On Black Wings

by Storm, Sylvia

  “Hun,” the waitress says, stroking my hair, “you’re too young-”

  “Don’t touch me,” I say coldly, and I feel her hand jerk away. “Don’t you dare touch me. I woke up twice this morning, once as myself, and again as myself as a teenager. Don’t ask me why, maybe God is punishing me, but I left myself in that house. The broken me who lost her whole family, and someone who is probably very alone right now.”

  “I’ve had dreams,” I say, feeling my anger rise, “I dreamed I was an angel of death, tied in a river and left to die. I broke free, grew large black wings, and killed anyone who tried to hurt me.”

  “I’m not in the mood to be tied up again.” I grit my teeth and close my eyes. “If I am a part of this, I would avoid pissing me off.”

  It’s quiet.

  I sit there, my forehead against the counter, breathing heavy through my nose. All of a sudden, I don’t care, and I feel my emotions slowly drain away. I wish I had my wings, I would show them not to mess with me.

  I feel my mood slip, and it changes. Guilt overcomes me. Could I kill them for not knowing better? What is happening to me? Why did I think that? Haven’t we seen enough death for today? Why would I do that?

  One of my tears hits the counter.

  Shattering glass, and a thud behind me. Was that the window?

  I turn and look. It was a bottle.

  “Tie him up!” the Middle-East guy says, grabbing the unconscious trooper’s handcuff keys and freeing me. The waitress pulls the trooper to an empty booth, and begins taping up the officer with a roll of silver tape.

  “Thank you.” I rub my wrists, and then dry my eyes on my arm. “You think that’s going to make things any better?”

  “There were twenty in here this morning,” the Middle-East guy says, “and now there is just us three, four with you. If it comes down to me, I vote we keep the last few people we have here alive,” he says, looking outside at my horse, “and happy.”

  “Don’t hurt him,” I say, looking over at the waitress, “he was just afraid. I can’t blame him, please.”

  “I’m not hurting him,” the waitress finishes tying his feet together and takes his gun-belt, lying it over the counter next to me, “he’s a good customer. Just a little high-strung is all. We all are little on edge, I’ll free him when he comes around.”

  “Twenty?” I look at the Middle-East guy. “Really?”

  He nods. “Some tried going out, then some more after them. One in the back hung himself. Some others fought, they were shot. Others gave up, slipped out the back door. One lady got the farthest with an umbrella, but she didn’t make it far.”

  I drop my head is sadness.

  He sits next to me. “Are you okay?”

  “Who are you?” I shake my head. “Are you an Arab?”

  “A Sikh,” he says and smiles, “I am in school here to get my medical degree.”

  “Sorry.” I sigh, feeling bad about the officer, then looking back over at the Sikh guy.

  “There is no need,” he laughs, “He will be fine. My name is Vijay, but people call me Buddy.”

  “Vijay, great, thanks,” I say, picking a discarded chip up from the counter and eating it, “thanks for the help. Buddy. I guess.”

  CHAPTER VIII:

  I Tell Them Everything

  “That is quite an unbelievable story,” Vijay says.

  I drop my head. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

  “Will you untie me?” The trooper says, sitting in his booth, taped to the seat, “I just want some answers.”

  “Only God has the answers,” the waitress says, putting a glass of water and a straw in front of the trooper. She’s wearing the trooper’s gun belt over her pink waitress dress and apron. “I’ll free you in a bit when I know you’ve calmed down, Jeff. You’re not getting your gun back either, this is my joint and I’m the law.”

  “Are we supposed to believe all that?” Jeff sighs while the waitress puts an ice pack on his head. “Ouch, thanks. About the hunters, and the river, those men in armor, and where are your wings?”

  “I had scars, they were right there on my back.”

  “Your back looks fine to me aside from the occasional zit or two.” The waitress walks behind me, leaning near my ear and whispering. “Your back is perfect hun, I don’t see any zits. Or scars. You sure you’re feeling fine?”

