Angel City
Page 51
“It’s okay now, honey. Everything’s going to be—”
. . . thump . . .
The room shook a little.
She looked at the door.
. . . thump . . . thump . . .
The room shook again, then by fractions of inches, the door began to move inward.
. . . THUMP . . .
“No way, no way.”
Katherine set the glass on the floor, picked up the Glock, pulled the slide. One bullet in the firing chamber. She ejected the clip, one more bullet makes two. She replaced the clip, reset the slide. She got up, walked to the vault door. She slammed it with the palm of her hand, watched her own blood smear against cold steel. She held her hand in place, rested her forehead against the door.
“I swear, on the Holy Mother of God, you will not touch my son. Do you hear me? I will not let you do to him what you did to me or Marc Rochat, or anyone else on the fucking planet. Do you fucking hear me?”
. . . THUMP, THUMP . . .
The locking bolts began to groan and bend.
She turned around, looked at Max. He stared at the door, thinking it was a game perhaps, like Whac-A-Mole. He raised his hammer, waved it at the door.
“Borg!”
Katherine felt herself choke . . . She drew a quick breath. “Yeah, honey, it’s the Borg. You show those guys they can’t scare us. Let ’em have it, Max.”
. . . THUMP . . .
“Goog!”
Katherine walked to Max, sat down, and rested the gun on the bed. She looked at the door, saw black mist seeping in from under it. She picked up Max and straddled him across her lap, reached down and picked up the glass of apple juice. She pulled the pacifier from Max’s lips.
“You know what, buster? You’re a big boy now, and you need to learn to drink from a glass. Here you go.”
She held the glass to his mouth. He sucked at the liquid, and it rolled down his chin. He giggled, waved his hammer.
“Good try, let’s have some more. C’mon, Max, show Mommy what a big boy you are.”
He drank again, this time getting it down his mouth properly.
“Good boy, Max. Such a good boy.”
He was back and with her now. She could see it in his eyes, and color was coming to his cheeks. She set the glass on the floor, wiped apple juice from his chin, combed back his black hair. The door of the vault groaned louder and began to crack apart. Max looked over his shoulder. Katherine took his chin in her hand and turned his face to hers.
“Don’t worry about the silly old Borg, honey. Look at Mommy. Look into Mommy’s eyes, listen to Mommy’s voice.”
Max stared at her, tipped his head, hearing the words. His green eyes sparkled.
“Maman,” he said.
She bounced him on her lap.
“That’s right, honey, you look at Mommy. Keep looking into Mommy’s eyes, listen to Mommy’s voice. Everything is fine, honey. We’re together, you and me. Everything is going to be all right. Just keep looking at me.”
She saw a smile cross his face.
He waved his hammer and giggled again.
“That’s right, honey. You get those bad guys, you scare them all away.”
“Goog!”
“Mommy loves you, Mommy loves you so very much. Je t’aime, mon fils. Je t’aime.”
He touched his mother’s face.
She pulled him to her breasts.
She picked up the Glock, slipped her finger through the trigger guard, pressed the muzzle to her son’s head.
“Big, brave Max.”
• • •
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TO BE CONTINUED IN
The Way of Sorrows
PART THREE OF
The Angelus Trilogy
ADÆQUATIO INTELLECTUS ET REI:
David Rosenthal; editor, counselor, friend,
Georgina Capel, high priestess of the sacred order of literary agents,
Gilles Thomas, le cataphile mystérieux who led me on “unauthorized tours” of les carrières beneath Paris,
Locomotora, for the use of their name and song “Older Than Dreams,” as well as their persons as characters in the story,
Karoliina Vilenius, Richard “Krinkle” Kreuzkamp & Leo Mates, who also became part of the story,
Burton C. Bell, for the use of his name and music project, Ascension of the Watchers; also for use of his lyrics from “Like Falling Snow,”
Immanu El, for the use of their name and lyrics from “Under Your Wings I’ll Hide,”
My cats, Zorro and Zeus, for keeping me laughing,
And Afnan, for everything.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jon Steele was born in the American Northwest. He’s worked as a keyboard player in a rock band, postman, liquor store clerk, radio disc jockey, and TV news cameraman. His autobiography, War Junkie, published in 2003, is regarded as a cult classic of war reporting. The Watchers was his first novel, published in 2012 as part one of The Angelus Trilogy.