"I don't know," I said, thinking of spending forever with Michael. I shook my head to banish the thought. "What did the angel tell you besides the fact that Letourneau wasn't the Second Coming? Anything?"
"Lots of stuff. We had long talks. Ariel, his ... or, rather, her name was Ariel, was convicted for gender bending. Ten years she got for that, can you believe it?" When I looked at him quizzically, he explained. "She was my cellmate. Anyway, I took notes. It's all in here."
He pressed the Bible into my hands. "I knew you'd understand, Dee. I ..."
His words were drowned out by the thrum of helicopter blades springing to life. Four sleek, black government stealth helicopters rose over the rim of the stadium, throwing beams of bright light down on the stadium.
"Scramble, Malachim!" Rebeckah's voice sounded far away coming through the thin thread in my ear. "Cover them!"
* * *
TXT transcript from McMannus Fan interactive 3-D BBS 2/25/76
[email protected]
"Did anyone (beside me) catch the HardLine LINK broadcast last night? The skycams caught a glimpse of our girl. You should've heard the commentary. Twenty-seven seconds of wild conjecture of why, who, and where. I figure she was out and about trying to sneak into church. It is Lent, you know."
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"We agree on many things, my friend, but in this case you're dead wrong. Deidre is tougher than that. She doesn't even miss the solace of the church."
[email protected]
"Justy my man, you're so unplugged. Get a grip. McMannus is tough AND sensitive. Run archived interview 10/11/25 on the main fan node if you need a refresher."
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"You guys need a life. Like any of us know her well enough to talk. 'Kid,' what I want to know is what did HardLine say? What was she wearing? (More illegal pantsuits, I hope. That girl's got rocks!)"
manny/[email protected]
'Kid,' what I want to know is how you keep getting on this BBS with a handle. LINK protocol demands full disclosure. If there is a LINK hack in progress, the Tech-Squad will shut us down so fast it'll make our heads spin. This BBS is unlicensed enough as it is – the last thing I need is a spike sent right to the cop shop every time your unregistered name pops up. Shut down or uncloak!"
[email protected]
"RE-lax, Mr. Martinez. Ain't no pansy spike built yet that could tag this rodent's code. But out of the goodness of my heart, I'll decloak. Shelia, dear, to answer your question
[email protected]
"Thanks, Kid ... Mouse! You're the coolest! Hey, speaking of gender-bending injunctions, – can we start a thread on how low-rez the gender-bending regulations are? I swear, I'd kill to be able to go outside in a comfy pair of jeans."
Chapter 17
Spotlights danced through the stadium as the copters encircled the ballpark. The blades chopped at the night sky. A metallic voice rang out, "This is the police. Lay down your weapons."
"Weapons? I'm unarmed," Daniel said, as we ran for cover. Giving me a sidelong glance, he added, "And it's not like you could hide anything under that skin suit."
I ignored his implied question. If things got worse, Daniel would realize that the Malachim were here and armed to the teeth. I was more concerned about how the police found us so quickly.
"I can't believe it's the cops again," I shouted, vaulting over the bleachers in a mad dash for the entrance to the interior of the arena. "Someone must have betrayed us."
"Don't look at me. I sure as heck don't want to go back to prison," Daniel said between breaths.
The deafening noise of air through blades precluded further conversation. I stopped running and looked up to see the shiny black belly of a helicopter looming directly above us. That the police had pulled a gas-guzzling beast out of storage just for us was a bad sign. The spotlight was aimed beyond my shoulder, so I could see someone leaning out of the door of the car. The figure was dressed in black and was difficult to distinguish against the night sky. He had something trained on us, possibly a scope of some kind, because only half of his pale face was visible.
"There is a US Marshal here," an amplified voice said.
And a police sniper, I thought to myself, looking up at the helicopter. The machine bobbed up and down in the air, as though agreeing with my unspoken thought. Hot wind blasted down, ruffling my hair. Daniel's coat snapped in the mechanical breeze.
"Surrender the prisoner," the voice commanded.
"I'm not going back there," Daniel said from where he stood, just behind my shoulder.
