. And I thank you for your hospitality, leader of your nation of men. Let me explain why my wings were removed. Without the Angel of Death to send souls to Heaven and Hell, there shall be no judgment on this world. Souls will forever roam across the land seeking rest.”

Becks nods. “And that’s where our zombie problem is coming from. Without you, the dead walk the Earth, right?”

Azrael nods. “Death himself can use these souls to create vast armies of the undead, of which there must be millions of at this moment.”

“One billion.” The President sighs. “Our estimate of worldwide casualties is one billion souls lost. News of undead hordes coming out of the major cities in America are mind boggling, and we fear most of Africa and Asia are lost now to the hordes of undead walking the land, killing the living and seeking them out. In America alone, we estimate there are something like 60 million armed zombies walking the streets.”

“That’s one-hundred times the homeless population in America, mind you.” Agent Carson is eating a donut. “Think of it like that.”

“Special Agent,” the President says, rubbing his temples, “do not speak unless spoken to, thank you.”

“Yes Sir.”

“So why me?” I look at Azrael. “Why do I have your wings?”

Azrael takes a donut from the box, inspects it, and eats it, wincing at the pain, but enjoying solid food. “The Four cannot take away the power of the wings, they are a gift given by God himself, but they can give them to someone they have dominion over.”

“So they can control me.” I close my eyes, feeling myself shaking. “All those words, everything they told me, about being chosen for this, giving me weapons and armor, it was all a lie so they could distract me.”

I’m shaking I’m so angry. The stories I could save my family. Lies. The stories about me being chosen to defeat the burning man. Lies. The hope that I could end this and go back to my normal life. Lies.

“So they could keep the wings from returning to God.” Azrael nods, sipping his coffee, the cup in both his hands. “So they could keep the wings on the Kingdom of Earth while their plan to usurp God’s final judgment and take this world for their own to rule.”

“You mean,” the President looks up, “this is not the Armageddon?”

“This is not the Armageddon you seek.” Azrael shakes his head. “This is not God’s will. Only God can call his children home at the time He wills it to be right. Only the Lamb may set forth the Four Horsemen, God’s son, and this was not begat by the Son of the Lord.”

I sit back. “Then who set them free?”

“The Seven Seals,” the President says, “the book at the right hand of God that no man was found worthy to open. The one that only Jesus Christ himself could open. And you’re saying that someone else opened the book?”

“Only one who serves God directly could. An Angel of the highest order.” Azrael closes his eyes, inhaling the steam off his cup. “Seraph Jessica opened it.”

CHAPTER XXVIII:

Please Let This End

The news hits me like a punch to the gut. I’m nearly curled up in a ball, having fallen out of the couch, my forehead on the carpet of Air Force One, my eyes burning, my breathing labored, and my whole world spinning away.

“I did not open it.” I’m talking out of gritted teeth, tears running down my face and landing on the carpet. I’m beating the carpet with my fist with every word. “I did not open it.”

“If not now or in the past, than in your future,” Azrael says, “you cannot understand or comprehend the power you have, Seraph Jessica. Time is merely a contrivance of your will, a tool to serve you. You may have already went back to the point that this started, opened the book, and unleashed this upon the world. You being here is merely an echo of your consciousness, a potential point in time you are experiencing as a Seraph.”