Angels of War Battle of Archangels (Book 3) (Angels of War Trilogy) Page 18

  He gritted his teeth and scattered the torn pieces like bad seeds onto the rug. “I will succeed. You won’t win,” he screamed at the tiny shreds. “I will win, not you. You are dead.”

  David moved to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors slid open and he slipped inside and took the ride down to the control center floor. He stepped out into the crowded bustle and marched over to the man dressed in an expensive gray suit. To his left, three robed priests knelt with a black book open, their voices a deep murmur.

  “Armand.”

  Armand Demhurst turned, a closed mouth smile spread over his face. “I see you’re awake.”

  David nodded. “That I am.”

  Armand placed a slender hand on David’s shoulder. “The doctor said it was exhaustion.”

  David gazed at the workstations, now crowded with Armand’s workers. “I killed them all.”

  “Not all of them, David. A few hid in the back. But they converted after you had the others killed. Good job by the way.”

  “Thank you,” David said. He couldn’t stop his fingers from their twitching, so he laced them together and took a deep breath to steady himself.

  Armand swept his hand at the screen. “This is an amazing place, David. The technicians managed to get the power going again. The computer systems here are safe and operating.”

  “Yes,” he said. “It all operates on an independent power system except for the vents of course.” He studied the control panel. “The table here is digital, able to render 3D images of states and other countries. But with the cloud cover the satellites can no longer deliver real time activity.”

  Armand gazed at the map. He placed his fingers against the glass and shuffled to Texas. A red smudge broke from the cloud cover. “I see a satellite caught one image,” he said with mirth in his voice.

  David stared at the red glow on the screen. His fingers trembled even more. He blinked his eyes away from the scene. “Yea,” he said.

  “How can I see all my units?”

  David flipped up a keyboard on the table. “I need each commander’s communication signature and all your major units will be tracked through the computer by use of radio frequencies.”

  Armand nodded. “Do that. I want all my units to arrive in Washington, D.C. Then we will attack Israel. Once Israel is destroyed, the world will finally get the hint and fall to their knees.”

  “Bwahawhawhawhaw,” David said with uncontrolled insolence. “Why don’t we ask for their surrender?”

  Armand’s hand whipped up and slapped David across his face. “Would you surrender?”

  David placed a hand against the sore spot where Armand slapped him. “No,” he said.

  Armand lifted a finger. “Don’t ever make light of me again, David. You’re one of my favorites, but I will kill you.”

  David nodded and fell to his knees. He took Armand’s dry left hand and kissed the signet ring gracing the middle finger. “Forgive me, master.”

  Armand frowned. “Get on your fucking feet, David. And do your duty for Satan.”

  “Yes, sir.” David rose to his feet. Hot shame washed over his face along with anger. “I’ll see to it that Israel is destroyed.”

  42

  Patricia Jones hiked into the woods with the group who watched Sergeant First Class Aries cremation. She followed them for five miles through darkness. Night creatures called out to them, trees rose above their heads. She thought about ghost stories where the night came alive.

  To her the world shifted. The black skies above settled over her soul thick and dark. She forced herself not to cry even though she and Jason’s mission saved a few million more lives throughout the world. Their attack still seemed a meager dent against an iron shield, as if the two should have committed a bigger act to destroy the enemy.

  A headache emerged from behind her eyes, rising with a dull throb. Her nose ran from the consistent ash, the back of her throat picked up an itch. She started to notice the weapons they carried. Many bore rifles slung over their shoulders, a few walked with holstered pistols. Some toted the weapons she pulled from the armory. The fighters talked in hushed tones, their voices rising above a whisper.

  Patricia stared at the group who wore chem lights in various colors attached to their clothes. The lights glowed like strange worms from another planet, subdued greens, purples, and oranges floated about as if in midair. One man eased back to her. He remained silent for a few minutes.

  “Did you know the man the angel cremated?”

  Patricia turned to him. His round face lost in deep shadows, she saw his eyelashes flick. “I didn’t know him well. He was a Guardian and a member of Special Forces.”

