Damages
Excerpts from Mishael’s Journal
And war broke out in heaven:
Michael and his angels fought with the dragon;
Michael and his angels fought with the dragon;
and the dragon and his angels fought,
but they did not prevail,
nor was a place found for them in heaven any longer.
So the dragon was cast out,
that serpent of old, called the Devil and Satan,
who deceives the whole world;
he was cast out to the earth,
and his angels were cast out with him.
~ Revelation 12:7-9 (NKJV)
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Chapter 1
Post-Rapture earth; late August. New Canaan Central Business District,
about 6 o’clock in the evening.
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Helicopters zigzagged noisily over my head. Loudspeakers blared from the helicopters, issuing their unmistakable orders to surrender. Several of the district provost’s employees surrendered quickly; others resorted to running helter-skelter across the flat rooftop and clambering down the fire exits.
I was beat; my day’s hunt had exhausted almost every ounce of my strength. That was the usual order of my day – hunting down the Antichrist’s agents that had been pillaging my neighbourhood, ravaging it for the past ten months with their organized and random crimes against humanity. I should be so used to warfare in the streets by now. Instead, I was feeling forlorn and fed up – yes, fed up – of mankind’s wickedness. This was consuming my emotional energy, too. It wouldn’t be much longer before I’d have to change back to my human form.
Boniface Common was barking at his aide-de-camp beside him. “Quit stalling, Maclay, and blow her out of the sky,” the provost marshal ordered. “Shoot down that bird now.”
“Negative, sir,” Tristan Maclay replied, “there are civilians, including women and children, in that Apache, sir. Asylum seekers on the way to Jerusalem, sir. It would be indiscriminate slaughter, sir.”
“Oh, just give me your CARL-G,” Mr. Common yelled. “I’ll shoot her down myself. And I shall personally see to it that you face a court-martial . . . and a dishonorable discharge . . . for this disgraceful display of incompetency. You’re finished here, Maclay.”
“Whatever,” the marine replied, casting off his helmet and magazine. “I’m done being at your beck and call anyway. And I didn’t sign up for this. I’m no woman or baby killer.”
Rounds of ammunition were being discharged at the sky. The shells whizzed around the Apache that was crisscrossing the firmament above my head. One of the shells whistled past my cheek. I felt my freshly-drawn blood streaming down my cheekbone.
I stymied the bleeding while my wings gesticulated elegantly in the air. The provost marshal instantly collapsed, slain by my unseen power. Most of the enemy combatants, from the Antichrist’s armed forces, were also dropping like flies onto the ground. The remaining handful scattered, disappearing between the rows of shop houses within the limits of the CBD. From my vantage point on the roof of the Silver Phoenix building, the shop houses resembled a child’s building blocks. Around me, the sirens that had been warning civilians to remain indoors were on a wane.
I sighed, feeling some optimism: There may be a rapprochement between the warring sides after all.
A boisterous confabulation fell on my ears.
The Archangel’s quiet commanding voice: It’s not over yet, Mishael.
Exploding shells and mortars: “Take cover!”
Echoes of scampering feet: “Stand down; stand down, all units.”
The enemy battalion was calling for a ceasefire but the Archangel was right: it wasn’t over yet.
There was still the matter of the bounty hunter.
“Target’s now on the roof of the Belshazzar Plaza, sir,” Commander Zweig informed me through his loudspeaker. His recon helicopter was in range of the target. “I’ll leave Mr. Valdez to you,” he said in deference to me.
The buzzing in my ears was troubling me. I’d been hearing it the past hour. I shut my eyes and shook my head to ameliorate the buzzing.
“I’m on it,” I informed Nehemiah Zweig at the same time.
I rose to my feet; this was despite my fatigue. I sprinted to the edge of the rooftop before leaping the two blocks toward the roof of the Belshazzar Plaza. I landed without a sound. Manolo Valdez scarpered, making for the exit door but my angelic power jammed the lock that was behind the door. Manny tried another getaway, darting toward the opposite side of the rooftop in hope of finding a fire escape. He was cornered against a smoke stack when I finally caught up to him. I pinned him to the wall of the smoke stack.
The rotor blades above my head kept legato time with the flapping of my brilliant white wings. I brushed my hair from my face while I studied Manolo, searching his body language for clues as to what he was feeling. Manny seemed unperturbed, simply defiant.
