by Alan Baxter
Samuel sat forward, staring intently at the candle. ‘Fuck it, I’ll give it a try.’
Isiah relaxed, a half smile curling one side of his mouth. This should be fun.
Samuel concentrated on the candle wick. Isiah could feel his will rising and falling, he could feel the mental exertion involved. But give Samuel his due, he really was trying. And he continued to try for hours before finally collapsing, mentally exhausted. ‘Man, this is hard.’
Isiah nodded. ‘Once you’ve got it you’ll realise how easy it is. I have to admit, I’m impressed with your determination.’
Samuel grinned. ‘If it’s there to be had, then I want it.’
‘Carry on that way and you’ll get it.’
‘Maybe. Right now though, I gotta crash. I feel exhausted.’
‘No surprise. Really exercising your mind is pretty hard going.’ Isiah pointed to some prayer cushions. ‘That’s about the best you’ll get for comfort. The first service is at seven thirty, so I’ll wake you before people start milling around.’
Samuel grimaced. ‘We got to sit through more sermons?’
‘Yeah. The price of sanctuary.’
Samuel lay down on the cool flagstone floor, resting his head on a prayer cushion. ‘I guess. You going to sleep?’
Isiah shook his head. ‘No need.’
Samuel closed his eyes. ‘Not a very comfortable bed,’ he muttered.
‘Maybe not, but you’d better make the most of it. It’s probably the most comfortable you’re going to be for a while.’
Samuel sighed, squirming around in an attempt to get more settled. Isiah watched as his movements became less agitated and he slipped into a deep sleep. He looked so innocent there, his face calm and neutral, his black skin making him all but invisible in the deep shadows. Isiah muttered another silent apology to Andre Todd for the abuse his body was receiving. It didn’t matter to Andre now, of course, but Isiah couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. Still, needs must when the devil drives, as the saying went. Though he doubted it ever applied so accurately as it did now. Everyone always looks so angelic when they sleep, he thought. I wonder what it would take to put the entire world to sleep at once, every single living soul all sleeping at the same time? That would surely have an interesting effect on the global consciousness.
Lost in his reverie, Isiah had a fraction of a second to notice the shift in the air. He managed to close his eyes just as a blinding flash burst out all around him, like a hundred thousand cameras simultaneously taking the same picture. He took a deep breath as he opened his eyes, trying to relax his buzzing muscles. ‘A little warning next time, Gabe?’
The familiar wash of divinity swept over him as Gabriel stepped around the end of the pew, took a seat. His beatific smile was a little mischievous in his perfect face. ‘Caught you a little off guard, did I?’
‘I guess so. Ever wonder what it would be like to put the entire world to sleep all at once?’
Gabriel laughed. ‘Nice idea. Though I think I might be reluctant to wake them again.’
Isiah nodded. He looked closer at Gabriel, his brow creased slightly. ‘Your eyes are black, Gabe. You been killing again?’
Gabriel looked away, staring down at Samuel’s still sleeping form curled up on the flagstones. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. That’s not why I came here.’
Isiah looked down at Samuel as well. ‘Humans? Or have you been fighting amongst yourselves again?’
Gabriel turned his face to stare hard at Isiah, his perfect features set in a mask of anger. ‘Don’t push me, Isiah.’
Isiah held up his hands, buzzing slightly at the incredible power harnessed in this being. ‘Sorry, man. It’s cool. I’ve just been thinking a lot lately. Don’t you ever get tired of it? Manipulating lives, murdering in the name of your God?’
Gabriel sighed, leaning back on the pew. ‘Every coin has two sides, Isiah. You, of all people, should appreciate the need for balance.’
‘Don’t you ever wish that it wasn’t your job though? Don’t you ever wish for release?’
Gabriel’s face relaxed again. ‘Creatures like you and I, Isiah, we serve. We have less free will than the mortal humans we try to protect. At least they get to choose who and how they serve. I was created into this position and I’ve spent aeons getting used to it, my friend. In truth, I don’t know any different. At least, not first hand.’
‘Yeah, I guess you were born to it.’
‘You don’t think you were?’