"Don't worry, Danny," I said, squaring my shoulders. "I'm not giving up without a fight. We have to make a break for it," I told Daniel. My eyes stayed locked on the figure in the helicopter.
"Ready when you are, partner," he said, a familiar tone in his voice.
The instant my feet moved, a red light flashed from the helicopter. I barely formed the word, "laser sights," when, I heard a deafening series of explosions. Daniel cried out. I spun on my heels. Daniel crumpled in the spotlight, clutching his chest. Hundreds of flechettes had buried themselves in his flesh. The rapid fire of the gun was so fast that, as Danny had moved to protect his chest, his hands had become pinioned there. "Oh, Danny! No!"
I dropped to my knees beside Daniel just as the spotlight blew out with a crash. Glass showered down on my head. Then, something dark and heavy fell out of the sky with a wet thud. A strangled moan came from the bleachers only a few feet from me. I saw a police sniper's body sprawled awkwardly on the plastic seats. Pale fingers twitched in the moonlight.
"Shit!" I heard a Malachim exclaim over the intercom. "Commander, I've got flechette rifle signatures on scope. Someone on the ground brought down ..."
"The kill was mine, soldier." Rebeckah cut him off sharply. Then, after a click to broadband, she intoned, "On my order the Malachim Nikamah will engage the New York Police Department and the US Marshal. Return defensive fire only. Repeat: We are firing in self-defense only." With a click back to the Malachim's private channel, she added, "Get those spotlights out of commission, boys and girls. Let's keep it clean."
Dots of light twinkled silently in the arena, as the Malachim engaged their laser sights. I turned my attention to Daniel. I rolled him over. I could see a widening, wet spot near his shoulder. The strong smell of blood and gore made me gag. Choking back the bile that rose in my throat, I put my arms around Daniel. "Come on, Danny, we've got to get you to shelter."
His fist clenched on the chain-link fence, and he dragged himself upright. Tears of pain glittered in his eyes, just as tears of desperation threatened to fog my vision. I held him tight around the waist and pulled him slowly toward the stair opening. I repeated words of nonsense, words of encouragement. "You can make it. Come on, partner, just a little farther."
Daniel's body was awkward and heavy in my grasp, and he crawled forward, hand over hand, with maddening deliberation. The constant rapid-fire explosions surrounding us made my skin crawl. Phantom sensations of tiny barbed arrows whizzing nearby jerked me this way and that, as though I might be able dodge something moving so fast.
Searing pain grazed my ribs, but I wasn't sure if it was a stitch in my side from exertion or the touch of a fle-chette. I didn't stop to look. If it were a flechette, I would know soon enough. Most of the barbs were programmed to start digging the second they hit something soft like flesh. I stayed hunched over Daniel, shielding his body as much as I could, as we crawled toward the doorway. "It's going to be all right," I kept saying.
"The Bible," Daniel said through clenched teeth. "Do you have the Bib
le?"
My helmet and the Bible were somewhere back on the bleachers. "I'll go back for them," I told Daniel. "Once you're in the doorway, okay?"
He clutched at my shoulder, his grip surprisingly strong. "Promise me you'll go back for the Bible."
"I will," I said. I needed to go back for the helmet anyway. Without that helmet, the armor was useless, and I was cut off from two-way communication with the Malachim.
Finally, we reached the arch of the doorway. I pulled Daniel as far into the shadows as I could. He leaned heavily against the wall with a grunt. In a widening circle, wet blood shimmered beneath his trench coat.
"Oh, Jesus, Danny, I don't think I should leave you." I looked around frantically for something to help staunch the flow of blood.
"The Bible," Daniel insisted. "Please."
I frowned at him in concern; he stared at me imploringly. Finally, I nodded. Balling up an edge of his trench coat, I pressed the material and his hand to the wound. "Hold this," I instructed, though I knew it wouldn't do any good. "I'll go back for the Bible."
