Irish: An Angel's Journey

by David Pollitt

  Chapter 8

  Hallelujah Man

  As Irish and Grace walked along the interstate heading for Denver, Grace asked, "What now?"

  Grace kept looking around at the trees and grass like she was looking for something. Irish didn't notice until she watched Grace fall behind and was looking at a dead groundhog, then poked it with a stick. The cars whizzed by with their passengers giving them strange looks.

  Irish turned to look at Grace, "What's wrong with you, Grace?"

  Grace didn't say anything at first but finally shrugged saying, "Nothing."

  As they continued, a large buzzard dived on the carcass behind them. The movement startled Grace, and she turned and stared, walking away almost in a daze. They were getting ready to leave the outskirts of Albuquerque on Interstate 85.

  "Grace, what's wrong?" asked Irish again.

  "I think I'm hungry," she said almost ashamed. She knew it was illogical, but she was.

  "Hungry? Are you bananas? You really can't be. It's impossible. It has to be a figment of your imagination. Try to think about other things. We don't need food. You know that."

  Irish felt badly of herself. After all, if Grace thought she was hungry, Lord knows she could eat, why fight it? After all, the experience of eating different things was an entertaining delight, a sensual banquet.

  "Okay, okay, how about going to the next exit, that big truck stop, and I'll fix you up with some chili dogs, one of my favorites?" Irish knew she had made a hit.

  "Really, do they taste good?" asked Grace.

  "Sure, and if my memory serves me correct, you can taste them all the way to Denver," she chuckled as she picked up the pace a little. As they made it to the top of the exit, Grace got a whiff of the food smells coming from the big diner attached to a gift shop.

  "Wow, this place smells good!" She wiped at the corners of her mouth.

  Irish shook her head in ridicule and followed Grace through the gift shop towards the restaurant. Grace stopped, "What's that?" she asked, pointing to rows of plastic turtles with their heads moving back and forth without help, perpetual-motion turtles.

  "Just a dashboard ornament," answered Irish, and she moved in front of a shelf full of Dashboard Jesus'. Their heads were bobbing too.

  "What are you trying to hide, Irish?" Grace asked as she slipped past her. She ended up staring blankly at over fifty Jesus heads, floating back and forth on wire springs.

  "It's just a human thing. They're supposed to be Jesus. Don't pay any attention to them."

  "Hey lady, you going to buy something or not? If you break a Dashboard J, you'll have to pay for it!" hollered a man from the cashier with an armless t-shirt and ragged, blue-jean shorts. His stomach wouldn't let him get any closer to the counter than a couple feet; it hung, dragged dangerously by gravity towards his knees.

  Grace wasn't amused, "Jesus doesn't look like that! You're making Him look like those turtles!"

  Grace picked up an armful of them and stormed towards the counter and started throwing them at him one at a time as he ducked in shock at the assault.

  She started yelling at him while Irish watched, "Listen, you overgrown pig! Stop making fun of my Lord! Do you hear me? I think I'd hide when a thunderstorm comes next time, mister! You could find yourself attracting the wrong end of heavenly electricity!"

  The counterman's face turned beat red, "You little jerk! You need some manners! Either buy these or get out of the shop!" he responded while continuing to duck from the pelting.

  He wasn't about to take guff from a little girl and was getting ready to tie a knot in her braids to stop the ruckus when he looked outside. He knew instinctively that the storm brewing was for him, and somehow, deep down, he knew this little girl had something to do with it. Something about this girl’s eyes bothered him. Her star eyes were enlarged enough to be noticeable in the excitement, and that spooked him even more.

  The sky outside turned dark and sinister, and hail pelted the gas pumps driven by a sudden wind that sent everyone scurrying for shelter. Moments later, a series of lightening strikes hit the parking lot that sent showers of burnt concrete into the air in a direct pattern, in a straight line, for the counter—strike—strike—strike. The last strike was only a foot from the gas pump window at the counterman's back. It all disappeared as fast as it came, but the smell of ionization charged with burnt pavement lingered in the air.

  Grace moved directly in front of him with the gathered, remaining ornaments, then dumped them on the counter while letting them roll onto the floor and bouncing off his head since he was on the floor hiding from the storm.

  "Mister, shall we try that again?"

  She stood in front of him her arms folded over her chest waiting for a reply. He was shaking all over with warm pee running down one leg, and he shamefully ducked his head towards her, picked up a couple of stray Jesus figures, and stuck them under the counter out of sight.

  "Hey, Joe, I need to run to the house for a minute, be right back, or not!" He didn't wait for Joe but scooted out the cage doors and ran towards his truck. He whispered to himself, "I got that message."

  Irish spoke to Grace in astonishment, "You're getting an attitude, Grace. The poor slob won't be right for weeks after today. Every time a storm comes up, he'll probably think it's for him."

  "Might be," replied Grace.

  They moved into the diner and ordered up a plate of hot dogs smothered with hot chili and onions. After eight hot dogs and not leaving even an onion peel, Grace belched loudly.

  "What's for dessert?" Customers watched her shovel the food, and a group of truckers playing the poker machines laughed hysterically at her last outburst.

  "That's my kind of girl, Al," one said.

  "No kidding, did you see her put away those dogs. Man, all those onions! I'd hate to be traveling in the cab with her, whooeee!" replied a friend playing the pinball next to him.

  "Did you get a good look at Mom?" asked another. "It might be worth putting up with Miss Onion Breath to have her near."

  The two looked at each other for a second, and then answered together, "Naaaaaa!"

  Irish came over to them, asking, "How about a ride to Denver? Anyone need some company?"

  Irish smiled, and her colors started filling the air around her. It was enough that several shook their heads and rubbed their eyes, thinking to themselves, "It must be too much coffee."

  "Hey lady, that onion kid would be enough to drive us crazy. Why don't you go over to that guy pulling out in the red, bobtailed sleeper. He's got plenty of room." They all agreed and pointed to the truck without a trailer slowly pulling away from the fuel pumps.

  "What's so special about him?" asked Irish.