  “May he rest in peace.” He crossed himself. “Do you know the angel?”

  “I’ve met the entire team when the war first started. Joan, Daisy Lane, Okura, and Maria.”

  “I heard Okura fell.”

  “He’s a traitor, a soldier for Satan. How do you survive this, and why didn’t you give in?”

  “Hope,” he said. “Our group operates on hope.”

  Patricia canted her head. “How many of you are there?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but we are grouped in pods. Fifty to each pod and we’re all from Virginia, spread throughout the state. We are waiting for the order to attack the White House and the monsters inside it.”

  “Hope,” Patricia said and rolled the word around in her mind. “Hope,” she said again in an effort to feel the word in her heart. “I’m trying not to lose hope.”

  “We haven’t. God has plans. He is just testing us.”

  “I’m sure He is,” she said.

  “No. He really is testing us.”

  A figure dressed in black rushed from the woods and ran up to the leader. He whispered into the man’s ear and departed.

  The man made a noise in his throat. The entire team stopped and melted into the shadows. “Down, down,” he said low in his voice.

  Patricia squatted near a thick bush and fell silent. All their breaths appeared as white puffs against the chilled air. She strained her hearing against the chirps and calls the night creatures relayed to each other, and then silence.

  The man leaned toward Patricia and stuck out his hand. “Sam.”

  “Patricia,” she said and shook it. “What is happening?” Her heart began its rapid beat.

  “Do you have a blade, a machete?”

  Patricia reached into her pack and drew a black machete. “I do.”

  “Those Ghost Soldiers are coming. They are easy to kill with guns, but the noise will attract more. We want to stay silent.”

  Patricia lifted her head. In the distance a dim glow and fog frothed up from the deeper woods. Figures with white heads etched in cracks emerged from the luminescent mist. Dark armor covered their bodies. They moved none too eager with pole arms slung over shoulders or held in hands. “I count ten heads,” she said.

  Sam gave off a gentle laugh. “Look below their knees.”

  Patricia focused her eyes below the area near the soldier’s knees. A slight movement, a head shake from an animal. “Hellhounds…”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “We split our teams, one for the hounds, and the other for the soldiers.”

  “What about me?”

  “You’re new here. Have you ever killed one?”

  “Yes, with a rifle.”

  Sam placed a hand one Patricia’s shoulder. “Up close and personal is a whole different experience.”

  A woman shuffled back to Sam. “They are coming towards us.”

  Sam’s eyes glittered in the darkness. “Tell everyone to get ready.”

  43

  Patricia held her machete tight in hand until her palm greased with sweat. Her eyes narrowed as the Ghost Soldiers ambled towards the group unawares. She couldn’t tell if they sensed the mortals tucked amongst the brush. The gentle night wind carried their stench to her nostrils. Sulfur stung her nose, her eyes watered. A few fighters placed hands against their nos
es to stifle the sneeze or cough the horrid scent brought on.

  Patricia held her breath, more water ran from her eyes until they blurred. The soldiers neared, their hollow eyes scanning the dark woods above the group heads. Their tethered Hellhounds panted before their horrid masters, the wind blew the mortal scent away.

  Sam readied his Bowie knife. His teeth shone red against a glow stick. “Now.”

  Patricia leaped to her feet along with the fighters. Their shouts echoed throughout the woods. The Ghost Soldiers paused a few seconds too long in surprise. She lifted her machete and sent its black blade down upon a Hellhound’s head with one stroke. The head toppled to the ground. She never fought so close to the enemy in her life. Shouts and screams swirled around her like a tornado. The fighters poured in upon the enemy soldiers with a fierce eagerness.

  Patricia waded into the fight. She hacked into necks, heads rolled, a Ghost Soldier drove a spear towards her face, she stepped back and the weapon’s jagged tip grazed her forehead. The wound burned an inch above her eyebrows, she answered with her machete, a cross armed cut sliced off its head.

