The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two (63 page)

He looked back at Bloody. The dead man’s
sunglasses had frozen on him. A powerful feeling rested on his
features.

“Don’t go gettin’ sympathetic!” he muttered.
Crawling toward Bloody. “This ain’t over yet.” Driver looked at the
dead gunman. His legs were undamaged. “Ain’t no fat lady singing,
brother…”

“But I guess I need some cover, till I get
this tended to.” He looked at the salesman’s body. “Tiny’ll be as
right as he’ll ever be. He can wait a spell.” Driver scanned the
room. Moans still escaped from dying lips. “There might be
reinforcements comin’ though. Can you help me get somewhere so I
can stop this bleedin’?”

Bloody bent his legs, then pushed himself up
with his remaining arm. The fingers on the other fanned the air
where they hung. The gunman bent and heaved Driver to his feet.

“Thank you, brother. I need to get somewhere
with water, or heat—a kitchen maybe.” Pain and blood slowed him. He
limped beside the dead man, his damaged leg dragging. “I’ll bet we
could hide out just about anywhere.” He paused to look out a broken
window. Many miles out, a battle raged in the clouds. The sounds of
it echoed, rang hollow, and the Texan hoped he wasn’t deaf. The sky
was filled with glowing red tracers, bullets, he reckoned. And
there were burning white shapes of power rocketing through the
clouds, and red fellows with batwings flying. The ground was alive
with fire and the flicker of gun battles. “With all this shit goin’
on, it would surprise me if they look for us at all.”

They turned the corner in the hall. Driver
saw that the elevator shaft on the right was active. The button to
summon it was lit up.

“Get down, Bloody.” Driver gingerly
positioned himself beside Bloody’s ragged form. “Don’t move.”

He closed his eyes, heard something thump.
Felt air move beside him. But blood loss started to get the best of
him. Sleep was drifting close, and he was awful tired of swimming.
If he just latched onto that restful feeling for a minute—let go,
he could rest. Just for a minute.

90 – Raphael

Karen looked up at the face of the Angel who
carried her. Moments before, she had heard voices that she
recognized, but all those impressions were lost when she opened her
perceptions to the impossible being.
I am Raphael
. His eyes
told her. He shimmered with a golden light that warmed her soul.
She was dying. The colors in the air had torn her insides.

But the Angel’s gaze promised hope. His
beautiful face looked down at her, a bright smile spread across it.
Be at peace
. He told her without words.
All will be
well
. The scent of cinnamon wafted from his brown feathers.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, her lips
stuttered over the words.

“Forgiveness is God’s.” The light of his halo
muted the illumination in the hallway.

“I have sinned.” She berated herself that she
had found no other answer—that her love was not enough to stop the
Prime, or Felon.

Raphael smiled. “You
doubted
. A
question validates the answer.”

“I did nothing.” Tears blinded her.

“The time for any of us to do is past.” The
Angel carried her along the hallway.

Karen sobbed, her heart sucked down by
despair. Poor Able. Where was he now? She could remember the
shooting and the explosion.

“You have witnessed rare events.” Raphael
breathed the words like spring. “Such a thing can be hard to
endure.”

“Such pain.” Karen ached. She longed for
memories that she could not bring up. Her life before the Change
was gone, and her life after it was beyond her comprehension. All
she had was the noise of guns and anger, the sound of death and
terror.

“Pain remains our greatest teacher.” The
Angel closed the elevator doors. “Listen past the noise, and you
will hear that pain has purified your soul.”

Motion. Karen felt the urge to retch, was
overcome with dizziness. The elevator was climbing.

“Why?” Her body jerked. The Angel held her
like a child.

“Pride. My brothers tried to take the Scroll
of the Lamb and hide it. They feared its opening.” Raphael kissed
her brow. “I took it, and hid it from
them
.”

“And now
you
can open it!” She tried
to raise her shoulders, but fell back in pain.

“Unlikely.” The Angel’s light soothed away
her pain but could not return her life. She felt her stomach lurch
as the elevator came to a halt. The doors slid aside. “The Scroll
of the Lamb will be safe in my cell. Events will ensure as
much.”

Whether it was the Angel’s light, or her
desperation, she struggled to get her shoulders upright. On the
floor, two tattered figures. Driver’s face was covered in blood,
his leg laid open to the bone. Bloody was a crumpled mass of
exposed muscle tissue and skeleton.