  They laughed and snickered together, "He's one of those weirdo fanatics. Can't you hear that Gospel music coming from his cab? That girl is just what he deserves for talking about Jesus all the time. Payback, right guys?"

  There was an instant communal encouragement from the truckers as Grace saw the truck with its doors painted with "Jesus Saves," under a bold name of "Hallelujah Man." Sure enough, they could hear the local Gospel station blazing from the open windows. Grace left Irish behind and started running for the truck. Before Willie went ten feet from the pumps, a little girl was on his passenger side staring at him with her piercing blue eyes with the seeds of white stars invading his subconscious.

  "Got room for some riders?" asked Grace with enthusiasm. Willie braked hard feeling his heart jump with excitement. Behind Grace came Irish pushing herself into the window beside her.

  "I'm Irish. This is Grace. I like your music, and we really do need a ride to Denver. How far you going?" Irish smiled at him, and Willie got the willies (goose bumps) jumping up on him like popcorn. Her singsong voice was so soothing that it caught him totally off guard. In his spirit, he felt the Lord tugging.

  A voice deep inside of him said, "Take care of my children, Willie." It was so clear that it echoed in his h
ead, vibrating through his body.

  "Yeah, Denver, to pick up a new load. But, my sleeper is full of stuff so you might not get much sleep. I'm just warning you," responded Willie as he watched them both climbing into the cab.

  "Wow, Irish, look at all these fancy things (gizmos again). I've never seen anything like these. Oh, don't worry about us, Willie. I take naps, but Irish never sleeps, do you Irish?" Irish poked her to keep quiet.

  "Hey girl, what have you been eating? Man oh man! Here, start chewing on these breath mints, and here's a pack of gum to work on." He rolled down his window and gasped for air. The truckers inside the diner saw him gagging and laughed until it hurt.

  "I just ate. Haven't eaten in two days. I don't eat that chew stuff, 'cause I don't need to throw up. If you want to throw up, it'd be okay with me." Grace pulled at the sleeper door and found some large pillows to sit on. She felt like she was going on an amusement park ride.

  "Man, I don't need that stuff to hurl. I'm thinking about doing it right now, though. Are you two serious about going to Denver, or are you in on this onion prank? I see the guys inside. They put you up to it, didn't they?"

  Irish interrupted, "Willie, this is where we're supposed to be. Don't worry about those guys. God uses the mischievous people to do his will as much as anyone. Everything is by design." Irish reached over and patted his hand, and he jumped with the flood of peace that rolled over him.

  "Okay, okay, you got a ride. At least you sound like you're believers, whether you are or not. You'll have to put up with me talking about Jesus and my music. If you're game, I'm game."

  Willie looked like an old mountain goat with long hair pulled behind his head tied with rubber bands. He was ancient looking, with permanent smile marks on his face and sun burnt, squinting marks around his eyes. He wore too small, wire-rimmed glasses that pinched his small face, leaving green metal marks over his ears. He was at least 60 but looked 80. Some thought that Willie was his nickname 'cause he looked so much like Willie Nelson. He smiled widely and displayed rows of silver cavity fillings and gold crowns.

  He put his truck in gear and worked through them getting back on the interstate. Before getting too far down the road, he heard from other truckers about the onion-girl prank. He started laughing at it himself; and after a couple miles, he joined their kidding and bragged how the guys at the 84 Exit got him good, but he had the best looking passenger in the whole state.

  "So tell me girls. Why are you two hitchhiking? Isn't it a little dangerous?" asked Willie as he kept staring at Irish, he wondered why, but was pleased she was there.

  "You know the saying, ‘God takes care of the innocent and crazies, so which are you?" laughed Irish. Her laugh made him almost burst into a funny roar himself. He couldn't help himself and laughter bubbled up from him in waves. It was fifteen minutes before he recovered.

  "Gosh," he thought, "these guys make me feel good to be around. What a treat."

      

  Try, Try Again

  Apollyon spoke into L.A., "Get up and get going! You've been unbound for hours." L.A. rolled out from under the tree and scrambled to his feet.

  "Okay!" he responded, "but where are they?"

  "On their way to Denver with Hallelujah Man. Now go to work. If you can aggravate Irish and Grace enough, put them in danger, Aaron is bound to show. Keep up the pressure. When you see him, send out a call. Don't get so excited or flustered that you forget to call for back up. I got a legion ready this time. That should be enough!" ordered Apollyon. Two boys were sitting at the outskirts of Albuquerque tossing pebbles at the curb in summer boredom. "Max, you got any wild ideas what we might do for kicks?"

  Tony answered dully, "No, not a clue. Do you want to go over to the pond?" he pointed towards a green, iron bridge crossing the interstate leading to where they skipped stones in the Metro Duck Pond.

  "Let's go!" said Max.

  They reached the top of the walk bridge and hung out for a moment while watching the cars speeding under them. L.A.'s shadow appeared against the bridge structure.

  "Hey, Tony, look, some big rocks over there." They saw two rocks weighing about twenty pounds apiece.

  There was a period of silence, and then Max said, "Let's throw them off the bridge. Let's try to nail a trucker. What do you say?" Max had a wicked smile that gave way to a sinister laugh.

  "Are you out of your mind? We could kill someone like that." Tony pulled away and walked away from him. Max was scaring him. "I don't think I can do that."

  Tony was a preacher's son; and even though he was up to pranks, this sent cold chills down his spine. He wanted to get as far away from Max as fast as possible; more because he almost said "yes."

  "You're on your own, Max. I'm out of here," said Tony, leaving the bridge and heading for home. The farther he got from Max the better he felt. What came over Max? He'd never seen him act like that before.

  Willie looked in his rear-view mirrors and said, "Oh no!"

  Irish looked at him, "Oh no, what?" She couldn't imagine what could be wrong.

  "It's those Krishna dudes again. They've been following me off and on for the last 200 hundred miles. I've never seen so many packed into a Volkswagen Bus in my life. There must be fifteen of them. They sure don't like the Hallelujah Man. That's for sure."

  Irish looked back at a van speeding towards them, and it slowed just as it got next to them. Irish looked down at them as they gestured profanely and yelled, "Hey! Hallelujah Man, got some Jesus wine for us? We sure could use some!"