My fingers curled round Manny’s throat in a firm grip. This was the bounty hunter responsible for capturing the Tribulation Saints and incarcerating them in Antichrist’s prison to be tried for treason. Manny had made it his life’s mission.
I wanted the thug to say something, to beg for mercy. “Abandon your mission,” I implored him, “and save your soul.”
Mishael. What are you doing?
The disembodied voice, though tender, was nevertheless executing a reprimand.
I loosened my grip on my captive. “I’m doing exactly what you asked me to do,” I replied the Archangel, yelling at the sky. I felt like a petulant child in a tantrum before his father.
“I’ve had it,” I continued, this time in a lower voice. “I’m done, I’m really done. I’m exhausted from my hunt.”
Turning to Manny, I beseeched him in a despondent tone, “You’ve eluded us for nearly a year, Mr. Valdez, but we’ve got you now, haven’t we? Have you nothing to say? Nothing at all?”
A malevolent grin formed on the thug’s craggy face, disfiguring it all the more.
“I’ve heard rumours there were angels about,” he replied. “You’re one of them then? I’m not scared of you, freak. If you really are an angel of God, you will not harm me.”
“You know what they say about making assumptions in regard to something you’ve no knowledge of,” I sneered testily. “It bears repeating, but to do so requires me to use a profanity. I must, however, abstain from the pursuit of activities that defile and dishonour my body.”
“You talk too much,” he cussed. “What you set forth to do, do it. But you won’t harm me, will you? You’re ethically-bound to save me, aren’t you? Go on, then, prove me wrong. But we haven’t got all day, so try not to take your time about it.”
“Very well,” I replied, tightening my grip on his throat. “I’ll quickly get this over and done with. But it has nothing to do with what you or I have to say about it. The Lord has spoken; His judgment’s on you.”
My captive sank to his knees beneath the weight of my arm. Only now did he feel some anxiety for his fate. He pleaded for his life, his pleas coming out in gurgles.
I tightened my grip again squeezing his Adam’s apple, the vein in the back of my hand close to popping out of my pallid skin. Manny collapsed on to his derrière and crumpled, lifeless, to the floor.
“Prepare to meet your Maker,” I eulogized and, then, instantly proceeded to frown at the cliché.
The last of the Lord’s helicopters was zipping out of view. I gave a passing wave to the remnants of the Lord’s elect – my human comrades in the Israeli Defense Forces.
Staff Sergeant Maclay had made his way to the roof of the Silver Phoenix building. The white flag in his palm caught the wind. And my eye. I sent a telepathic signal to the pilot of the Apache that was following behind Commander Zweig’s craft. The angel, Jekuthiel, responded at once, piloting his Search and Rescue helicopter back round before landing it to pick up the renegade marine. Tristan Maclay climbed on board, thanking Jekuthiel for turning back. Then, as the Apache lifted off for the last time, I gave the Lord’s chief pilot a terse salutation.
“Later,” I whispered.
It was over for now. I was ready to call it a day. “I really need to catch up on sleep,” I told myself.
An unexpected laughter rang out at the same time, its unearthly cadence piercing the silent air. It was belligerent and rancorous, stopping me in my tracks. A magnificent creature slowly materialized from the clouds.
I beheld the creature, feeling spellbound. This creature had to be a host of heaven, so acutely green were his eyes, his head an anchorage for his unruly mass of dark blond curls, his garment adorned with light. I gave him an uncertain smile.
He reciprocated, breaking out in a grin, which revealed two rows of perfectly formed white teeth. Then, a warning sound clacked above me.
Do not be fooled.
I studied the angelic formation before me. I didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t one of us. “Demon,” I cried, stepping back from him.
“Demon. Angel,” the creature replied flippantly, “same difference.”
A lie, I thought to myself. Right off the bat. Got to be on my guard with this one.
The creature started applauding: “But very well done, my young comrade.”
“I’m not your comrade, demon,” I retorted, but a hint of doubt was startlingly cast over me.
“Oh, but you are,” the creature went on, speaking slowly and deliberately, “though you would like to think you were the standard bearer of morality and truth, judging the rest of us from your moral high ground. Righteous, sanctimonious, incapable of any wrong deed. Representative of the Most Holy – you think you’re really all that?
“On the contrary, you’re really just the same as us; underneath the veneer of your clean white garments and white wings – beautiful wings they are, no doubt, for you are a thing of exquisite beauty – you’re at heart all evil and monstrous. You’re a killer, after all.