Looking out into the arena, I could see red dots of light on the bleachers. The hulls of the stealth helicopters were smoking from the continued barrage from the Malachim. The helicopters careened wildly, diving this way and that around the ballpark. Spotlights illuminated retreating shadows of Rebeckah's soldiers.
With a quick prayer to Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, I crawled back out into the bleachers. I pulled myself along on my stomach by my elbows. A scream rose above the din as someone's mark hit home. I winced, not sure who to be rooting for; I wished no one dead. Police or Malachim.
"Oh, God," I muttered, as I inched along. "I'm so sorry."
A spotlight illuminated the space in front of me and headed in my direction. I started to squeeze against the bleacher, but quickly realized the inch overhang wouldn't protect me. When the spotlight reached me, I scrambled to my feet. Adrenaline rushed through my body, and with a whoop, I sprinted the distance to the helmet and the Bible. The spotlight stayed on my heels.
Skidding to a halt, I grabbed for the Bible and the helmet. I stopped to turn around, and looked up into the bright light. A helicopter hung in the air directly overhead. It would be impossible for a sniper to miss.
A shadow, like a soap bubble film, appeared between the helicopter and me. Then, the spotlight blew out with a deafening crash. "What the hell are you standing there for, girl?" Rebeckah's disembodied voice shouted. "Run!"
As with all of Rebeckah's commands, I followed it without a second thought. Footsteps echoed behind, following me to the shelter of the doorway where Daniel slumped against the archway.
Kneeling beside him, I said, "Hang on. We're going to get you out of here."
The intercom crackled as Rebeckah sent out the fallback order to the Malachim. To me, she said, "I'm going to stay and make sure everyone gets out. Get him to safety."
Daniel's face looked ashen. Covered in sticky blood, his hands trembled where he grasped at his wound. There was a thin whistle in his breath and a wet, sucking sound in his chest. I looked up to where I imagined Rebeckah was standing and shook my head. He's not going to make it, I tried to say. Instead, what came out was, "I can't carry him alone."
"Did you get the Bible?" Daniel's cold hand covered mine imploringly.
Tipping the helmet so he could see the Bible nestled inside, I nodded. "It's safe."
"Do you think they'll let me in?" His voice was a whisper.
For a moment I didn't understand what he was talking about. "Heaven?" I pulled out a courageous smile. "Nah, Danny, Saint Peter will stop you at the front gate. I keep telling you: God is a Catholic. You Protestants have got it all wrong."
"We'll see." He smiled,
"Not soon, I hope," I whispered. I looked at the entrance, toward Rebeckah, then down the stairway. Maybe I could carry him out, I thought, if Rebeckah or another Malachim helped. As I glanced back and forth, my gaze strayed past Daniel. Daniel met my eyes and held them. The look he gave me told me he knew; he knew he was dying. "Oh, Danny."
The air shook as one of the helicopters slammed into center field. A fireball illuminated the stadium. I threw myself protectively over Daniel's helpless form. When the debris settled, I still held him close.
"That night -" Daniel's words came out through great effort, close to my ear. "– I wanted to say I was sorry ... really, sorry. Why me? Who had to gain from the Pope's murder?"
I shook my head. I'd asked myself those questions a thousand times over the last year. I had partial answers only – nothing I could give Daniel. "I don't know."
"You remember ... that night?"
^Of course."
"What if ... what if ... that Jordan data ... tripped someone's alarm?"
Daniel had gotten that phone call from the "big guy" right in the middle of searching those files "A trigger. Of course," I said. "That's the connection Danny. Whoever stole that tech for Letourneau had a trigger planted as self defense. You stumbled onto it, and it possessed you. Maybe the same thing has been happening to the Malachim."
"Malachim ... Angels," Daniel's voice broke my excited ramblings. I looked down into his eyes; they no longer focused. Like his gaze, his mind wandered. "Surrounded by angels."
"Oh, Danny." I tugged on his trench-coat collar lovingly, as if to beg him not to go. "I want you to know: I believe you; it wasn't your fault. None of it."
"Hmmmm," he said, and I prayed to God that he heard me, because the next thing that came from his mouth was a dry, unearthly rattle.