  They swerved in and out like a mosquito causing Willie to brake and swerve to avoid hitting them. All three of them bounced back and forth in the cab as it jarred them to their bones.

  Grace looked out and said, "Irish, they make me feel bad inside. Who are they?"

  Irish said, "They're an accident getting ready to happen. It's obvious they don't love our Lord." Grace sat back; and suddenly, the van pulled behind them just tailing them by inches while still honking.

  Irish felt the warning first and then Grace. They looked around and couldn't figure out why the Lord said, "Look from above. When I tell you go faster, do it!"

  "What are you two looking for, Santa Claus?" asked Willie laughing.

  Grace looked at Willie working the gears; and noticed, when he wanted to brake, he pressed on the short pedal; and when he sped up, it was the long pedal.

  Max saw Willie coming and picked up a rock and balanced it on the bridge railing. "There's a trucker, great! Just perfect!" and let it go.

  Grace jumped down until her rear was sitting on the floorboards when she heard in her spirit, "Now!" She stomped against Willie's accelerator foot as hard as she could and held it to the floor. The truck lurched forward with Willie hollering in pain.

  "Lord have mercy child!" then there was a loud crash as the rock hit his cab roof and bent in the ceiling as it barely missed the window. The rock catapulted off the roof and went through the V.W. bus window. There was a dramatic moment of confusion when the driver felt the glass shattering over his face, and pieces stuck in the front seat passengers' faces like bloody darts in dartboard.

  Their van swerved back and forth completely out of control, and the series of mass screams were high-pitched in terror. The van rolled over on its side and slid until it finally flipped on its top and continued to skid down the interstate. The passengers were screaming in terror, but their hairless heads were now flat on the inside top of the van as it went some 200 hundred yards, sparked from growing friction and burning groves in their unprotected scalps.

  The calls for mercy were without any regard for their religion, "Oh Lord, we're going to die! Save us, Jesus! Save us, Buddha! Help us, Allah! Help us!"

  The van settled against the concrete median; and without any regard for others, over half of them fled in a panic, tearing across the interstate. Two got hit from oncoming cars; and seconds after the last one exited, the van exploded in a ball of flame.


  Willie turned to Grace, "Girl, you just saved our lives. How did you know about that rock? Man, look at that van! They’re running like chickens! Oh, no, that had to hurt! Those two are airborne!" Willie pulled off the road to calm down a minute, and then Irish saw a glimpse of a familiar figure on the top of the bridge behind them.

  "L.A.'s back, Grace," said Irish flatly.

  Willie asked, "Who's L.A.?"

  Grace answered this time, "The guy who caused that rock."

  "You mean you two know who it was? Oh, no, I got crazies onboard! But thank you, Jesus! Thank you! Good move, little Grace, good move!"

  L.A. punched at the bridge with his fists, cursing his miss. He turned to Max and showed himself. "I get you to do a small task, and you messed it up. How hard is it to throw a rock off a bridge? The rock even messed up some of my own."

  Max stared at him, dumbfounded, "Who in the heck are you? What do you mean you got me to throw the rock? I did it on my own." Max was angry that this small kid was talking to him this way, and then it was scaring him a little too.

  He ran towards him shouting, "Stop it! Stop saying those things! Stop it!" Max stopped suddenly and realized that L.A.'s eyes had black stars in their centers. He thought, "This is something out of the Twilight Zone."

  "Now, I'm scared. I got a human kid hacked off at me! Boy, am I scared! Don't you know I'm scared?" He turned and wagged his butt at Max trying to goad him.

  L.A. wondered why Max hadn't said anything. He turned to see a strange look on Max's face. L.A. followed his gaze off to the side and behind him. There was Aaron, wearing war leathers with his hand on the hilt of his famous sword still sheathed on his back.

  He quickly looked up and gasped, "On no, no, no!"

  Aaron moved directly over him—towering, "You miss me?"

  He grabbed L.A. and kissed him with a big wet kiss on his cheek; and with a single movement, he tossed him by the seat of his pants off the bridge. L.A. could have flown out of trouble, but he was so flustered with images of Tare in pieces and the sound of Irish making that whirring sound that he forgot, and he also forgot to call for his backup. He landed on something bony with hair and slid down to the floor of a truck bed covered with soft mushy stuff. It smelled so bad that he almost threw up. He heard a loud "Mooooo," and got kicked in the head, which knocked him unconscious.

  Hal did you hear anything back there?" the driver of the cattle truck asked.

  "Yeah, must be some beef figuring out where they’re going. Going on strike, kicking up a protest, I suppose," said his rider laughing.

  Max couldn't stop running. He had seen enough. Seeing that huge guy with the sword on his back throwing a little kid off the bridge was too much. He wasn't about to stop running until he got home, not a chance.

  Willie said, "I guess we’d better get on the road. Hey, did you see that cattle truck? I swear, it had a little kid riding in the back with the herd. Man o' man, what a crazy day," said Willie, as he moved back out onto the interstate.

  Irish and Grace turned around and said, "Aaron!" together loudly. They knew it was L.A. in the truck.

  "Who's Aaron?" asked Willie.

  Immediately another bobtail truck pulled beside them and was blowing its horn with the driver waving at them excitedly. "That's Aaron," said Grace and Irish together.

  "No kidding. Where did he come from? He actually looks too big for his cab. Where do they grow 'em that large?" asked Willie, stunned at Aaron’s size.

  "Heaven Central!" replied Irish, laughing while waving affectionately at Aaron and blowing him kisses.

  "Yeah, I heard of that town. Isn't that down in New Mexico somewhere?" asked Willie.

  Grace giggled at Willie's guesswork and gave Aaron a big okay sign with her fingers. "More like New Jerusalem, hopefully soon, right, Irish?"

  Irish poked her to shut up, then kept thinking that Grace was picking up on things fast—Aaron disappeared as fast as he appeared. "Man you two are an odd pair. Where did that truck go? There aren't any exits for five miles?" Willie was getting an uneasy feeling about this trip.