  Patricia swung her head left and right. Bodies clashed and fought around her. The Ghost Soldiers uttered guttural noises far from the language they once spoke while alive. A few humans soldiers fell from the barbed spears and serrated blades the enemy fought with. Agonized cries rose into the tepid air, metal clanged, and flesh ripped and blood spilled.

  A Hell soldier attacked from Patricia’s left with his barbed spear pulled back over its head. At the same time a Hellhound bolted towards her. Its black horns aimed for her knees. She moved fast and flung the machete. The weapon flipped through the air and sank deep into the soldier’s forehead.

  Patricia reached forward and snatched the spear staff from the soldier’s dying hands. The Hellhound leaped for her. She jammed the weapon between the Hellhounds eyes. The barbed spear plunged into the monster’s skull. Its weight and momentum yanked the spear from her hands as the beast crashed to the ground. Another Hellhound burst from the brush and made her its new target.

  Patricia faced the second Hellhound weaponless. The beast leaped up, slamming its thick horns into her left shoulder, white pain flared. The blow knocked her to the ground. She fell on her back and sank her fingers deep into the fur at the monster’s throat. Huge fangs and a black tongue greeted her face, its red eyes blazing. The monster’s mouth snapped, splashing her face with sulfur laced spittle.

  Patricia screamed. Her arms trembled, and the beast laid its full weight against her arms. Pain flared in her shoulder where the hound struck her. A shadow loomed over Patricia, a knife blade flashed silver before plunging into the monster’s throat several times.

  Sam hacked into the Hellhound’s neck with one hand while gripping its horn with the other. He slashed until he severed the monster’s head and tossed it aside. “Get up, Patricia.”

  Patricia rolled to her right. Blood from her head wound poured into her eyes and distorted the frantic world around her. She crawled away from the hound’s decapitated body and stood amongst the battle. Fear crowded in, her throat tightened.

  A Ghost Soldier drove his wicked spear into a fighter on her left. The wounded fighter dropped her sword. Patricia rushed in and snatched the serrated weapon from the ground.

  The Ghost Soldier withdrew the blood-smeared spear, his victim dropped to the ground. Its dark maw opened and he jabbed the long weapon at Patricia.

  The spear tip missed Patricia’s head by inches. With sword in hand she struck the spear’s iron shaft and closed the gap between her and the Ghost Soldier.

  She moved fast to get an edge on the demon. Her right arm swung down with sword blade, struck the shaft again and then moved up and swung the sword across. The soldier’s head slid from its shoulders. Body and all fell to the ground, her lungs burned from the effort.

  Patricia stood amongst the madness with her liberated sword coated in black blood from the monster she killed. The fight died down in increments, death cries faded, post battle moans worked into the air amongst the dreary woods. Her skin tingled from excitement and the physical work the fight forced her into.

  Blood and sweat smeared her face. Gory clumps hung in her tangled hair like bloody Christmas ornament. Fighters continued to finish off the wounded enemy soldiers. Some fighters fell to their knees and said prayers for those who died in the fight.

  She never fought the enemy so close before. The Pentagon shootout involved guns. She leaped over the ones Jason killed while he trailed behind her.

  Short and intense, the fight in the woods tested her nerves and once again she managed to control her fear in a fight. Jason Aries baptized her in battle. Her fight in the woods put a stamp on an ability she never considered.

  Sam limped towards her with a bloody gash on his right leg. “You survived, Patricia.”

  Patricia armed sweat and blood from her face. She took a deep breath and tasted iron on her tongue. “You too, Sam.”

  Sam grinned, winced and swayed on his feet. “This is our third fight, we’re learning. Those monsters are everywhere.”

  Patricia jammed the enemy sword into the soft blood soaked ground. Her hands trembled as the adrenalin ebbed away. Random aches flared throughout her body. Her left shoulder throbbed in pain where the Hellhound slammed its horns into her. “Can you organize the other pods?”

  Sam nodded. “We all talk to each other through shortwave radio.”

  “Can you organize them now?”

  “I can.”

