A Congress of Angels (The Collective)

by Fore, Jon

  He filled the bowl and let Fuggly drink his fill, and then spent nearly an hour trying to convince the horses to drink from the dog's bowel. It wasn't like this house had a trough he could fill. It was the bowl or nothing.

  Once the horses understood, they drank many bowels each. Then Gabriel soaked a small hand towel with the cold water and scrubbed both horse’s flanks and legs down. He inspected the hooves on each and found them in good condition if a bit dry. He then used the bowl to dunk each hoof in the water for a few minutes, then rinsed the bowel out and stuffed it back in the pack.

  On Lance again, he looked around longingly. How nice it would be to spend some time inside a house, even if it were just the night. Hell, he slept a bit last night, why not tonight? The electricity was out, that was easy to tell, so he began counting chimneys on the roofs. There were four in this clutch of about forty homes, and he picked the closest one.

  It was a two story, like the others, modern styled with lots of glass on its front. It looked slender, sleek and elegant, but what attracted Gabriel was the brick chimney. A chimney promised a fireplace. A fireplace promised a fire. The fire last night hadn't drawn the monsters, so why would a small fire in a fireplace? At the thought, Gabriel felt a sudden chill rush down his core.

  Oh to be warm again, he thought.

  Pussy, the other accused.

  After dismounting, he went to the front door and knocked. The doorbell died with the electricity, so after a long while he pounded. The last thing he wanted to do was to break into a house with a scared homeowner and gun owner hiding inside. After about three minutes he pounded once more, then tried the knob. It was locked. No surprise there. So he started with the windows. Working his way around the house, he finally found one that wasn't locked. It was in the back, in the kitchen area next to the air conditioner, and to his relief, a pile of split logs near one of the two French doors.

  He pulled, then set the screen gently to one side. He was, by God, going to enter this home, but he did not want to break into it. Then he lifted the window, and using the air conditioner as a step, he peered into the kitchen through the sheer and bright floral curtains.

  The space was as modern as the house. Stainless steel appliances, an in-house open flame grill next to the oven, and either marble or granite counter tops all spoke of the money spent on the house. Just beneath the window were a pile of dirty dishes.

  "Hello?” He shouted into the house and waited. After a few minutes, "I'm going to come in, if anyone is in there, I am not going to hurt you, I just need a place to hole-up for the night, okay?"

  He half expected someone to call 'okay' back to him, but no one did. After a few more minutes, he wrestled and wiggled his way in over top of the rancid and rotting dishes and managed to bring himself in head first without falling or knocking anything over.

  The kitchen was large, larger than it really needed to be, and a dining table sat in the next room. It was a deep reddish brown color with ornate chairs and a center piece of colorful artificial flowers. In the other direction was another large room, this with obese leather sofas, an enormous television, and the granddaddy of them all, an old fashion fireplace complete with neatly stacked and folded newspapers and logs in a metal cradle. On the mantel was a tube of long matches. Next to these were photos in frames and a bowling trophy, which seemed out of place. As nice as this place was, you wouldn't expect the home owners to be bowlers.

  He made his way to the front entry where he found a sweeping stairway up to the second floor. "Hello! Anyone home?" he called up the stairs and waited.

  Still no answer came, so he went looking for the garage. He found this easily, near the front door, and again came across a stroke of luck. The garage was large, enough to park three cars, but there were none currently in residence. Whatever these people drove probably went with them in the escape. The memory of the murdered people on the highway went through his mind like a fevered disease. How many sport utility vehicles or minivan or any other family car had been there, torn open, corpses ripped apart within?

  He would have to turn the pictures on the mantel around later, and hoped he wouldn't recognize any of them from the slaughter. After disconnecting the electric garage door opener from the top of the door with the quick release, he opened the garage. The light spilling into the space revealed a riding lawn mower and a number of other lawn care machines, all gas powered, all Skills. These people were of means, he thought, then went out to lead the horses in.

  This time, Gabriel unsaddled both, relieving them of every pack and strap, stacking things neatly near the door. Then he took a push broom, unscrewed the bristled part, and used this to brush down the horse's fur. Big Guy had a couple of rub spots on his flank, but Lance looked to be in great shape. He would check the house for some first aid cream, maybe Cortisone or something to rub into the old horse's wounds.

  He made two piles of the short grass, leaving him one more bundle to take with them tomorrow. This he placed in the entry of the house. He found two buckets, one had no purpose he could figure, but the other held car wash soap and rags. Gabriel took these to a spigot outside and found Fuggly sniffing and pissing on all things, everywhere. How a dog could hold so much water was beyond him.