      

  L.A.’s Rebuke

  Apollyon sent a sharp message to L.A., "Wipe yourself off and get busy. Do something to draw Aaron out. Can't you do anything right? I'll assign you two Sudanese warriors along with that legion. That should handle those hundred that Tare saw. Now, do something creative, will you?"

  L.A. shuddered from the commands. He hated the Sudanese angels. They were all ten-feet tall, three feet taller than Dar-Raven or Aaron. They weren't as powerful as Dar-Raven, just bigger. It was bad enough that he was one of the smallest dark angels, but he felt the stigma even more around the Sudanese. He couldn't figure out why they always painted themselves up for battle. They even painted their black wings different colors.

  He remembered when some of them turned on Dar-Raven trying to overthrow his authority. There were ten at the time. Dar-Raven, though smaller, was able to butcher them all in a matter of minutes. He had the battle savvy, as did Aaron, from thousands of years of angel war. L.A. wasn't comforted by the promise of two when he knew that Aaron could wipe them out so easily. He figured that Aaron and his famous sword would whittle them down to nothing in seconds, unless they were to take Aaron by surprise. Pure numbers would win, only numbers. That's why surprise was so important. He wanted to get Irish and Grace isolated, unprotected, and defenseless. He felt if they made a good enough show that Aaron would have appear. He knew what Apollyon wanted. He wanted Grace slaughtered before Irish's eyes. Without the knowledge and skill to repair fast, she would stay disabled for a long time. That kind of savage attack would bring Aaron. It had to. A legion would be more than enough to take care of him.

      

  Figuring Out Irish

  Irish and Grace were rather quiet. Willie was still trying to figure everything out. Some things just didn't make sense. How did Grace know about the rock? Where did that Aaron guy come from, and where did he go? He felt like he was in a science-fiction movie.

  Grace was nodding off; and after trying to sit up straight for an hour, she fell over against Irish's shoulder, then her head slid down into Irish's lap. Irish gently stroked her hair and rubbed her fingers gently on Grace's forehead.

  She kissed on Grace's cheek tenderly and finally spoke, "You have any kids, Willie?"

  "Oh, no, just myself. Been that way all my life. Stay on the road and keep to myself. No life for wife and kids. How about you, Irish?"

  Willie watched her carefully as she talked. Something about these two made him feel good to be around. It was strong enough that it was worth the puzzle, the mysteries. Every once in a while, Grace bumped him, and a wave of peace flooded over him. One time, Irish moved Grace over a little in her deep sleep and touched his arm, and it was like being doused in inner warmth that was so distinct that it felt overwhelmingly wonderful.

  "No children, not for awhile. Grace isn't mine." She knew that was his next question. She continued, "Although, I've had my share of husbands in my time, probably will be a few more, yet."

  Irish's mind drifted whimsically as she thought about how wonderful those marriages to humans had been. She had always ministered to the Christian families as handmaids, nannies, most till the end of their lives. She had seen some ministers' wives die, and it was natural to continue to stay on, helping, assisting in the ministries, and "yes," even as a wife. Human husbands could be extremely loving and caring. She got permission, when needed, to grow old too. The Lord disliked the morphing of angels to different human forms. It was part of their code of ethics to stay in the image God gave them when they were created.

  Irish sighed out loud, "Yes, I’ve been very lucky in marriage."

  Willie started getting one of those funny feelings again. Images started forming in his mind that made him ask, "Just how many times have you been married?"

  Irish didn't answer at first. She couldn't read his mind, but wa
s a master at reading body language over the years. She sensed his questions and guesswork. She didn't want to reveal herself to Willie quite yet. It might make him react the wrong way when trouble came again. He might be inclined to do something stupid like put his life in more jeopardy or maybe just the opposite to rely too heavily on her and her small army. Also, knowing humans, there is the problem with the mouth. She didn't need everyone knowing who and what they were. She relied heavily on anonymity and decided that even if she told Willie the truth that he'd not believe her anyway.

  "Twenty marriages," replied Irish flatly.

  Willie didn't say anything for a minute trying to figure out whether it was a joke; but he noticed, when Irish said it, she returned to fiddling with Grace's braids, not flinching from saying it.

  He decided, joke, "Boy, oh boy! You had me going for a minute. Twenty marriages! What a hoot! So, that would make you how old? That's a bunch of divorces. You're a real man killer." Willie laughed, tickled at his own wit.

  "Actually, that makes me over 5000 years old, no divorces. They all died of old age, except Enoch the Was Not."

  Irish was still matter of fact, looking out the window for more L.A. traps. Willie was feeling the truth in her speech but not able to reconcile it with reality. "Is there something in the water where you come from that gives you such an ability to spin a yarn? I thought I was good at it, but you would make one heck of a poker player." He shook his head and giggled over her poker face, straight talk.

  Irish figured right, he didn't believe. "Good enough for now," thought Irish.

  "Let's listen to some Gospel music," he announced as he flipped through his stations.

  The first music they hit was rolling out of a new praise album. It's sound was soothing and reached down deep within him, making him yearn to hear more. Tears ran down Willie's face, and his hand went into the air, a familiar gesture to Irish.

  Grace sat up upon hearing the music, putting her hand into the air too. Irish followed suit but said, "It's been a long time since I heard that one."

  Willie turned to her for a second saying, "What are you talking about? It's brand new," then he returned to his worship, not waiting for an answer.

  Irish knew that all praise-and-worship music started in heaven first. It's then sent into the world through the Holy Spirit. She never replied but turned towards Grace, and they both put their palms together and began to sing along with the music. Willie was stunned by their hauntingly, beautiful singing. It was so angelic, octaves beyond what any human could sing. Irish changed to the Celtic tongue, sending cold chills all over him. It took several minutes before they stopped singing and settled into a silent ride. Willie had never felt as close to the Lord as he did right now. He felt like a piece of heaven was been transported into his truck cab.

  Only one thing bothered Willie. He had to use the bathroom. He would normally use the funnel to take a whiz; obviously, he couldn't now, wouldn't. These girls never said a thing about the bathroom. He thought, "What do they have steel bladders or something?"