  Patricia swept her eyes around her. Fighters tended to the dead and wounded, others collected weapons from the ground. She hated how people died, but realized they needed to fight against the enemy. Satan and his army left the mortals unmarked by his fiendish hand no other choice.

  Patricia dug the tattered American flag from her pants cargo pouch and handed it to a fighter.

  “Contact them,” she said. “I think God wants us to fight. So let’s give them a fight.”

  44

  Maria missed Jason so much she wanted to turn into a ball, roll underneath a rock, and cry until she dissolved away. But she knew self-pity never ended wars. With Joan gone to Heaven and Jason dead her friend options narrowed. Juggernaut mourned his parents, she watched him work with wet eyes. Daisy Lane she no longer trusted.

  The Guardians erected another camp up wind from the Rio Grande choked with dead fish and vegetation. A stench came off the river so powerful it sickened everyone to a point where a few started to retch up their meals.

  She worked to help erect a new camp as Jason’s death lingered in her heart with a deep emptiness, and she concluded Joan must have experienced the same heavy emotion after her family died. The ache sat in her chest like a black stone.

  The angel helped erect poles for the large medical tent. The green canvas fluffed out from a gentle wind no longer perfumed by dead fish. The other soldiers hefted tent poles, pulled out cords, and hammered stakes into the ground to secure the guy lines. She needed to keep both her hands and mind busy.

  After the nuclear blast, civilians emerged from the desert. Frightened and dust smeared refugees from other Texas cities who fled into the park for safety after Satan attack. Once the refugees concluded the Guardians safe, they did their best to help with the wounded.

  Patricia went to the cook’s tent and helped organize the military meals ready to eat. To her, the world greeted death in pieces. The dark sky, now a storm cloud dark after the black night passed, blocked the sun’s life giving rays onto the planet. No more rabbits burst from the brush like frightened school children, the fish died, lizards died and dried to become inedible jerky hidden underneath black edged cactus. All earth’s creatures suffered a slow death from moles to mortals.

  Maria figured God decided to let them all slug it out, and whoever managed to stay alive would inherit the earth. And she doubted they would be meek. The world agonized. This must have been the ultimate faith tester, the final exam to find out who woul
d land on Heaven’s VIP list.

  Maria wanted to find a way to end the war. The conflict lingered with no bright light in the distant future. The mortals braced themselves to suffer until they either died fighting or from starvation. She knew God saw them endure their trials in a lop-sided fight.

  The angel left the cook’s tent to seek out Tobias. Maria hiked the camp for an hour until she found him amongst the weapons. He sat on a fallen tree trunk with a sword over his lap and a folded cloth in hand.

  “Tobias,” she said and sat next to him.

  Tobias slid the cloth over the silver metal with slow movements as if he stroked a cat. He performed the act a second time. “Maria, how are you?”

  “I’m good. The camp is moved and the wounded are being taken care of.”

  Tobias nodded, folded the cloth and resumed sliding the material against the sharp steel. Other Guardians sat near the armor area with swords and spears in hand. They polished the weapons while others checked the armor.

  “Look at me, Tobias.”

  Tobias sheathed the sword and turned his head towards her. “What, Maria? We sit here waiting for Satan to wipe us out. A few assholes in Washington stopped us cold and now we sit and wait some more. I want blood, Maria.”

  “And blood you shall have, Tobias. But we need to be careful.”

  “How careful can we be? I lost both my parents,” he said and gazed towards the east. “They are gone and our little group here is broken.”

  “Then we stay together. I want revenge also, but we have to win this time.”

  Tobias gazed at the sword hilt, a plain oak handle wrapped in silver with a Guardian’s name inscribed on the butt plate. “I thought our powers would make this war easier. Man how I was wrong. What is our self-installed leader doing?”

  “Daisy Lane? I don’t trust her,” said Maria.

  Tobias got up, replaced the sword in a rack amongst others and brought back two. He handed one to Maria and sat down. “I feel the same,” he said and drew the weapon and studied its honed edge against the campfire. “She’s not fallen though.”