Isiah shook his head. ‘Not exactly. I was nothing, then I got picked out. It’s not the same thing. I just like to keep looking forward to the day when it’s all over for me.’
‘And then what?’
Isiah looked at Gabriel for a moment, sinking into his deep, troubled eyes. Eventually he shrugged, looked away. ‘I have no idea. Fucks with my head just trying to think about it.’
‘Just keep on serving, Isiah. Maybe somewhere down the line we’ll finally see the point of it all. But don’t hold your breath.’
They sat in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts. Finally Isiah sat up straighter, mentally shaking off the melancholy. ‘Cheer up, mate,’ he said, in an artificially jolly voice, ‘it’s not all bad! What brings you here anyway?’
‘I came to give you a warning actually. Lucifer is more furious than ever, you’ve really got him stirred up this time.’
Isiah grinned. ‘Good, isn’t it!’
Gabriel could not help grinning back. ‘Yes and no. If he catches up with you it won’t be entertaining at all.’
Isiah shrugged. ‘I’m not really scared of him. We’ve had a few brushes in the past. He hasn’t beaten me yet.’
‘You’re very confident, Isiah. I wonder why?’
‘What have I got to lose? What have I ever got to lose? So is that the warning? Satan’s more pissed than ever.’
‘No. The warning is that he can’t check every church, but he knows you have to be in one of them, so he’s being uncharacteristically patient. He’s got his minions posted outside every church for hundreds of miles in every direction and he’s simply going to wait until you reappear.’
Isiah nodded. ‘I figured as much. I mean, he knows there isn’t anywhere else for us to hide, but he can’t actually get us while we’re in here. It’s the only option really, seeing as we have to wait.’
‘Yeah.’ Gabriel’s face was understanding. ‘It’s a difficult situation. But just be warned, when you step outside that door, he’ll know instantly and you’ll be swamped. It’s not going to be easy to get away.’
‘No, it’s not, but I have a loose plan. Thanks for the warning all the same.’
‘No problem, my friend. We’ve all got interests in this, one way or another.’ Gabriel was staring at Samuel again. Isiah could almost feel the hate washing from him.
‘Oh shit, yeah,’ Isiah said, suddenly remembering. ‘Sorry about the priest, Gabe.’
‘Not your fault, Isiah, we know that. You’re saddled with a really evil bastard here. Just make sure you gain something out of it before Lucifer gets his prize.’
‘Yeah. It won’t be long, before this nasty son of a bitch is in eternal pain.’
Gabriel stood up, the hint of huge wings shimmering just at the edges of Isiah’s vision. ‘Every cloud, huh?’ he whispered.
‘Yeah. Thanks for the warning, Gabe. You could stay here for a while if you like. You look like you need the rest.’
‘Maybe I do, my friend, but not right now. Take care of yourself.’
Isiah raised his arm to shield his eyes. ‘Sure, man. You too.’
As the blinding flash faded, the holy energy leaking away, Samuel stirred in his sleep. His eyes half opened, looking towards Isiah. ‘What was that?’
Isiah looked down at him, his eyes hooded. ‘Shut the fuck up, Samuel. Go back to sleep.’
Samuel blinked in surprise, but chose not to say anymore. He turned over on the hard floor, slipped back into restless sleep. Isiah sighed,
resting his head once more on his interlaced hands to wait.
The soft leaf litter and moss covered tree trunk were a welcome relief as Carlos slumped against them, a moment’s rest. He wiped the sweat from his brow with one arm as he swigged from his canteen. The water was stale and warm but welcome, soothing his dry throat. The canopy of the jungle shielded him from the intense, blazing sun to a certain degree, but the heat was pervasive. The thick, moist air burning his lungs, the chatter and buzz of the myriad forms of jungle life, the twisted, grabbing vines and fronds reaching out in every direction, snatching at his clothes and hair. How he had missed this! There was a vibrancy to the jungle unlike any other place on earth.