“Consider the fruit of your most recent labour. Did this man really deserve to have his life cut short? Who made you judge, jury and God all at once? You could have spared his life, offered him the chance of redemption. Isn’t this the whole paradigm of your faith – redemption? He pleaded with you, did he not? He begged you to spare him his life, to forgive him. But you chose not to. Yes, you had a choice, and you chose to end his life. Send him straight to hell, if this even exists.
“Murderer. The First Commandment, remember? ‘Thou shalt not murder’. And that’s exactly what you are. And how many are there at last count? Who have died by your sword? Have you also lost count? Let me apprise you, then – since you were created, three years ago, you have destroyed two hundred and forty-eight lives. Add to this number the forty-three marines you killed in the street this evening, and that’s an aggregate of two hundred and ninety-one lives. That’s almost three hundred lives in three years. My friend, you must be incredibly proud of your accomplishment . . .”
Hitherto, I had never had a close encounter with a demon, of which I was aware, but I had been educated in their modus operandi, their proclivity for using deception. I shook my head in mid-diatribe.
“I’m not listening to you, to this,” I rejoined. “I was created for this purpose – deliver the thugs from our streets. And, by the way, ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before the Lord’ – this is the First Commandment. You’re a liar, and I won’t listen to anymore of your lies.”
Nevertheless, I had been listening. I had heard every assertion the creature had articulated – every word, every nuance of those words, and every accusation in those nuances. And every word I was hearing from this creature was chiselling away at my identity, one piece at a time. The creature had stumbled on a truth: beneath my pious veneer, I was really just a criminal. I was a loathsome thing, as loathsome as thugs like Manny; as loathsome as those in the Antichrist’s workforce, thugs who prowled constantly in the night while they sought to seduce the townsfolk with their false promises of co-regency in Antichrist’s dictatorship.
Remembering Manny now, and how indifferent I had been about his death.
I was losing myself in my internal soliloquy, unaware that the angelic creature was edging toward me. That was my first big mistake: contrary to my training as a soldier in the Lord’s army, I had allowed myself to lose sight of my adversary. I had given the enemy an opening to strike.
While I was engaging in an inner debate about my own code of morality, a surge of energy knocked me off my feet. That took my breath away. After that, I was flung with the force of a tidal wave toward the clouds. I was catapulted backwards, hurtling at a speed of two hundred miles an hour, till a hard surface halted my flight. I crashed against the surface. I moaned as I did, falling onto the ground with a heavy thud.
Then, the creature, that had been so beautiful to behold but was presently wearing a mask of death, was standing over me.
“So you believe killing Manny, over there, is justified?” he scoffed. “Because he was a thug whose only crime was being patriotic to our esteemed One-world leader? For this you would justify taking his life. Well, so much for those of your ilk’s crusading to debunk moral relativism and posturing as arbiters of objective morality. Good, very good. I was right – you’re just a wanton killer, like me.”
I shook my head, feeling vaguely confused.
“Are you still using this tired, old anti-theistic dictum to argue against the existence of an objective lawmaker?” I rebutted. “The fulfilment of the prophetic Rapture is evidence that there is absolute truth, and this truth is found in the Word of God, which attests to the existence of an objective God who gave us His moral laws. This is the very same God who created you and me, whose existence is testament of moral objectivity.”
“Really?” he scoffed. “Do you seriously think the Rapture has convinced the earth’s populace of God’s existence? On the contrary, many of earth’s inhabitants believe that the Church has been removed for her dogmatic narrow-mindedness and doctrinal bigotry. She is the wicked of whom the law and the psalmist have described. Most others believe she has been removed by their space brothers – aliens, extraterrestrials – from the distant stars. Pleiades is the name most frequently bandied about. That these space brothers are their true creators is the popular consensus, and the Church has been taken out of the way because she has been an obstacle to mankind’s evolutionary ascension toward a new spiritual emergence.”
“Spiritual emergence, huh?” I nodded sadly. “Well, they believe a lie. It’s New Age mumbo jumbo and mankind has been deceived.”
“That notwithstanding,” he added, “it doesn’t change the fact that you are a killer. Manny is just the latest in an ever expanding procession of souls you have annihilated.”
I shook my head. Don’t let him deceive you, I told myself. But my faith was already showing signs of being dealt a hairline fracture.
