The Fallen 4 (3 page)

The trolls had been like sitting ducks, huddled together in a filthy group of fur and fang. Aaron remembered a time, not too long ago, when launching an attack on an unsuspecting enemy would have bothered him, would have made him think that he was somehow being unfair.

But that was before he’d started to bury his friends, and seen these nightmarish monsters feed upon the remains of the dead.

“Unmerciful” would probably be the best word to define him these days, and he found that very sad.

“Are you all right, Aaron?”
Gabriel asked, coming in very close to sniff his face.

“I’m fine, boy.” Aaron reached out to pet his dog’s head. “Just a little tired.”

“It’s a wonder that you’re still able to function at all,”
Vilma said, getting beneath one of his arms and helping Aaron to stand. “How much sleep have you had in the last few days? Be honest with me.”

Vilma steered him over to where Kraus was finishing up with Cameron.

“Not much,” he answered, wincing in pain as he sat in one of the old wooden chairs that had been left behind when the school had been abandoned.

Vilma stepped back, and Kraus went to work.

“Remove your shirt,” he told Aaron in a no-nonsense tone.

Aaron tried, but he just couldn’t seem to get the shirt up over his head.

“For Heaven’s sake,” Vilma said, rushing over to help him pull the bloody T-shirt from his body.

“No amount of washing is going to ever get this clean again,” she said, tossing the filthy garment to the floor.

“Hey,” Aaron said without much conviction. “That’s one of my best shirts.”

Gabriel sniffed at the filthy pile of cloth, and the hackles on his golden back rose like quills.

“Trolls,”
the Labrador said in the language of his breed.
“I don’t like trolls at all.”

“The Oni aren’t very likeable,” Aaron confirmed as Kraus worked, cleaning up various bites and scratches.

Considering the level of combat he’d encountered, Aaron was surprised that he hadn’t sustained more damage. He’d
gone right at the Oni nest beneath the bridge, attacking with a sword of heavenly fire. The Oni hadn’t cared for that in the least. Many had risked the pain of daylight to crawl from their hiding places and confront him.

He remembered the stink of their fur as they’d burned with the touch of his sword and the rays of the sun, and felt himself grow nauseous. The air had become saturated with the smell as he’d fought wave after wave of the snarling things. Beneath the suspension bridge Aaron had found the remains of people who had tried to cross, stored for later consumption in thick weblike cocoons created with Oni saliva. It was a horrible sight, and one that he doubted he would ever forget.

He’d used that memory, that horrible, disturbing memory, as he’d fought the trolls that had been responsible for such heinous acts against other living creatures, killing one after another until they were all dead.

Aaron leaned back against the chair now. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, and he felt his head begin to nod, only to snap back up just as sleep was about to claim him.

“Is he all right, Kraus?” Vilma asked the healer as she reached out to steady Aaron.

“Unless there are internal injuries that I’m unaware of, he should be fine.”

“Hear that? I’m fine,” Aaron said, his eyes fluttering as he tried to stay awake. He glanced over to see Melissa and Cameron watching him, concern in their eyes.

“Are you two okay?” he asked them.

“Fine,” Melissa said, holding up her bandaged hand. “I can feel it healing already.”

“I’m okay too,” Cameron said, touching the bandage on his cheek. “Besides, girls love scars; they add character.” He laughed as Melissa punched him.

Aaron felt a pressure under his arm and looked up as Vilma pulled him up from the chair and began to lead him from the room.

“Where are we going?” he asked, trying to halt his progress.

“You need a shower, and some sleep,” Vilma replied.

On the big-screen television behind him he heard the report of a city in Ukraine being besieged by what looked to be giant bats. He planted his feet to hear the rest of the news coverage.

“No,” Vilma said firmly, pulling him around to face her.

“Melissa and Cameron are hurt. They aren’t in any condition to go. I—” he started to explain.

“They’re not going anywhere either,” she interrupted, loud enough so they all could hear. “We’re running ourselves ragged, and it’s not going to do anybody any good at all if we’re making mistakes. Mistakes could get us killed.”

