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Without warning, the mass of angels dives and tears through the camp like a tornado, knocking aside vehicles and blowing members of the havoc into the air, where they smash to the ground like sacks of meat or are sliced in half by fiery swords. The remaining havoc pours automatic gunfire up at them. It doesn’t kill them or even penetrate their golden armor, but it drives them back into the sky. The murder cloud climbs out of the range of the rifles. But one angel descends and hovers above the camp, his wings wide and his sword high.
By the time he starts jabbering, I’m already on the roof of an eighteen-wheeler with a plastic bottle I stole from the ambulance. When I get to the top, I slice my wrist with the knife Doris gave me.
The angel bellows, “We have no quarrel with you. Give us the Abomination and you may pass in safety.”
It’s no big surprise when no one in camp has a fucking clue what he’s talking about. I pull the Colt and fire off a couple of shots into the air.
I yell, “Hey, space monkey. I’m right over here. Come on over and let’s have a drink.”
I wave the jug at him and pretend to take a swig.
He doesn’t need to be asked twice. Flyboy shoots down at me like a meteor, but stops just before he hits the top of the eighteen-wheeler, drifting down for a gentle landing.
Show-off.
He drops his Gladius down to his side and we walk toward each other. We’re only about three feet apart when he stops.
“I didn’t think you possessed enough honor to show yourself.”
“I never could resist an asshole in uniform.”
He looks around.
“Still, you did let some of your compatriots die for you.”
“Don’t kid a kidder. We both know you’re going to kill everyone here whether they gave me up or not.”
“True. But now I have the pleasure of killing you face-to-face.”
“What’s your name?”
“I am Simiel of the Thrones.”
“A throne. Mr. Muninn’s furniture movers. What are you doing here?”
“We no longer serve the God who would allow damned souls to pollute the He
avenly presence.”
“You’re spoiled brats who don’t want kids from the wrong side of the tracks drinking in your malt shop.”
He looks me up and down.
“You’re less than I thought you’d be. Not much more than the pathetic creatures you hide among.”
“You angels always did like the sound of your own voices. What are we doing here? Are you going to take me Upstairs so you can kill me in front of your frat pals?”
He slowly raises his Gladius.
“I have led the army that found you, so it will be my privilege to destroy you.”
I hold out the bottle.
“At least have a drink with me first.”
“I will not drink with the Abomination.”
“Just one,” I say, and flick my wrist, splashing liquid from the bottle onto his face.