  "Okay guys, I'm pulling off the next exit. I give. I thought for sure I could outlast you girls for bathroom breaks." Willie laughed lightly, and then noticed moisture at the corners of Grace's mouth. Grace wiped at her mouth self-consciously, but Irish already noticed.

  "Are you hungry again?" asked Irish.

  "I'm sorry. It's just that human food is so tasty and different," replied Grace as she hung her head slightly in embarrassment.

  "And so smelly!" exclaimed Irish.

  Willie picked up on the "human" comment. He thought, "Why do they talk that way?"

  "This next exit has a big kids' arcade game section. You ought to try it out, Grace. They might even have some cute guys hanging around. I bet you don't have a boyfriend yet, do you?"

  Grace didn't say anything for a minute, and then answered, "No boyfriend? Is that like Aaron, Irish?"

  Willie thought, "There's that Aaron guy again." He wondered whether that was Irish's "next to be—number 21."

  "Kind of," answered Irish, "just special friends, that's all. Don't worry about it. You have thousands of years to make those kinds of friends."

  Willie turned suddenly to Irish, and she winked at him to make him think it was a joke. Willie kept thinking how strange these two were.

      

  The Challenge Of Youth

  L.A. saw Willie's rig pull off at the exit. He moved near the side of the terminal building and watched him park in the truck lot. He knew he needed to disable their ride so they ended being stranded in the open. He saw a driver walking across the parking lot towards the terminal. The driver stopped and rubbed his face in a confused manner, and a deep sweat broke out on his face. He started to continue but couldn't, then he turned back towards the lot. He saw Hallelujah Man's truck and felt anger welling up inside of him.

  He said out loud, "I hate that guy."

  He moved quickly towards Willie's rig and swung under the motor chassis. With a pocketknife, he made a small cut in the main fuel line just after the junction, which tied into both the gas tanks.

  He said to himself, "I bet he won't make it another fifty miles. He'll be out in the middle of nowhere just about dark." He slipped out the other side, unnoticed, and walked back into the terminal.

  Grace walked through the terminal in a B-line for the restaurant, and then she saw the arcade. She stood still long enough for Willie and Irish to catch up, then Willie commented, "That's the arcade. See, I told you there were boys around."

  "Go ahead, Grace," said Irish, "try it out. We'll order for you. How about a double order of fries and a stack of flapjacks to go with it?"

  Grace licked her lips and said, "Goodie, I'll be over soon."

  Irish put her arm through Willie's as they walked. It was a little promise she had made him. He asked her to since no one would ever believe an old goat like him would be so lucky to be with someone as pretty as Irish. Irish considered it a fair exchange for their ride, stroking that old human ego.

  Grace approached a group of kids packed around a teenage boy shooting in "The House of the Dead," killing gross cartoon ghouls. Most of the kids were ten to twelve, and were shouting encouragingly at the progress to rescue a damsel from the vampires and zombies. The teenager, Red, kept blasting, making it far past his previous high scores. They all watched in awe as he made it past the dungeon spiders and massacred the newest colorful characters with spurts and blotches of blood covering dungeon walls. Grace walked up as close as possible. She was fascinated by the action and noted that Red reloaded with off-the-screen movements of his wrist.

  "Wow," she thought, "that looks like fun. It'd be more fun with swords, and it'd be better if there were dark angels, not those silly non-existent things." So, she changed it. Instantly the characters were dark angels with black wings and swords. She made the game send them down from the above, attacking Red's heroic character from all sides.

  The kids around Red started shouting, "New level, new level, cool! Look how real they are! Look at that one! He looks like Skeletor!"

  Red kept taking them all on without missing any moves, but Grace couldn't resist, "That's not Skeletor! That's Dar-Raven!" They all turned around, except Red, and stared blankly at her.

  "Who are you?" a little ten-year-old asked sarcastically.

  "Me," smiled Grace, "I'm your game commander, don't you know."

  She saw the word game commander on another game beside this one. It sounded good to her, like an Aaron position. Suddenly the game picked up its pace. A feverish effort was being made by Red as his t-shirt showed expanding sweat patches, and his long red hair was soaked around his neck. Still, he kept up.

  "Get lost, girl. You're no game commander, Twrip," another kid said as he pushed her back with his shoulder.

  "How rude!" said Grace. "Okay then, if that's the way you want it! How about some Sudanese?"

  Again, the pace stepped up, but the screen was full of bigger
, black Sudanese angels coming out of walls and jumping from the ceiling in a large hall Red's character was trapped in. They all attacked at once, game over.

  Red threw his gun down and turned to face Grace. "That's unfair! They ganged up on me! How can a game do that? Where did those guys come from? I got the game book, and it doesn't show anything like that!"

  Grace just looked at him, then back at the rude boy and said, "Told you I was game commander!" then walked off in a huff.

  They stood looking at each other, then back at her with puzzled looks on their faces. Red shrugged and put some more quarters in for his next try.

  "Enjoy the game?" asked Willie as Grace walked up.

  "A little, lame game as Pretzel would say, and the boys are rude," she responded while looking a little miffed by it all until she saw the tall stack of flapjacks and the double order of fries.

  They took their time eating, but Irish noticed that Willie looked tired. He was yawning continuously and rubbing his eyes.

  "I shouldn't have eaten so much. I need to get some shuteye. If you're going to ride with me anymore, you got to let me get some sleep. I can sleep sitting in the cab and you…"

  Irish interrupted him, "I have a suggestion. If you let me apply something I learned years ago, I can handle your sleep problem."

  "I know about No-Doze, Irish," answered Willie, "but I’ve already taken enough of those, including coffee by the gallon. Even that isn't working, now. I just need sleep. No drugs."

  "No, no drugs," advised Irish, then got up and moved beside him. "Give me one of your hands."

  She reached out and grabbed his right hand, and he felt that peace roll over him. He didn't resist but gave in to the pleasure as she rubbed each finger and expertly massaged his handy. Many of Willie's old driver buddies looked on enviously and whispered back and forth to each other how lucky he was.