Gabriel stood beside her, his tail tucked and his head bowed in submission.
“She’s right, Aaron.”

Aaron was going to argue, but deep down he knew that they
were
right.

“We all need to rest—to heal.” Vilma looked around the
room again, certain to make eye contact with Cameron and Melissa.

“Okay,” Aaron said, giving in. “We’ll rest.” Really, he was too damn tired to fight anyway. “Two hours. Then you wake me up. Deal?”

Vilma moved in close to him again, ushering him from the room.

“Shower first. You stink like death,” she said. “Then two hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Santiago.” Aaron surrendered as the reports of even more horrors droned from the television in the other room.

Two hours. And then back to work.

*   *   *

Vilma waited until Aaron was finished with his shower, and then escorted him to bed.

He’d done exactly what she’d thought he would, telling her that he was feeling much better and much more awake, and that he could take care of those bats and be back for a rest in no time.

Vilma didn’t even feel it necessary to respond. She and Gabriel escorted Aaron, wrapped in a towel, from the shower room to the bedroom they shared.

“Sleep,” she commanded, pointing to the mattress.

He looked like he was about to argue, and then thought better of it.
Smart boy
.

Aaron stumbled across the room like the Corpse Riders they’d encountered not long ago. At least he now smelled better.

He fell onto the mattress, and barely had the sheet and comforter over him before he was asleep.

“Do you think he’ll stay there if we leave?”
Gabriel asked Vilma.

“You could stand guard if you want, but I think he’s down for the count.”

“And how about you?”
the dog asked her.

“What about me?” she questioned, heading back to the TV room, where they’d left the others. She wanted to be sure that Melissa and Cameron were listening to her orders.

“You’ve taken on more responsibility as second in command, and you haven’t been sleeping all that much either,”
Gabriel reminded her.

“I don’t need that much sleep,” she lied. “Never have. I was always the early riser in my family.”

Which wasn’t a lie, but it had had more to do with her studies in school. Those days seemed so very long ago now. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even looked at a book.

“You look tired,”
Gabriel said, looking up at her as they walked.

Vilma stopped, and squatted down to his level.

“I’m fine.” She scratched him behind one of his golden yellow ears. “It’s just that things are a little intense around here.”

“I worry about you,”
Gabriel said, and licked her hand.
“I worry about all of you.”

She smiled, leaning forward to kiss the top of his head.

“Good ole Gabriel,” she said. “It’s nice to know that somebody is looking out for us.”

She stood then, knees cracking as she did.

“That didn’t sound good,”
Gabriel said.

“It felt even worse.” Vilma laughed. “Must be getting old.”

There was truth to what she said. Over the last few months she felt like she’d aged physically, and mentally.

She was sure that she wasn’t supposed to feel this way at nineteen, but then again, most nineteen-year-olds weren’t out killing beasts that seemed like they’d crawled out of Stephen King’s worst nightmare.

“Or maybe you’re just not taking care of yourself the way you should,”
the dog suggested as they walked down the hallway again.
“I’m just saying.”

“I’m not going to deny that there’s some truth to what you’re saying. Which is why I put Aaron to bed, and told the others to…” Vilma trailed off as they entered the TV room and saw Melissa’s wings emerge from her back. Cameron’s wings were out too, and he was about to cloak his body with them to disappear, off to who knows where.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Vilma asked, striding into the room.

Kraus stood silently nearby, putting away his creams and salves.

“We’ve had a breather,” Cameron said. “There’s something going on at the Great Wall of China, and an ocean liner is
under attack off the coast of Africa. We thought we’d go and check things out before—”

“No,” Vilma said.

Cameron gave her a quizzical smile. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“What part of ‘everyone needs a rest’ didn’t you understand?” she asked sternly.

“I got it, but I thought you were just saying that to get Aaron to lie down for a while,” Cameron explained. “We’re fine,” he said, looking at Melissa, who nodded in agreement. “We can handle a few more situations before we crash.”

“And I said no,” Vilma said with even more forcefulness.