  He rinsed out the buckets thoroughly, then filled them with water and brought them back to the horses, calling Fuggly as he did. When the buckets of water were set before each horse, next to their pile of grass, he shut the garage door and went inside, leaving the horses in a dark but decidedly warmer place. At least it felt that way without the blowing wind.

  Once inside, Fuggly immediately began to explore, sniffing every corner and every piece of furniture. Gabriel turned to the fire, the first fire he could enjoy in weeks. So cold for so long, he'd almost forgotten what it would be like to be warm again. First, though, were the pictures.

  He tried not to look at them, but couldn't help it. He saw the smiling faces of a young family, all brown eyed, all dark haired, all enjoying pursuits Gabriel could never hope to enjoy. There was deep sea fishing, lounging at the pool on a cruise ship, drinking at some tiki bar in the Caribbean. This is what rich people did, not forcibly retired Marine Recon Snipers. Anyway, he was glad to see the trophy was for third place. At least everything didn't come easy for these people.

  Like the dying did?

  Shut it.

  In just a few minutes, he had a small fire going in the fireplace. It gave warmth as the energy stored in the logs was released as heat, and it nearly brought tears to Gabriel's eyes. His hands ached painfully as they warmed, and so did his feet and thighs. He had not realized how cold he actually was. The smell of the burning wood, even this pre-treated wood, brought back memories of times with his father around the fire, hearing his stories of shooting competitions or of his mother, which Gabriel had never known.

  Mother stories were his favorite, and he appreciated the look the ole' man drew with his face whenever he talked of her. Gabriel learned all he knew of his mother from these tales, and over the years, learned to love the woman. A woman he had never met.

  These were the stable times, the settled times. These were the times before he went into the military.

  It didn't matter. The memories warmed him almost as much as the fire, and for the first time in weeks, Gabriel began to feel good again. Just a little, he wouldn't allow himself more than that. But it was better and he was in a better way because of it.

  Once the ache had left his hands, he began rifling through the kitchen looking for storable food stuff. He didn't want to open the refrigerator, it being without power now for who knew how long. But the pantry had cans of soup and beans and beets and cranberry sauce. What he wanted was something hot, so he pulled out two cans of corn bisque, and went looking for a pot. These he found in a cupboard beside the stove. he selected a rather nice pot, a wide one, to give it stability on the burning logs.

  He opened the cans and poured the contents into the pot. It looked a bit thick so he read the label and dis
covered he needed to add two cans of water. One look at the kitchen sink and he scratched that off the list, and went to the bathroom on the first floor. The bathroom smelled stale but at least it didn't smell rancid.

  He worked the pot of soup into the fireplace next to the logs, then carefully added another log. The pot was close enough to the heat to get hot, and he spent a couple more minutes in the kitchen until he found the lid. He didn't want errant ashes to float into the soup. That would make it rather bitter if not gritty. Corn bisque was supposed to be sweet and smooth, not gritty and bitter.

  While that warmed, Gabriel did something he didn't think he would be able to do for a long while. He took a shower. Cold as ice, no question there, but there was unopened soap and a bottle of no-named brand shampoo. In the same pantry, he found three packages of unopened travel tooth brushes complete with a carrying case for each, towels and--wonders never ceased--toilet paper. After showering, turning himself a glorious shade of light blue, he brought all of this down, naked, to the fire. He roasted himself to a pinkish red before getting dressed again. New underwear, new t-shirt, new socks, but the same old flannel button down and Levi jeans. Had there been power, he would have done some laundry, but he could get along without.

  He shared the Corn Bisque with Fuggly, who after a thorough inspection of the house had discovered the fire and the quality of warmth, at least warmth not fueled by calories. Fug licked it up greedily, and Gabriel wondered if there was such a thing as a dog who wasn't, deep in his bones, a greedy-guts. Probably not. Still, making the dog so happy made Gabriel feel even better, and this he couldn't help. With his own belly full, a roof over their heads, a fire in the fireplace, why couldn't he be happy?

  Cause you're alone, idiot. You're alone and deep behind enemy lines. They know about you. They are looking for you.

  Chapter 6

  Escaping the hospital was easy. When it came down to it, they just walked out. No one stopped them, no one asked who they were, in fact not many even looked at them. Actually, there wasn't very many to do much looking. But none of these few looked with any form of recognition as they made their way through the emergency room and through the large powered double doors. It was somehow disturbing to Vega that they went so unnoticed, so unseen. That and the emergency room was barren. No patients waited bleeding patiently. No staff running to assist and there were even two wheel chairs left abandoned where they were vacated. Magazines lay scattered on otherwise empty bench seating, and the televisions waiting to entertain the wounded were dark and silent. The whole scene was just spooky.