He began chewing absently on a strip of jerky, his eyes roaming the immediate vicinity. He had made excellent time so far. If he carried on like this he would make the site by tomorrow afternoon, maybe four or five o’clock. That would give him plenty of time to get organised. He pulled out his map and compass. Somewhere very close was a road that he wanted to avoid. He would have to cross it, unfortunately, but it should only take seconds. Like a jaguar he would burst from the trees on one side and be across and away before anyone who might be watching could guess what he was, Did you see that? Some kind of animal? Some kind of animal, indeed. The most powerful, deadly animal in existence, Carlos Villalopez. Besides, the road would almost certainly be deserted, hardly a highway. With one last glance around he decided where to cross, got back onto his feet. Shrugging his shoulders to settle his pack, he swallowed the last of the jerky, and headed towards the road.
Hacking at the debilitating lantana, cutting paths between animal tracks, he approached the road. A broad band of sunlight through the trees ahead showed him he was nearly there. He crouched, silent, listening. Was that whistling? Like a cat, his eyes never straying from the road, he picked his way closer. Yes, that was definitely whistling, and a tinny tune, from a cheap radio perhaps. From the shadow of a large tree, concealed behind its broad, gnarled trunk, Carlos leaned forward, scanning the road, left and right. Some thirty yards away to the right was a battered jeep, pulled over under the shade of the overhanging trees. In the driver’s seat was a man, maybe late thirties, with thick sandy hair, dressed all in combat fatigues. The windscreen of the jeep was folded down. The man sat with the chair wound back, his feet, crossed, resting on the dash, protruding over the folded screen. He whistled nonchalantly along with the song that played, all about clowns to the left and jokers to the right.
Carlos sat back on his haunches, thinking. The guy had every hallmark of the mercenary, gun for hire. Like that dipshit German that started this whole escapade, except this guy was obviously American, straight out of Soldier of Fortune magazine. There must have been a change of alliances, in-fighting among the local guerrillas. It looked like this guy was guarding a new border, a border that was likely to change as fast as it had been negotiated. And someone like Carlos, armed as he was, would not have an easy time passing. Still, no problem. There were two options really. One, sneak along the road a few hundred yards away from Rambo here, then cross unnoticed, fading into the jungle like he had never been there. That would be easy. Option two was not so easy, but a lot more fun. And Carlos was not the sort of cold blooded killer to turn down a little fun. He leaned forward again, checking the mercenary’s weapons. An evil smile slowly spread across his face. Want to play tag, Soldier Boy?
He ducked back into the trees, moved carefully toward the jeep until there was only twenty feet or so of jungle between them. He squatted down, not making a sound, as he slipped out a pistol from inside his jacket. With his eyes fixed intently on the American he reached into another pocket for his silencer, quietly screwing it into place. He cocked his left arm in front of him, using it as a rest for his right hand, carefully aiming the pistol. His finger gently squeezed the trigger, almost a caress. There was a muffled pop from the pistol followed by a sharp report as the jeep’s front tyre burst. The jeep rocked slightly as the air escaped the tyre with a rush. With a yelp of surprise, the American was out of the jeep, drawing his own pistol as he disappeared behind it. Carlos smiled. Very good, Yankee. Quick.
He silently rose into a low crouch and moved some fifteen paces to his left. Squatting down again, peering through the foliage, he could see past the back of the jeep. The American was rising, trying to catch a glimpse over the vehicle of what might be out there. There was a walkie talkie on the dashboard which he reached toward. Carlos watched the mercenary’s hand inch forward so very carefully. Bracing his pistol, he waited. Just as the mercenary’s fingers were about to touch the radio, he stroked his trigger again. With a sharp crack the radio splintered in a shower of plastic. The American yelped again, dropping back, rubbing his fingers. His eyes flicked towards the trees, right where Carlos had fired from. But Carlos was already moving again, back around to where he had fired from the first time. Once again he crouched low, waiting. Come on, Yankee, let’s begin the chase!
Slowly the American’s eyes appeared over the jeep again. Carlos waited. The American moved slowly toward the front of the vehicle, hiding now behind the front wheel, peering cautiously over the front wing. His eyes darted towards a rifle propped against the back seat on the driver’s side. His expression showed that he knew he would never reach it. He glanced at the pistol in his hand, then Carlos saw him make his decision. Like lightning he was up, bolting for the trees. Carlos grinned, this one was good. He waited until the American was almost in the trees before he gently squeezed out his third round. The American’s scream was high pitched, like a child’s, as the bullet winged his left thigh, just below the buttock. Clapping his free hand to the wound he dove headfirst into the undergrowth.