Anger suddenly showed upon Cameron’s face. “We can’t just do nothing,” the younger Nephilim said. “There are people dying all over the world in ways too horrible to even think about,” he said, gesturing to the television screen that was reporting on some other bizarre and potentially fatal incident.

“We
can
do nothing,” she said, snatching up the remote from one of the chairs and turning off the broadcast. “We
have
to do nothing,” she stressed. “For a little while. Just until we’ve recharged.”

“But people are dying,” Melissa argued.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Vilma snapped. “But I also know that we’ve been going nonstop, traveling all over the world, dealing with one emerging threat after another, saving lives, but we’re killing ourselves.”

Cameron was about to argue, but Vilma silenced him with a stare.

“As far as we know we’re the only ones of our kind capable of dealing with these threats. And the last time I checked, there weren’t all that many of us left.”

“But we have to do something,” Cameron insisted.

“And we are,” Vilma answered him. “By resting we keep ourselves fresh and on the ball. We’ll be less likely to make mistakes—and more likely to survive our battles.”

Vilma paused, the realization of what she was about to say taking quite a bit from her.

“We can’t save everybody,” she said quietly. “And we’re going to be able to help even fewer people if we go out there running on fumes.”

She looked over at Kraus, who was trying to slip out of the room unnoticed.

“Back me up, Kraus?” she asked.

The healer of angels stopped, and slowly turned. “You’re completely right, Miss Santiago,” he said. “One’s level of performance diminishes greatly while fighting the effects of mental and physical fatigue.”

Vilma looked back to Cameron and Melissa. “So that’s just how it’s going to be.”

“How long?” Cameron asked, his shoulders slumping, his wings sliding into his back.

“Go back to your rooms,” Vilma said. “Rest… nap, do
whatever you need to do to recharge your batteries. We’ll talk again in a couple ’a hours.”

She could see that the Nephilim weren’t happy, turning away in a huff to retreat to their rooms.

“Don’t test me on this, guys,” she warned, just in case they were thinking of going off against her wishes. “You wouldn’t care for the repercussions.”

The threat sounded good, even though she had no idea what the punishment would be. Maybe she’d make them hang out with Verchiel for an afternoon—and she wouldn’t wish that on a goblin or rabid grackleflint.

Verchiel,
she thought as she watched the two Nephilim leave the television room. He was the former leader of the Powers, the angelic host whose sole purpose had been to hunt down and slaughter all Nephilim. And he lived with the Nephilim now. After supposedly dying in battle, the murderous angel had been sent back to earth, for what purpose, nobody could really decipher.

One of the theories was that he’d been sent to make amends for the sins that he had committed as leader of the Powers. And what better way to make amends than by helping the Nephilim keep the world from plunging into total darkness?

She hadn’t seen Verchiel in a few days and wondered if she should pay the nasty angel a visit. Maybe he would be able to impart some heavenly wisdom about what they could—or should—be doing in order to continue with their mission.

Vilma truly didn’t expect much from Verchiel, but at this point she was willing to try just about anything that might help them.

Even talking with an angel who had tried to kill her.

*   *   *

The visions were killing him.

Dustin “Dusty” Handy lay on the mattress in the middle of the room the Nephilim had given him, and shook as if he were in the grip of a soaring fever.

His eyes were tightly closed, but he could see the images of all that was happening out there in the world—nightmares made reality.

The visions came at him in waves. It was as if every single television channel were being beamed onto one screen in his mind, all at once, and at the highest volume. He’d tried to fight the visions, to get them under control, but he just didn’t think he was strong enough. And when they were at their worst, he knew that to be true.

Dying was starting to look better and better.

Sometimes Dusty would take a memory and try to focus on that, to drown out all the other images that cascaded through his mind. He would often think about the blind old man who had given him the responsibility of a special horn.

The responsibility of the Instrument.

The Instrument had belonged to the angel Gabriel, and it was to be given only to one strong enough to control its power.
The horn was to be blown only when all hope was lost and darkness was about to claim victory, when it was time for the world to die.