“Rest in peace,” she watched their tangled
forms as she was carried past. The Texan’s eyes were half open—his
forehead smooth.

“Your strength is great. For you could hate
them, yet you choose to love. That is why I love humans.” An ironic
grin twisted the Angel’s features. “Perhaps you see the difficulty
our Father faces.”

“Won’t they come back after Blacktime? I
can’t think.” Her words were coming garbled.
“
Resurrected
?”

“Perhaps. Yet when Gabriel dies, his hold
upon death will die with him.” Raphael studied her intently. “There
will be no more resurrections.”

Her mind reeled around the words. She raised
a hand to her temple. “I can’t think.”

“I foresaw that the God-wife Cawood’s coming
would distract the Powers that contained me—and so I encouraged the
Prime to seek you out. I did not foresee the magic at my door
killing you as it has. For that I apologize.” He kissed her
forehead. “You allowed me to escape. Alas, I did not get to you in
time.” Remnants of smoke hung in the air of the Prime’s boardroom.
But the Angel’s scent dispelled it.

The explosion had shattered the windows. Damp
wind blew through them, tugging at her hair. Raphael carried her to
a place by a broken window. Gently he set her on the carpet, and
then gathered himself beside her. The wind touched her face and
lightened her mood, but it could not shift the dread that pulled at
her. Raphael folded his wings around them. He cradled her head in
his arms. They watched.

Parts of the City were burning. The sky
flickered like fireworks to the west as the City Defenders fought
with the unstoppable forces of the dead, of Heaven and Hell.
Flashes like lightning burst against her eyes.

“It is beautiful in its own way.” Raphael
looked wistfully at the battle. “But any spectacle can steal a
breath. The Final Battle has spilled into the City.” His flawless
finger caressed her cheek. “Dear sweet humanity.” The Angel turned
his eyes to hers. “Suicide bombers all.”

“Able?” She struggled to sit upright, but her
vision blurred with the effort. “Is he here?”

“He watches us.” Resting on his right elbow,
Raphael looked toward the bar.

“Able!” Karen sobbed. “I’m sorry.” She pulled
Raphael’s robe. “Take me to him.”

The Angel studied the distance. “He shakes
his head. Reverend Stoneworthy does not wish you to see him now.”
Raphael pressed a hand against her shoulder. “He was badly damaged
by the flames.”

“I love you, Able!” Karen tried to twist her
head. She could only see his legs stretched out on the scorched
carpet. “I have to hold him.”

“He nods his head, touches his heart.”
Raphael looked back to her.

“Oh, Able.” New tears exhausted her.

“Hmm,” the Angel said. “His thoughts tell me
he knew about the photographs. A copy and letter of extortion was
sent to him also.” The Angel’s voice thickened.

Karen’s heart suddenly fluttered.
He
knew
! And he still took her on his mission. He didn’t judge
her. “We can’t let him die alone.”

“He won’t.” The Angel looked to the hall and
Karen followed his gaze. The little dead girl stood in the doorway.
Her mask was gone. Her single eye was a sad and tearful glimmer.
The dress was soaked in blood. Her ruined face looked weary.
Relieve the sufferings of the innocent victims of war; grant
them peace of mind, healing of body
…

The dead girl walked over to where Able was
crumpled, and she curled into his lap. She wrapped his useless arms
around her shoulders.

A tear formed in the Angel’s eye. His voice
grew husky. “Love and War. Pride and guilt. That is God.”

“But,” Karen began, “the war out there is
fought by Angels too.”

“You’re not the only ones made in His image.
Creation and destruction in one shell,” he whispered. “I do not
discount my brethren’s responsibility. Ultimately, we are as
powerless as your people. Afflicted as we are with freedom.”

“Where is Christ, can’t he stop this?” A
sharp pain ran below her ribs.

“He does what he can.” Raphael patted her
arm.

“And God?” Karen shivered.

“God has made a choice.” The Angel watched
her thoughtfully. “He is also afflicted with freedom.”

“Can
you
stop it?” A chill was growing
in her.

“No. The time is come.” He blew warm breath
on her forehead. “Do not fear.”

“Run.” Nausea swam through her. “Fly from
here.”