“Manny had a choice,” I stammered feebly. “He chose this life for himself. He was a rapacious hunter and a hostile enemy of the Lord, completely unrepentant of his mission to take into custody the Lord’s saints and elect, even at a cost to their preservation and lives. It’s the Lord who has judged him.”
The creature snickered: The Lord.
I nodded: “Yes, the Lord Jesus, who will judge you on The Day, also.”
The creature smirked: “And who’s been feeding you this fable?”
“It’s the truth, as you well know,” I replied. “The Lord Jesus – He is the Way, and the Truth, and the Life.”
The creature threw up his palm to dismiss my riposte. He said, soto voce: “Join me, beautiful killer. Together we will rule the earth with our brother, Lucifer.”
“Never,” I whispered, without ambiguity. “And neither you nor Lucifer is my brother. My allegiance is to Christ Jesus, my God. Your unbelief, on the other hand, is as anathema and blasphemous as your assumption to be able to tempt me is offensive.”
The creature smiled and, then, smirked scornfully: “Such hubris from an angel scarcely weaned from his Maker’s bosom. Very well then. I shall see you again, very soon. Mi-sha-el.”
I shuddered, feeling the hair on the back of my neck bristling. The last word the creature spoke had been articulated slowly and emphatically, as if to indicate a future foreboding of meeting again.
Just the same, he had made tracks.
I looked around me and, then, up at the sky. Dark clouds had started forming, engulfing the skyline. It was time to head home.
I picked myself up and drew my wings in. I felt myself changing back to my human form. I felt heavier, more tired than I could have felt at the start of the day, truly human.
All alone once more, I started my short walk toward my apartment building. On the way, I followed a different course, as was my habit, making my way to the park instead. It would take me further away from the centre of the town but it didn’t matter. I liked being at the park: it was rarely populated except by the indigenous fauna that comprised a superfluity of bloodsucking insects and glut of hardy raptors. It was a good place to be on my own, to worship, pray and meditate undisturbed, because no one else bothered to go there anymore. People had far too many cares; they were too uptight in the aftermath of the disappearance of tens of thousands of their friends, families and colleagues, to pursue recreation and relaxation. Furthermore, with the exception of the infants born during this time of the Great Tribulation, there were no children to bring to the park since they had all been raptured with the church.
I took my usual place on one of the wooden benches, sullied in places by the ordure of the ever-present domestic pigeons. Opposite me, weathered equipment stood on small grassy knolls. Brittle-looking weeds and wilting yellow thistle grew from the broken foot paths that ran between the rusted swings and slides. I closed my eyes and started to pray, lulled by the sounds of the swings creaking in the gentle breeze.
They turned up out of nowhere. There, behind the long tangles of grass, a small group of post-pubescent boys hopped out of their skateboards before ditching them near the downward slope of a half pipe. I screwed up my eyes and watched another boy approach them on his bicycle. Its steel handle gleamed under a street lamp.
“Have you got it?” the red-headed boy in the skull-motif T-shirt asked. He spied me from the corner of his eye but paid no attention to me.
“I tried, Phinehas,” the bike owner replied. “I really tried. But it’s locked away in my old man’s safe. I don’t have the combination.”
“Well, Ze’ev, we told you what would happen if you failed,” another boy warned, as members of his gang surrounded the youth. After that, a heated argument ensued. Blows were exchanged, a yell rang out and Ze’ev was left sputtering and spitting out dirt from his mouth.
I left the bench to prevent the fracas from converting the park into a battle ground.
“Hey,” I yelled, “leave him alone.”
“Oh yeah, and what’s it to you?” asked the redhead, Phinehas, who was the ringleader of the group.
The young hooligans, every one of them barely coming up to my shoulders, whose voices were yet unbroken, formed a circle around me, hemming me in.
“I said leave him alone,” I reiterated, glaring their impunity down. “Or maybe you’d prefer to spend the night in the town lock up for assault as well as attempted theft of an illegal firearm?”
The ringleader stood up on tiptoes to try to meet me at eye level. It would have been hilarious if not for the fact that he took his adult posturing so seriously.
“Who told you that?” he demanded rudely. “No one mentioned nothing about the Glock 17 tonight. How could you have known?”
“I just do,” I replied. “Just one of my . . . um, talents.”
“You’re a freak,” he snarled derisively.
“Hey, Phin, let’s just go, okay?” one of the other boys persuaded the gang leader, nervously taking a step back from me. “This freak isn’t fooling. My Dad’s gonna bust my behind when he finds out. No hardware’s worth that.”