  Irish prayed for Willie as she rubbed his hand, then moved to his other one. He felt the presence of God flowing over him. He felt his mind brightening and his energy level increasing. In fact, he was amazed at how good he felt. It was as if he had slept for days, rested for months. He couldn't remember feeling this good in a long time. Irish noticed something else about Willie. He had some problems with arthritis lately. She prayed for his healing, and his joint-aches left him too.

  Irish knelt on her knees beside him in the booth. She took his wire-rimmed glasses off and put his face in her hands while massaging the heavy wrinkles and continuing to pray for him. He thought, if he could purr, he would. She pressed his face with her thumbs as if she was kneading a clay sculpture. As she pressed at his forehead and around his eyes, the wrinkles started disappearing a little at a time. Her holy power was rolling back the age marks. His skin recovered from the sun damage and years of squinting out the windshield. She tenderly pushed at the bags under his eyes and watched as the drooping skin tightened under her touch. He didn't know it, but he looked ten years younger in only minutes. One of the waitresses vividly noticed; and without any hesitation, she ran over to the booth just as Irish stopped and sat down next to Willie. Willie didn't move. With his eyes closed, he was trying to hold on to the moment.

  The waitress asked, "Ma'am, I can't believe what I saw. Do you charge much for that kind of treatment?" The waitress was only about forty, but the bags under her eyes and all those tanning beds made her face look tough and leathery.

  Irish took her hand gently, "Mary," she read her name tag, "looks aren't your problem. You're heart is. You need to give your life to the Lord, and the rest will take care of itself."

  Mary pulled her hand back as if she had been shocked, broke down crying, and ran to the kitchen to find a place to be alone. She felt the presence of God touch her innermost being when Irish touched her. She was reminded of her grandmother who witnessed to her hundreds of times. She saw her grandmother on her knees praying for her when she was alive. She knew Irish was right. Her heart broke in two. She knelt in the storeroom alone and gave her life to the Lord.

  Grace got up and walked back to the storeroom where Mary was kneeling. She looked around to make sure that no one was looking, closed the door for privacy, and said, "Mary, welcome to a new life in God. I think I can help with the rest." Grace's wings came out and surrounded Mary in an affectionate hug. As she rubbed gently on Mary's face, she kissed her forehead gently and said before she left, "The gifts of God for the people of God."

  Mary was not only stunned but filled with the newness of the Lord. She ran after her, but they all were gone. Irish left with Willie the minute Grace headed back to the see about the waitress. Grace walked unseen through the restaurant, then saw the rude, little kid. She quickly went over to him and kicked him politely in his rear and left. He was more surprised by the whisper in his ear than the kick in the rump, "When I say I'm the game commander, I'm the game commander. Angels never lie."

  Willie felt like running a marathon. He was feeling so good that he realized just how tired and rough he had felt, everything being relative.

      

  Angel Bushwhack

  Irish continued to watch the evening sky for L.A. She was bothered by the lack of activity from Apollyon. It meant that something would happen soon. Her concern filtered down to thoughts about Grace. She knew that Apollyon had figured out the Aaron connection. How soon would it be before he tried more drastic measures? She was afraid for Grace. She didn't want her harmed, regardless of being able to repair herself. It would break her heart to know her relationship with Aaron hurt her.

  Willie exclaimed, "Oh, no, smell that?"

  Irish sniffed, "Gasoline!"

  "We got trouble," replied Willie.

  The truck was stuttering and jerking abruptly. It was dusk; and within the hour, it would be dark, pitch dark. The only things out this far were lizards, dirt, and rocks. Willie pulled the truck far enough off the road to be safe from traffic, if it ever showed, just as it sputtered to a complete stop. They climbed out to find themselves in the middle of nowhere. They were too far from any town to walk back; and unfortunately, the CB was blocked by too much rock and sheer mountains high above them. They were in a flat valley plain that was enclosed on all sides that left them in a two-hundred-foot, circular area to camp. Willie didn't waste any time getting under the truck with his flashlight.

  "The gas lines have been cut," replied Willie.

  "L.A.!" shouted Grace and Irish together.

  "There you go again. Who's L.A.?" asked Willie.

  "A little weasel," answered Irish, "Really big, little weasel!"

  Irish liked the solitary place. She looked up to see a star-filled night canopy of twinkling diamonds. The air felt refreshing, even for summer, and she breathed deeply while smelling a sweet scent of wild flowers flooding her senses.

  She turned to Grace, "Stay close. If L.A. did this, there's a reason. I don't know when, but it will be soon that he'll make his move. If you see trouble, stay with me. They won't hurt me, but they may try to hurt you."

  "Why would they want to hurt me?" asked Grace surprised, as if she had done something to warrant such an attack.

  "You've done nothing, but they want to do something bad enough to cause me to call Aaron. They want him. I'm sorry you're in the middle of it all." Irish hugged her, and they moved around quickly getting firewood before it got much darker.

  "Hey, guys, I got two sleeping bags and four blankets. Pick your poison," shouted Willie.

  They didn’t want to stay around the truck with the gasoline smell so strong. Irish especially didn't want to give L.A. a chance to strike a match and have them trapped inside. She'd rather be in the open, watching. Willie didn't take long to nod off, in spite of his new rejuvenation. Irish snuggled with Grace, her arm around her waist while lying near the fire on one of Willie’s blankets. Grace snailed herself into the sleeping bag and started snoring. Irish thought she needed to be ready to go in any direction if trouble came.

  L.A. waited for
hours while night settled in. It was a quarter moon, which had its advantages or disadvantages, not enough light for Irish to hide in or enough light for Apollyon's army to be seen. He knew that Irish was watching so his legion appeared without being seen, away from direct moonlight. The two Sudanese angels dwarfed L.A. as they approached together on foot behind Irish some fifty feet away.

  Irish heard the thrashing of angel wings long before she heard the heavy footsteps of the Sudanese. She called for her own young army to be ready unseen. She calculated from the sounds of their wings that they were extremely outnumbered. She called for more backup. The request brought them a legion of their own. Now, they had enough, at least a little more than an even match. Irish’s original hundred cloaked themselves on the ground around Irish and Grace with a number around Willie for safe keeping. She knew that her young warriors were outmatched by Apollyon’s long swords. She didn't have any illusions what an army of dark angels with long swords would do against her own younger fighters. It would be a slaughter. Still, they could help distract and delay them until God's powers could get in a position to keep them safe.