“I will stay.
Our
time is ended.” A
wistful expression passed across his face.

Distantly, she heard a long drawn out
roar—growing in volume—far off, like a jet flying. Briefly, she
remembered contrails in the South African sky.

“I hear a plane.” Karen shouted, “Able, can
you hear it?”

“Gabriel will try to flee soon.” Raphael
grinned. “But he will find the door to Heaven closed. By breaking
God’s covenant, he has renounced his Principality and his
Power.”

“Please,” Karen wept. “I don’t want to die.”
She reached out a trembling hand to touch the Angel’s face.

“No one does.” Raphael’s tone was diminished.
“But how else can the world move past us?”

Cawood studied the silence for signs of hope.
She could hear distant explosions. The drum taps of weapons. Near
at hand, was the whine of an electric motor somewhere beyond her
sight.

“It is time.” Raphael looked to the ceiling
as though he was listening.

Sister Karen took a deep breath of
cinnamon.

91 – Lucifer

Felon glared. The Devil had shaken off his
shaggy disguise and exposed his native form. The Fallen’s body like
his brethren’s was a masterpiece shaped by a perfect hand. Its
structural design was the epitome of strength and beauty. Its color
reflected the natural tones of creation. The facial features were a
refined version of the harshly drawn hobo Felon met in the sewers,
but recognizable.

Now the ruby lips were sculpted, drawn
forward in an insolent half-pucker. Lucifer’s dark brown
almond-shaped eyes had enormous pupils that made them look black.
They reflected orange and green from the yacht’s running lights. He
stood as tall as Felon, and was dressed in black homespun tunic,
wool leggings and boots. Overall, his body was robust, raptor-like,
made more so by the long black wings that grew out of his back. The
feathers were glossy, casting a blue gleam from their edges. He
carried them folded down the length of his spine.

Felon locked his knees against his vertigo—he
imagined driving his fingers into the Fallen’s eye sockets and
pulping his brain.

“The war is almost over.” Lucifer mused, and
his face broke into an impish smile. “Thank
God
! ”

Felon scowled at him, glanced at the rail.
Water continued to splash up from the clot of Swimmers. There were
hollow thumps and the yacht shifted against the dead weight.

“Things have gone well.” The Prince of
Darkness took a step toward the bow to gaze along the Street of
Walls. “It’s a pity I’ll miss the finale.”

“How long?” Felon voiced between gasps. His
boot was full of blood.

The Devil turned to him, puzzled.

“How long have you planned this?” The
assassin slumped against the rail. The half-light from the ship’s
running lights made Lucifer a silhouette. The assassin drew a
ragged breath. A groan came from the ship’s hull.

“My fall was just the beginning.” Lucifer
smirked.

“The first rebellion.” Felon looked at the
shifting deck. Blood was pooling around his foot.

“The
only
rebellion,” Lucifer said
with a flicker of eyelash.

“Allies on the inside,” the assassin hissed
around his pain.

“Michael.” Lucifer’s eyes showed delight. “We
planned it together. You should have seen our final battle. Oscar
winning performances.”

“You convinced others.” Felon focused on his
breathing. He had to slow it down, to slow his heart, to slow the
bleeding.

“My followers: yes,
Michael’s
: Never!
But only about the war, not the plan.” Lucifer flexed his wings,
moved closer to Felon still. “After my fall, my brethren in Heaven
had the time to truly study the future our Father had planned for
them.”

“Pride,” Felon mumbled, his vision blurring.
He blindly swung his head. The sunken street was filling with
bodies. The boat was moving forward. Dead fingers squeaked against
the hull.

“
Godlike
pride.” Lucifer laughed. “Our
Father intended us to be servants, messengers, guardians. We can
fly, Felon and read minds. We’re immortal! Michael and I knew it
would just be a matter of time before our brothers saw the error of
siding with God. And the Revelation of St. John made Michael’s job
much easier. Imagine, serving God from the beginning of time,
wiping the runny noses of humanity, carrying an endless stream of
messages and warnings to the Second-born fools, only to be rewarded
by being judged their
equals
at the end of the world.”
Lucifer laughed. “Michael was the most human of my brothers, having
developed a taste for your women over a series of undeclared trips
to Nod. A weak spot that I exploited as I brought him into the
rebellion.