A chorus of agreement, intermittently laced with dirty words, rose among the teenagers. One by one, they hopped back onto their skateboards. They skidded toward a service lane behind some shrubs.
“Ze’ev Griner, you’re a coward,” Phinehas yelled as he negotiated his skateboard between the shrubs. “In case you’re wondering, you failed your initiation.”
The fray defused, I turned to the offended boy. “Are you all right?” I asked, brushing off the grass and soil from his windcheater.
He smacked my hand out of the way.
“Why did you go and do that for, freak?” he spat in a high-pitched voice. “I had everything under control. You should mind your own business.”
Surprised, I eased off, but it was when he dropped the F-bomb on me that I felt a shock wave going up my cheeks and spine.
“Wait a minute,” I reasoned. “I was only trying to help, that’s all.”
“Well, I didn’t need your help,” the boy snapped. “Just buzz off, okay? And don’t you dare say anything to the authorities that my Daddy’s in unlawful possession of a gun. I’ll find you and kill you with it myself.”
By now I was speechless, bowled over by the depravity of this generation, but especially young ones barely in Junior High like Ze’ev.
“Have you no fear of God?” I asked him, my eyes filling up.
“There’s no God,” he replied. “My Momma says what kind of God takes a baby from its mother’s womb? That was before she smashed her car into a retaining wall on purpose. So there’s no God, all right?”
“The baby is with God, Ze’ev,” I replied tenderly. “I assure you.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he retorted. “Don’t matter. Momma’s still dead. Now just buzz off, okay? Leave me alone. You’ve done enough for me for a lifetime, so thanks for nothing.”
I put my palms up. “Have it your way,” I replied sadly. “I’m going. But just remember: God loves your baby sister, who’s in heaven now, and God loves you.”
“Wait a sec,” he said sounding harried. “How do you know it was a girl? I didn’t say anything about a baby sister.”
I smiled: “I just know. Like I said, it’s a talent, a God-given talent. Take it easy, kid.”
Before I turned to leave, I saw him – the demonic spirit – appearing out of thin air like a swirl of mist. The spectre, whose form resembled that of a miniature gargoyle, momentarily floated above the boy before coasting into his left ear. The corners of the youth’s mouth instantly became frothy. Then, his eyeballs rolled until all I could see were the whites of his eyes. Ze’ev lost consciousness, his breath emanating as a hiss while he collapsed writhing on the ground.
“Leave him alone,” I warned the trespassing spirit. He shrieked maliciously at me and compelled the boy up. Ze’ev sprang into the air toward me, his mouth wide open like a cavern as if ready to devour me.
“Come out of him at once,” I stepped back and hollered. Ze’ev took another leap, landing heavily on top of me. He pinned me to the ground. In possession of Ze’ev’s body, the demonic spirit began an onslaught of punches to my face and nips on my neck. I winced out loud while I wrestled in vain to free myself.
“Change now, Mishael,” I ordered as I curled my fingers under the boy’s chin. Regrettably, I was all but physically spent from the day’s hunt; I felt bereft of any energy to assume my angelic identity.
On top of me, the demoniac writhed and screeched, baring his teeth and snapping viciously at my face.
I rebuked him: “Do you not know the rules: I’m a servant of the Most High God? What you’re doing is not permissible.”
When I felt his teeth locked onto a bit of the fleshy tissue of my neck, I added: “My Lord, my God, I need Your help. Save me, Lord Jesus.”
An otherworldly parade of inter-dimensional entities appeared from a cloud of dust motes before assembling in an orderly semi-circle above us. While a heavenly host wrenched the boy away from me, I counted about six evil spirits being kept back by a dozen other hosts of heaven, these ones from the Lord’s army led by the angel, Uriel.
Wrestled to the ground by the angel, Abishael, the evil spirit in Ze’ev emitted a hair-raising scream. The mouth of the tormented boy foamed all the more earnestly.
I shrank back in horror.
“Go on home, Little One,” commanded Uriel, whose black waist-length hair was pragmatically arranged in a thick braid, which he had coiled round his neck to keep it out of his face. He gave me his hand before leading me part of the way toward the road: “Go this instant. They shan’t bother you in your home.”
“Uriel,” I stated, grateful that his company had shown up, “but what about the boy?”