  Irish sent out another message to the Lord, "Make sure it's a legion of experienced powers."

  The answer came back almost scolding, "Way ahead of you."

  Irish sighed in relief, "A legion of powers is wonderful." There were none as strong and powerful.

  Irish rolled as if tossing in sleep and pulled Grace nearer to her. She was trying to see the scope of the attack. The dark-winged shadows filled the evening sky practically wing for wing on the horizon, and it made it look as if it was the attack of the giant bats, seven-foot bats. Irish poked at Grace with her fingers trying to alert her while not letting the two Sudanese angels know she was on to them. Finally, Grace woke enough to resist her poking and trying to stop her from jabbing her, but awake enough to hear Irish's message.

  "We're under attack. So please, stay close to me. Remember, they want you because they believe it will cause Aaron to come. They're right, but they don't know how many extra powers are coming. If we get separated, don't go to Willie. They'll kill him without hesitation. Remember, they won't harm me so I'm your best defense."

  There was a shuddering in the bedroll, and Grace peeked out towards Irish’s close-held face, with a tear of concern mixed with a lot of excitement. Grace’s sight was in direct line of the Sudanese angels. She sucked in her breath and gasped at their size, not ever seeing them in person before.

  "Sudanese," said Grace, "twenty feet away, big, real big, bigger than Aaron."

  "Always are," replied Irish.

  Over their heads, they heard several large explosions while Willie shouted, "Watch out behind you, girls!"

  He had fired both barrels of a double-barreled shotgun directly at the Sudanese with what he called his coyote hammer. Irish spun around and purposely fell back on and against Grace. There was no room for escape. It was best to try to stay out of harm’s way until her angels could take care of everything. Willie ran towards them while clumsily trying to load for another volley. He looked around him at the sound of a legion of dark angels pulling their long swords from their sheaths several hundred feet away and above him. He saw a majority of dark angels arching their backs in contorted movements as sword tips exited their chests and stomachs from behind. He saw so many white-winged angels that he couldn't even count them. The surprise power attack turned the battle for Irish. Angel parts began to fall like rain, from both sides.

  Willie screamed at the girls, "Duck your heads!" then he fired off another round and hit one Sudanese angel squarely in his muscled torso, but he never stopped, only flinched slightly like brushing off a gnat.

  Irish yelled at Willie, "Don't come any closer, Willie! They'll kill you! Keep away!" Angel blood was falling from the sky and covered Willie and the girls in streaks and blotches.

  "They want Grace! They won't hurt me! Stay back! Hide in the rocks!" she was screaming in fear for Willie while Grace was still hiding behind her back. Several younger angels appeared and attacked the Sudanese, but the two of them were able to cut through them before they even got close enough to use their short swords. Willie didn't listen but ran directly to Irish's back and grabbed Grace from her, then carried her over his shoulder back to the truck.

  Irish turned to see him leave and kept yelling at him, "You'll get killed, Willie! They'll kill humans!"

  The Sudanese reached Irish just after Grace disappeared with Willie, then shoved Irish aside like a small animal. She rolled head over heels into a large rock outcropping and stood up stunned, then shook herself. She spread her wings and flew haphazardly through the heavenly mayhem. Several times, dark angels almost attacked her and drew back their swords at the last minute.

  A small squadron of dark angels on point missed the assault from behind and joined the two Sudanese advancing briskly towards Willie's truck. Willie locked the doors and stuffed Grace in the sleeper. He reloaded, laid on his back in the front seat, and waited for their arrival. Irish flew to the truck on the opposite side of the approaching Sudanese and their contingent, tapped on his window, and was almost shot by Willie.

  "It's me, Irish! You got to get Grace out of here! They'll burn her out if they have to! She's safer with me! Don't you understand?"

  Grace heard and fell out of the sleeper crawling over the top of Willie, who shouted, "You're an angel. Unbelievable! You're an angel!"

  Grace jumped into Irish's arms, and Irish took off to where there used to be a legion to protect her. The odds were better in the sky. Irish took off just as the Sudanese tapped on Willie's other window and forced the door open. He fired another couple of rounds and watched one angel's face shearing off leaving a spray of blood, and then they were gone.

  Irish went high above the mayhem, trying to avoid being spotted by anyone, but it didn't work. Sudanese appeared seconds later with one grabbing Grace’s arm as Irish pulled her towards her, then the other Sudanese took his sword from his sheath and prepared to bring it down on Grace to sever the Irish-Grace connection. The small group of dark angels accompanying the Sudanese were shouting obscenities and enthusiastic cheers.

  "I'm sorry, Aaron. Are you near?" cried Irish in desperation.

  "Always," was the quiet answer.

  The Sudanese who was bringing down his sword couldn't anymore. His arm was missing with only a stub. With a sound of splintering bones, he was cut from his shoulder down through his crotch. It was too obvious to the other Sudanese that Aaron was here. Only Aaron's sword and strength could do that to an angel, and he let go. Aaron appeared, and with usual classy style decapitated the other Sudanese angel, then turned on the remaining dark angels. Not only did they lose arms and legs but torsos and heads, several angels at a time. Those left fled trying to escape but ran into the swords of the powers surrounding them.

  Willie didn't leave the truck but watched from his vantage point. It was getting hard to see anything with so much blood falling on his windshield. Several times, he turned on the windshield washers and headlights to get a better look. He used a side spotlight on his driver’s side to locate Irish and Grace while watching through his binoculars as Aaron appeared. He recognized his bundled hair from the rock incident. He marveled at so much angelic war and wished dreamily that he could be one too.

  He saw Grace and Irish returning. Both were flying together this time with that big guy they called Aaron. Their wings synchronized in an easy flight and a feathered landing beside his truck.

  Willie jumped out, "Praise the Lord! I can't believe all this! No one will ever believe me! I am so envious that you're angels!" He ran to Irish, hesitated, but wanting to hug her. She winked and nodded "yes" and gave him a hug and a feathered wrap to boot.