  “I’m not crazy,” I say, looking outside at my horse, drinking from the bucket I brought him earlier while the others hid for their lives. “How come I can walk outside and no one else can?”

  “Maybe you’re an angel,” the waitress says, settling in behind the counter on a stool of her own, “they have wings too you know.”

  The water in my glass ripples.

  “There are no angels, and no demons, those exist within us,” Vijay says, “there is only God.”

  “Angels don’t have black wings,” I say, “and not ones they can kill things with.”

  I feel the counter shake.

  “Anyone feel that?” I stand and turn.

  My horse runs away, ash hanging in the air from the beats of his powerful hooves. I run to the cracked window.

  “No!” I scream pressing my hand to the glass. “Come back!”

  He’s around the corner and gone, just gray ash hanging in the air.

  “Is that good or bad?” Jeff says, looking out the window next to him.

  “Something spooked him?” the waitress says.

  Voices and a low rumble.

  “Shh!” I hold my hand up. “I hear something.”

  Ash still falls in the street, the light is this uniform dark gray haze hanging in the air. It’s dead quiet, peaceful. The awnings hold hundreds of pounds of ash, and the buildings across the street are covered too. Cars, light-posts, traffic lights, benches, the whole world is covered in ash. If it wasn’t so dark it would be beautiful.

  “Do not leave your homes! Do not go outside from sunrise to sunset! Stay calm!” A loudspeaker echoes through the streets. “A state of emergency has been declared!”

  An armored car rumbles down the street, spotlights hitting the fronts of buildings, a cloud of ash hanging in its wake. Men sit on the roof of the vehicle, outside, wearing chemical suits and gas masks. They hold black rifles, guns and ammunition strapped to their bodies.

  “Thank God the Army is here,” Jeff says, sighing, “look at that, they are outside!”

  “Why are they wearing protective suits?” Vijay says, standing next to me. “Chemical attack?”

  “I don’t know, but it would affect us in here if it’s in the air,” Jeff says, “Velma, please untie me. I promise not to go crazy. Please?”

  “Well,” Velma says, looking over at me, “it’s up to her. You want me to untie him?”

  “Go ahead,” I say, “he can have his gun back too.”

  “Thank you,” Jeff says as Velma cuts him free, and he buckles his weapon back on. “I’m sorry by the way.”

  I look over at him with a long look. I open my mouth to say something, but I stop, and just nod. He purses his lips and nods back.

  The armored car stops in front of the diner, lights flowing in through the windows. Soldiers slide off the roof, point their guns and lights around, and secure the area. Ash slides off their suits in sheets.

  “It is not like there is anyone out there that can put up a fight,” Vijay says.

  “They are coming here.” I say, backing up from the window.

  Men pour out of the back of the armored-car, adjusting their chemical suits and moving towards the front of the building.

  “Well good,” Velma says with a smile, “maybe we’re being rescued.”

  A second group of men, on foot, come from around the edge of the building to the right. They are shining flashlights at the ground, carefully following something.

  Horseshoe prints.

  “They are coming for me,” I say, backing up, spinning and hiding behind the counter. “They followed my horse and they ar
e coming for me!”

  Jeff waves to the soldiers, and they begin approaching.

  “Just relax!” Jeff shakes his head. “This is the government, we have to trust them in an emergency. They are here to help.”

  “Maybe they caused this,” Vijay shakes his head, “one never knows until one knows the truth.”

  I hide behind the counter, sliding underneath a sink. “They can’t find me! Tell them to go away!”

  “Jeff, she’s scared,” Velma says, standing in front of the sink, “can’t we just see if this is a rescue first? It can’t hurt to find out why they are here.”

  Silence.

  “Okay, sure,” Jeff says, “but if I find out-”

  Velma stops him from saying anything else, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Everyone down, behind something, they are coming in,” Jeff says.

  Velma kneels near me and frowns. “I’m so sorry you have to be put through this, hun. It’s so hard on girls your age.”