“Leave the child, Ze’ev, to Abishael and me,” the handsome angel replied, holding back several demonic spirits with his Claymore. They fled, screaming fretfully at the name of their God, Yeshua Ha Mashiach.
Restoring his customized sword to its scabbard, Uriel added: “Ze’ev’s our responsibility; the Lord’s will be done. I give you my assurance – he will come to no permanent harm.”
He looked up at the sky. “It looks like our adversaries are spoiling for a fight,” he grinned, pointing at the two airy spirits charging at us. He gripped my wrist and hurried us through another section of the park, toward a wood. We quickly lost our pursuers beneath its canopy. I hesitated beside a mammoth agave to inform him of the fact that I had never before ventured into these secluded parts.
“You won’t get lost,” Uriel replied, appreciating my concern. He resumed us on our way, pulling me along: “I shall direct you out of here.”
Not long after, we came upon a dirt trail. He stopped us beside it. The mighty angel stooped down to examine my neck (for in his manifested state, this angel was nearly eight and a half feet tall). His fingers were afterward stirred to untie the bandanna that was on his head.
“Have these abrasions looked at tonight itself,” he advised while he carefully wrapped his bandanna around my neck. “Make sure they’re not allowed to fester.”
I nodded, feeling glum.
“Are you all right, Mishael?” he asked me.
“I think so,” I replied.
The elder knelt down before me. He inspected my hands in his palms.
I stammered uneasily to him: “I’m glad you’ve come, Uriel. But Mika; I mean the General: did he . . . uh . . . I mean, how is he?”
Uriel smiled: “You were going to ask if Michael had heard you, weren’t you? Don’t be troubled, Little One. He’s well. And, yes, he heard you. He hears you all the time. Michael’s the one that has dispatched Abishael and me to you. He was about to respond to your call in person but, at the last minute, he was summoned to defuse an emergency situation in Jerusalem. It was unavoidable. The General’s been extremely busy juggling his time between missions, administration and the protection of Israel. The rest of us must do what we can to share his load.”
I smiled: “I’m looking forward to seeing everyone again soon.”
The elder spun me round to carry out his inspection: “You’ve been missing Mika a lot, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I feel like I haven’t seen him for eons; he would drop by, on and off, to update my training during the first six months. After that, I’ve not had more than a few minutes’ visit from him.”
“When you love someone, being separated from that individual, even for a day, can feel like a lifetime,” the elder stated, spinning me back round. “It’ll be a joyous reunion for Michael and you when you come home in a few weeks’ time.”
“As it was for you and the Halfling, Eranael, on his furlough last year,” I suggested.
“Aye. But New Canaan has been a harsh assignment for you, hasn’t it?” he suggested.
I nodded: “I’ve had good days, too. I’ve made good friends here, some believers and some non-believers. I trust many of them. They’ve made a difference to this city. I’m hitting a wall in my witnessing to the non-believers, however. Their excuse is always the same: that a God that can allow all this evil and suffering caused by His plagues isn’t worthy of their belief and reverence.”
The elder shook his head. He explained: “Indeed, it is sad that despite so much evidence of God’s existence, there are multitudes that refuse to believe. These people have fashioned for themselves an image of what they want God to be, and not who God is truly. They need to be reminded that God is not just a loving God who will not allow evil. The Lord our God is a just God, too. His morals are perfect. An absolutely just and morally perfect God demands that sin be punished. One purpose of His judgment plagues on the world during this Tribulation period is to mete out His judgment on unrepentant sinners. Those who carry on their unbelief are only storing up for themselves the Lord’s wrath. After you have taught them the perfect justice and holiness of God, tell them about God’s perfect love, too. This is when you tell them about the cross. God doesn’t want anyone to go to hell. He demonstrates His love by sending His Son, Christ Jesus, to die on the cross so that they can avoid His judgment and hell. Do not shrink with fear from talking about God’s justice and hell. Then, see if it makes a difference to your witness.”
I nodded. “I shall do that, Uriel,” I told him. “Thank you.”
He briefly looked over his shoulder before saying to me: “Well, Little One, there doesn’t appear to be any other identifiable wounds I’ve been able to find. But those ones on your neck must be attended to as soon as possible.”
I nodded once more.
Then, as his left hand went to the back of my head, he added: “I must return quickly now to my warriors. First, let’s make sure you get home before the curfew, shall we? Now, then, do you see that arbour over there?”