  "You’ll be like just like us one day, Willie," promised Irish.

  "Is this Aaron?" asked Willie, his eyes bulging at his beautiful massiveness.

  "Yes, I am. Thanks for helping us out. That was very brave of you. Yo
u have no idea how close you came to being cut into table scraps tonight, do you?" Aaron smiled broadly and held out his hand for a shake. His hand dwarfed Willie's. Willie didn't even see his hand or wrist anymore.

  "Come to think of it," said Willie, shaking all over, "I never thought about that. Why didn’t they hurt you, Irish? Why did they want to hurt Grace?" Grace ran over and held to Willie's waist, her fingers in his back belt loops.

  "I'm an heir-servant. They can't and won't touch me. Grace isn't one yet but will be. They wanted to draw out Aaron. Aaron, you must leave now, please. We don't have enough angels to protect you in a counter attack."

  Aaron said, "You're right, but I still have a little time before they send in reinforcements. They never try this when we have a legion around me, not very fair. Wait, we've got company." Irish looked above him. Two angels were carrying a small child and heading directly for them.

  Irish saw L.A. being carried by two of her old and special friends, Caleb and Joseph. L.A. was screaming to be let go, twisting, turning, and trying to pull away from their iron grasp. Willie saw the kid and felt sorry for him. How could anyone treat a little kid like that? As they landed close to Willie, he started to protest this kid's treatment. L.A. saw Willie and spit at him in disgust. How he hated humans, especially interfering humans.

  "Whoa kid! Watch your manners!" exclaimed Willie.

  "This kid is who almost got you killed tonight, Willie," said a handsome blonde-headed angel called Caleb. He was smaller than Aaron, but his physique was perfect with muscles ripped to the bone. Willie was envious and impressed.

  Irish approached L.A. still squirming to be set free. "I told you before what would happen to you." L.A. formed a claw with his hand, stretched towards her, and tried to cut her. His face was changing into contorted shapes with images of demons pushing out from his skin. His inner nature was exposing itself, and Willie jumped back while regretting his empathy.

  Irish made a sound, "Whrrrrrr," then said, "didn't you believe me?"

  Joseph was as large as Aaron but shaped more like a human bull with huge traps extending above his shoulders and a neck that made his face disappear into his shoulders. "Let's let Grace decide what to do with him. She seems to be his first target. She owes him one, a couple."

  Grace let loose of Willie's belt loops and marched threateningly towards him. L.A. pulled back, not knowing what to expect. Grace stood before him thinking. "He's just doing his job. Just like we do ours; except, I don't like it. I got it!" She reached out and grabbed his face and kissed him with a big smooch that resounded into the night saying, "How's that?"

  L.A. spit on the ground exclaiming, "What is it with you guys with all that kissing? Yuck!"

  Grace pulled a bow from her hair and pinned it to his white, cotton lapel saying, "There, how’s that? Now, get out of here."

  Caleb and Joseph looked surprised but let him go. He flew away in a panic expecting to be ambushed shortly after, but he wasn't. He turned, hovered, thought a minute, then looked at the bow. He reached to tear it off, then hesitated, took it off carefully and stuck it in his pocket, then touched his cheek, still red from the smooch. He was almost smiling but not knowing why.

  He said to himself, "God's angels aren't all that bad."

  Apollyon interrupted him, "Get yourself back here! Now! Stop all that thinking. You know what you are. Nothing can change that. I want you in Denver waiting for them. I need to find out what Irish is up to and why they want to go to Sewanee. There's more to this than a training mission. Something very important is going on. Become the fly on the wall if you have to."

  Aaron disappeared shortly after L.A., not wanting to tempt Apollyon into reinforcing his beaten army. Willie was in shock at the thousands of angel body parts scattered over a half mile in all directions. He also realized that they were still stranded.

  He thought for a moment, and then asked, "If you all are agreeable, can someone fly back and bring me some gas while I fix my fuel lines?" He crossed his fingers, hoping. After all, walking back fifty miles was one thing; but flying, that's different.

  Caleb and Joseph looked back and forth between each other, and then Grace commanded, "Would someone please get us some gas!"

  Willie got out his gas container and held it out, waiting. Joseph reached for it, turned around once, and handed it back to him saying, "To the top!"

  Willie shook his head in disbelief, "Irish, could you have done that before?"

  "Sure, she could have," answered Grace, being very perky.

  "You didn't ask," responded Irish very flatly.

  The drive on in to Denver was uneventful. Willie kept asking Irish about heaven in a staccato fashion. "Irish, what is heaven like? What do you do there? Is it beautiful?"

  "Slow down, Willie. Don't you want to save anything for a surprise?" Grace never heard. She was napping again.

  The billboards showed advertisement for Denver sights the nearer they got. They stopped only twice in the next day's drive to let Grace to eat, and she napped the rest of the way. As they got near Denver's city limits, Irish's hand went into the air receiving a message. She knew what their next assignment was to be.

  Grace woke in the middle of it, her hand going in the air too. "What's going on, Irish?" asked Willie. (Now that he knew what that hand movement meant.)

  "We have to go, Willie," responded Irish, "got a new assignment. We've enjoyed being with you. Stay close to our Lord. Remember your guardian angels are always near. Do you want to know their names?" She looked at him and winked. Without waiting for an answer, she rattled them off, "Strong-Tower, Haven, Shelter, White-Dove, Nicodemus, and Refuge." She saw Willie counting on one hand.

  "That many?" asked Willie.

  "Many more than that. That's just who is near you right now. Sometimes you have hundreds. Don't forget that. Pull over, will you?" Irish saw that they were close to a rendezvous point while they passed through a poorer side of Denver's downtown. She reached over and kissed him affectionately.

  "Thanks," said Irish, then she and Grace disappeared.

  Willie was stunned, elated, sad, happy, then he shouted, "Praise the Lord! Come on guys! We got places to go. On Strong-Tower, on Haven, and Shelter. On White-Dove, Nicodemus, and Refuge," he shouted out to the tune of The Night Before Christmas.

      