  “This morning I was twice my age and I had a family.” The front doors open and I slide behind an industrial-sized box of dishwasher detergent. “Tell me, I know about it.”

  “Hello! You can all come out!” A masked voice says. “There is no reason to hide. I am Colonel Anderson Becks, US Army.”

  “You are a sight for sore eyes,” Jeff says as I hide in the darkness, “what is going on out there?”

  “We don’t understand it fully,” the Colonel says, “but it seems to be exposure to some sort of solar radiation during daylight hours. It is affecting the entire world.”

  “Jesus,” Velma says, “you can’t be serious?”

  “It penetrates the clouds too, but not glass, some papers, or these suits,” the Colonel says, keeping his mask on, “and whatever it is, it incinerates on contact. Stay indoors, stay away from open windows and doors, and only go out at night. If you do go out, do so only for life-threatening emergencies, otherwise stay home and under cover.”

  “What is with all this ash?” Jeff says.

  “Ash clouds are over every major population center in the world, some countries are completely covered. Do not use motor-vehicles, and keep generators and other machinery filtered. You will need to clean your filters every thirty minutes. Avoid setting fires in chimneys, those are likely clogged, and there are no emergency services available. We expect the city’s power to go out in about thirty minutes when we shut the generators down.”

  “How long do we have until it’s safe to leave?” Vijay says.

  I slide deeper under the sink as I listen.

  “It will be dark in about one hour,” the Colonel says, “word is the radiation fades at about 7pm and comes back at 7am, at least that is what reports from around the world are telling us. Only leave if your life depends on it, otherwise, shelter in place. Expect nighttime temperatures to drop dramatically to sub-zero.”

  “Is this like the Ozone Layer being stripped away? Some sort of ecological disaster?” Jeff says. “What is this? Why isn’t the government telling us?”

  “All that is yet to be determined. We will tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it. Please, all of you, we are very busy. I need you all to answer a couple questions.”

  Silence.

  The Colonel’s voice rasps through his mask. “Did any of you see a young woman ride in here on a horse?”

  CHAPTER IX:

  I’m Quiet as if in Death

  Silence.

  I push myself further behind the dishwasher detergent, bottles of bleach, bottle brushes, and other cleaning supplies under the sink. I try not to bump a thing, not to make a noise, not to knock anything over. I curl up into as small of a ball as possible, hiding in the darkness, alone.

  “We followed her and her horse here,” the Colonel says, “and she is of vital interest to the United States Army and this national emergency. Officer, did you see this girl and did she come inside?”

  Silence, and I wince. Please God, don’t let them find me.

  “She came to the window and did not come in,” Vijay says, “we had the door locked.”

  “Citizen.” The Colonel’s voice sounds like it could cut stone. “May I remind you we are under martial law, and you need to comply with our orders. Failure to do so will result in severe consequences. Now you may think I’m that stupid, but let me remind you I’m not. The door shows clear signs of opening from the ash, there are prints all over out there coming back and forth, and if you think I am so stupid as not to see the bucket of water put out there for the horse I suggest you rethink that statement.”

  Silence.

  “Now where is the girl?” His voice is more forceful this time, he seems to be growing tired of this game.

  “She left after we gave her some food,” Jeff says, and I close my eyes in relief, “she asked for some water for her horse, and we gave it to her. Who are we to say no, we don’t know her.”

  Silence.

  I hear the rustle of the Colonel’s chemical suit. “As an officer of the law do you state this fact to be true?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jeff says. More silence. Do they trust him?

  Why protect me?

  “Do you mind if we have a look around?” I hear more rustling of chemical suits. “Fine then, let’s have a look. Men, search this place from top to bottom, if the girl is here I want to know. And I want her brought to me. If she resists, you know what to do. If the man with the wings is here, bring him to me.”

  Man, with wings? Is there another?