His right index finger pointed at a small glade.
I nodded: “I see it.”
“Good,” he replied. “Stay on this trail till you come to the end of it. You’ll find the main road behind that arbour. There are signs along the road directing you back to the CBD. Will you be all right on your own now?”
I nodded once more.
“Then go, young one, and quickly,” my elder ordered.
I obeyed without question, parting from the Commanding General. I followed the dirt trail as he had instructed, stepping over the desiccated espaliers all along the trail till I finally heard the scrunch of my boots on the gravel road. I had made it.
I looked back. I was no longer able to see Uriel, or anyone else. In fact, I was all alone, standing on a fairly deserted road. The darkness on every side of me was dense; I could just sense the presence of Satan and his forces of evil around me. Being unsuspectingly thrust into this situation of abject isolation was spooky, even for a half-angel, like me.
Yes, I was a half-angel; to use the name coined by the brethren for my species, I was a Halfling. I was a human being endowed with the powers of an angel; a product of the miscegenation of angel and human DNA, sent to earth to live among the human race while I hunted down the Antichrist’s forces undetected.
There were only seventy of us in the entire world. Nevertheless, we weren’t particularly unique. We weren’t unlike other human beings: we were subject to sicknesses, fear and death; we craved the pleasures of variety and sociability; we had longings for love, acceptance and a sense of belonging; and we had free will. A downside of free will: we were disposed to the vagaries of temperament and homily of conscience that came with the right to exercise freedom of choice. All these were fairly universal human experiences. We weren’t unlike other angels as well: with some exceptions, we possessed supernatural abilities not dissimilar to those bestowed on angels. One of these was the ability to assume either human or angelic form at will. Another was the ability to see entities from the spiritual dimension.
Such as the spirit of the Nephilim that was observing me closely. He was partly hidden behind a tree. I rebuked him before ordering him to withdraw from the vicinity. He took his time but eventually obeyed, vanishing with a grudge.
My newfangled wristwatch vibrated. It was eight o’clock. In most other cities of import, life was probably just starting to gather momentum for the happy-hour crowd. Not in New Canaan. Ever since the onset of civil unrests in New Canaan, a nine o’clock curfew had been imposed on the land to curb further unlawful assembling of her denizens that had seditious intents toward the Antichrist’s autocratic rule. Exemptions were made for the labourers on graveyard shifts and those that serviced the flesh trades in the seedy underbelly of this district, earmarked District 11 by the New World Order.
A military convoy groaned past me, Global Unity Petroleum emblazoned on every door. One of the state-owned trucks tooted its horn. “Go home!” I heard the yell.
Like everything else in the Global Unity, the name of Antichrist’s New-world Order, the autocratic ruler had a monopoly on the world’s petroleum output and distribution, the ‘green alternative fuel’ movements of decades past having been recently abandoned as expensive, untenable failures. This accounted for the exorbitant prices at the gas stations. And another reason for the near-deserted road.
Eerie sounds, the moaning of cats and yowling of hounds, started to pick up from the now distant wood. Formless shadows flitted above the tops of the indigent trees. My goose bumps rose. I turned up my collar and folded my arms across my chest. I swiftly studied the road sign in front of me.
City Centre, 4 km, the sign stated. Painted arrows in luminescent white pointed to the stretch of road on my right. I started my lone march home, crossing the road to move against the flow of the traffic.
Seconds later, I was running. I ran as though I were in a race, keeping my eye on the finishing line. Not once did I yield to the temptation to look behind me, not even when I heard voices whispering my name as I passed the cemetery. Not even when I heard footsteps stalking me in the aqueduct. I had sprinted so quickly that I had halved the time it ought to have taken to reach the CBD.
Arriving at length at the Contemporary Music Conservatory, I switched my gait to a brisk walk. I made a left into a boulevard: it would lead directly to my apartment tower, another block away. Only now would I look over my shoulder. I was still alone.
“No more detours,” I told myself with a huge sigh.
I began to auto pilot myself home. I was walking in a trance, at times observing the skyline at a slant. Every now and again, I would reach my fingers to my neck to loosen the bandanna round it. I used it to dab at the sweat accumulating under my chin. Uriel wouldn’t mind it, I was sure. I was subconsciously allowing the summer zephyr and the hard wire in my legs to conduct me back toward my apartment.
Then, I sensed footsteps behind me. Someone was coming up to me. He sounded in a bit of a hurry.