Still rhythmically smoothing the collar of Daniel's coat, I shut my eyes and bowed my head. It wasn't right; I'd just gotten him back. He couldn't be gone.
"Danny?" I whispered, even though I could smell the loosening of his bowels. "Danny?"
I opened my eyes, only to see death's touch relax and blur the features of the face I knew so well. It wasn't fair, I fumed silently, as tears rolled down my cheeks.
But, like so many things I tried to deny over the last few days, my protests failed to change the truth: Daniel was dead. With a trembling hand, I closed his eyes.
Police lights flashed against the wall of the stadium, red and white. The glare reflected by the glass hurt my tear-tired eyes. Footsteps echoed in the stairway. The police would be approaching soon, now that the Malachim had retreated. Touching Daniel's chest, I whispered, "I have to go."
I pulled on my helmet and tucked the Bible under my arm. As I stood up to leave, I took one last look at where Daniel lay. He slumped against the wall like a sleeping drunk. His ill-fitting prison trousers and ratty trench coat only added to the illusion. Such an ignoble death for such a brave heart, I thought, as I headed down the stairs. "Maybe I was wrong," I whispered. "Maybe Saint Peter will let you in, after all."
I burst into the open air. The parking lot appeared deserted, except for a lone, crystalline streetlamp. I felt horribly exposed; I could hear the distant whir of a helicopter's blades. The muscles of my back itched with the expectation of a flechette sting. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and ignored the rest. My vision focused on the alleyway in front of me, and I headed for the relative safety of the glass buildings.
Adrenaline propelled me deeper and deeper into the glass city. At random intervals I turned corners, hoping to shake any possible pursuers. The pads of the armored boots made a sucking sound as I ran, the soles automatically adjusting to give extra traction on the slippery glass surface.
Rebeckah had instructed us to regroup at Jerome Avenue near what was once Highway 87. From there, the survivors would make their way back to a new Malachim headquarters. Though the original HQ had not been compromised that she knew of, Rebeckah was unwilling to take the risk of leading someone there. Given the ease with which the police had located me, I had to agree with her logic. However, that meant if I didn't make the rendezvous, I'd never find them.
The moonlight threw brittle shadows at my feet that mocked my sense of direction.
I looked around for street names or landmarks, but I didn't recognize any of them. I was lost.
This place was a ghetto of radiation for the Gorgons; most humans, even the police, stayed out. Thus, I wouldn't know a landmark if one hit me in the face. Even the shapes of the buildings seemed strange and squat to me. The Bronx was a city from another lifetime, preserved forever in glass.
I'd slipped on the helmet before entering the city, wanting protection from any surface radiation. My breath came in ragged spurts and my side ached. Daniel's Bible felt heavy in my hand. The deserted emptiness of the glassy streets was eerie. I missed the usually pervasive hum of traffic. Leaning against the hulk of a glittering taxicab, I gulped the night air. Though my hair itched horribly under the helmet, I didn't dare take it off, as that would disable the radiation armor.
The squatness of the Bronx disturbed me. Unlike Manhattan, moonlight fell easily to the streets here, unobstructed by traffic tubes and mile-high buildings. Tubing became popular after the war, as a solution to the continuing problem of the city's expansion, and the borough seemed foreign with only one level for all modes of traffic. Next to a Chevy decades older than mine, a glass-covered bicycle rested against a lamppost, secured for all eternity with a glittering, icy chain.
I began to realize that I was very, very lost. I couldn't even LINK into a global locating system, since I was afraid that I'd tip off the police. At the sound of a howling yell, I dropped to my knees. Peering over the hood of the cab, I searched for the source of the yelp. I heard nothing over the short, raggedhuffs of my breath, which were amplified in the helmet. The street remained quiet and empty. Glass brownstones glinted dully with reflected starlight. I waited.
When the howl came again, I instinctively hunched lower and clutched the Bible to my chest. A series of short, staccato yelps echoed through the glass valley. The noise was joyful and defiant, like a Rebel yell. Then I saw them coming around the corner – Gorgons on the prowl.
Archangel Protocol Page 23