  I don’t know. I’m scared and I don’t care. I’m hiding, and I’m crying.

  But, there are others? I wonder if other people are going through what I am right now?

  Men fan out, and I hear movement close to me. I am staying so still it hurts.

  I’m trying to control my breathing so they don’t hear me, but I can hear myself sobbing, and my breaths quicken. I bury my head in my knees, pushing myself as far into the darkness as it will let me go.

  I curl up into a ball, as small as I can wrap myself into, and try not to breathe. The darkness surrounds me, and I hear them searching for me, opening cupboards, pulling things out to Velma’s protests, and knocking things over while they look for me.

  I close my eyes tightly, hoping they will all go away when I open them, that this is all some sort of nightmare I can wake up from. I try to block out the noises from my head, and place my hands over my ears. I wish they all go away, and that I can crawl out of here when they leave.

  I can’t understand why this is happening to me.

  Anything I do makes it worse. If I try to help someone, get water for my horse, get something to eat, relax, sleep, talk about my problems - it just gets worse. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I break out of this? Why am I being punished? Why me, God?

  I must be a horrible person.

  I must be a terrible, horrible person.

  I try to disappear, to hide, to will myself out of this hellish world. I feel the comfort of my soft wings around me, my black feathered wings, soft and warm, just like my favorite quilt.

  I open my eyes.

  Black feathers surround me.

  I touch them in the darkness, completely wrapped up in my cocoon of black plumage, they are so clean, so soft against me. They complete me. I flex the muscles on my back. The wings are there. How could they be there?

  I didn’t have them when I walked in the diner, and I’m sure someone would have said something about the scars. I feel their powerful presence against me, wrapping me up in their warmth, cradling me in their strength.

  How could they be here? They would have never fit under the counter? Am I trapped? I blink my eyes in the darkness. What is going on?

  I unwrap myself, feeling room to move them. I spread my arms, I’m not under a counter anymore, I’m in the corner of a large, dark room. Light filters under a door, and through a small, barred window on the same.

  I’m in a cell.

  Great, another jump to another hell
ish place. What is happening to me? I must be going mad, nothing makes any sense.

  I use my wings to feel the walls behind me before I slide them back into place on my back. They are so big, so comforting. I never knew how much I missed them until now.

  I stand, and a throbbing pain radiates from the back of my head. Someone struck me pretty hard. A cell? Someone hit me? My wings? The darkness of the cell surrounds me, and I stand up.

  I must be back sometime after the men who found me by the rock. Parts of me are sore that weren’t, and I must have taken quite a beating when I fought back. It doesn’t feel as bad as it was at the time, and the pain has dulled - but it is still there. My whole body feels like a toothache.

  The ‘knights’ in the medieval armor that found me by the rock, this must be where I am after they put the bag over my head. After I escaped from the river and the hunters.

  What is going on?

  One moment I was under the diner’s counter, and now I’m here. Another time I left my house on a horse, and then I was staked out in a river. I was ambushed by a rock, knocked out, and then I was back home in bed with Brad - as my older self. After I fainted I was back on the horse. Somehow I am jumping around between these places, from one spot to another.

  It happened when I lost consciousness, but this happened because I willed it? Did I will myself away out from under the counter and back here? Why here? What is this place? I have never been here before.

  It feels like I’m jumping around in time and I have no control over it.

  I have so many questions, and not one answer. I work my way up to the tiny barred window on the door and peer outside. Other cells sit across the way, and the hallway is patrolled by armored men with chain hoods and swords. Just like my favorite show, only I’m a prisoner in some dank dungeon. What would the characters on the show do?

  Talk their way out of it, obviously, act, do some tricky play of words and escape in some sword-and-sorcery daring-do. I’m not a trained actress, nor do I know how to use a sword, so good luck there. I have my wings, I can steel them, slice things down, and protect myself - but all it would take is one lucky crossbow bolt or poke with a sword. My body is still very much flesh-and-blood, weak, and hurt easily.