Carlos, his expression one of glee, darted out from the trees, across the road, back into the jungle some thirty feet from where the mercenary had leapt. Crouching low once more he moved forward, wincing slightly at the tight pain in his still tender thigh. Up ahead he could hear twigs and branches snapping, leaf litter scattering. The American was being less careful now, running in panic. Excellent. He rose and ran after him, following the noise, making no effort to be quiet himself now. Let the Yankee hear him coming, more like the monster he was than a panther chasing down its unfortunate prey.
He deliberately did not catch up yet. The American’s wound was slowing him, hurting him. He was whimpering as he ran, from pain and from fear as he heard Carlos’ pursuit. Carlos laughed, his blood rushing at the sound of his prey’s panic. Run him down, keep him going until he was too weak to run any more. That wound would bleed a lot, already he could see drops on the leaves as he ran. He caught sight of the American through a gap in the trees and squeezed off another round, winging the mercenary’s shoulder this time. He screamed again, stumbling, but didn’t fall. Carlos laughed again, evil, maniacal laughter.
They crashed through the trees, hunter and hunted, the mercenary darting this way and that, trying to shake Carlos off. Every few seconds Carlos would let off another round, shattering tree bark by the American’s head, bursting leaf litter at his feet. Suddenly there was a cry followed by a splash. Carlos stopped dead, dropping low, peering between the trees. The American had fallen, tripped by a shallow streamlet hidden in the undergrowth. Carlos sighed. So ends the chase.
The American struggled to turn over, sitting on the edge of the streamlet, his pistol held out straight in front of him, double-handed grip, panning left and right. His face was twisted in pain and fear, his whole body trembling violently. Carlos slowly raised his own pistol again, carefully taking aim. Another silent shot followed by a metallic ricochet and the American screamed as his pistol flew from numb, broken fingers. Tears of panic streamed down his cheeks. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he yelled, his voice breaking, hugging his hands to his chest. His eyes swept the jungle before him.
Carlos chuckled as he rose and strolled from his concealment, his pistol swinging by his side. The American’s shakes increased as he approached with an evil grin. ‘Who are you, man
?’ the American asked again, his voice wracked with sobs of fear. ‘What do you want?’
Carlos unscrewed his silencer, crouched in front of the mercenary, slipping his pistol back inside his jacket. The American’s eyes flicked between Carlos’ eyes and the pistol, then back again as it slipped out of sight. ‘You could never possibly understand what I want,’ Carlos said quietly.
‘I got connections, man, good connections. I bet I can get you anything you want.’
‘You can’t buy what I want.’ The American began trembling more violently than ever, his breath coming in short gasps. Carlos looked him up and down. ‘You’re so very scared, aren’t you?’
The mercenary began openly sobbing. ‘Yeah, I’m scared fucking shitless. What do you want?’
Carlos leaned closer, staring directly into the American’s eyes. ‘But don’t you feel alive? Isn’t your heart beating so hard it feels like it might burst? Don’t you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt before?’ The American’s eyes widened, his brow creasing, confused. In a blur Carlos swept a long, curved, viciously sharp knife from his boot. A flash of silver as he brought his arm around in a tight arc, dragging the blade straight across the American’s sweating, pulsing throat. The mercenary’s eyes bulged as blood gouted from between his hastily raised fingers. Still staring hard into the American’s eyes, Carlos took a long, shuddering breath. ‘That, my friend, is what I want!’
As the American toppled over backwards, Carlos stood, his arms by his sides, face raised to the sky. He turned slowly in circles, laughing out loud at the world. ‘Ah, there is no rush like it!’ he cried. He lowered his face again, staring down at the dead mercenary. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered, ‘you made my day. But you also made me a little late. Have a nice day, now!’
Laughing again, he wiped his knife on the American’s trouser leg, resheathed it. Checking his map and compass once more, he drew his machete and struck off into the jungle. ‘I have a long way to go,’ he muttered, as he passed the mercenary’s body. ‘Can’t hang around having fun all the time.’