  But Vega still felt excited. This would be the first time she had been out of the hospital in nearly three weeks. After staring at the world through her window, like watching the world change on television, it really was time to be out in it, see it, hear it, and smell it. It was time to experience that which she'd been forced to only observe. It would make it real again, tangibly real instead of simply unbelievable. Even though she was there at the beginning of this particular end.

  The big guy, Jackson, led them, and Maria walked directly behind her. Once the medallion had fixed itself to her chest, she could feel the others in a strange world-tilting way. It was like feeling her own emotions, her own heart, but just in front of her or just behind her instead of in her center. As scary as it was, it was enthralling. As enslaving as it was, liberating.

  The first thing she found there was the love between the two people. They loved each other in a way that Vega had never experienced. It wasn't just a passion driven lust for compatible body parts--and there was heaps of that--but there was a joining of souls. It was glorious and wonderful and beautiful and just a little scary. She didn't want to know the secrets of another person's heart like this, but it was too late now, wasn't it? She swallowed the pill, now it was time to follow the white rabbit.

  The outside was as dark as the window view from her hospital room had promised, but there was also a rank smell in the air. It was just an afterthought that reminded her of the gate when it first opened. She remembered smelling this same odor once when she opened a bag of potatoes from the fridge, and found them two years out of date. That sweet moldy spike of wrong lasted only a moment before she closed the bag and twisted the smell away. Still, it was enough to stick with her for the rest of her life. There were also more dominant smells, like fire and urine and other rotting things, but that rancid potato odor was so high pitched, it seemed to cut through the rest and tap her on the aromatic shoulder. Like nails on a chalkboard, you couldn't just flat-out ignore it.

  It was also rather chilly; not freezing, but cold. The earth, absent of the sun's life-giving warmth, was growing frosty. It was cold enough to wear a jacket, which was in her apartment over the dress shop. But that was eight or so miles away, and they had no way of getting around. Well, except for walking.

  'It was the way God gave us to travel' Jackson told her before leaving the hospital, and Maria agreed.

  Well, that just plain sucked. It was slow, they had to carry everything they needed on their backs--it was boot camp all over again. Vega could handle it, sure, but that didn't squeeze the suck out of it. That and the last two weeks or so in the hospital had let her get soft. No gym time for her, not with broken ribs. They ordered her to just lay there and get nice and soft while she healed. So she did. As ordered. She always did as ordered.

  So, there was no way she was walking eight miles to her apartment to get a jacket. She had money on her, her credit cards as well, but it looked like not only every shop was closed, but the streets were being patrolled by armed German soldiers. They must be here to stop the looting, Vega concluded. If they were here because of the demons, then she and her new friends were in a bit of bind. Not from the soldiers, but from the demon kind.

  Vega had no weapons. She thought of the gunnery sergeant back on base and wondered how pissed he would be over the fact she had not returned the weapons yet. 'Save the brass if you can,' he asked, and now she had no clue where the rifle or the handgun was. Probably serving with a Ranger, which for Vega would be just fine. But still, she was unarmed, and that wouldn't do. She didn't even know where they were going actually. Since they left the hospital, she'd been staring at the big guy's back and just following him. This wouldn't do anymore. "Excuse me, where are we going?"

  Jackson stopped suddenly, and Vega almost ran into him. He turned and looked down at Vega as if surprised, then looked at Maria, "I don't know. Where are we going?"

  Vega turned on Maria to see the same placid blankness, "Actually, I thought you would tell us, or know, for sure.” Maria's face reddened lightly around the cheeks.

  To Vega, the girl looked kind of dreamy and a little scared. "You guys didn't have a plan past getting me out of the hospital?" She tossed her eyes from Jackson to Maria, and back to Jackson. As mad as she should have been and as sad as the world around her should have made her, she couldn't find that spark of anger any more. That spark of anger she used to get over life's little hurdles. The spark of anger she long ago learned to rely on.

  The two just waited, looking completely docile. How the hell did I end up in charge of this... thing?

  "We did say we were hoping you would tell us. We don't know.” Jackson's voice was deep and booming but still apologetic.

  Vega looked again for that spark of anger, but what she found was a concern for the big man and his tiny love. She had known them, what, an hour now and she felt endeared to them like this? Already? Finally, she cleared her throat then said, "Well, I don't know. We have to get back to New Jersey, right?"

  "Yeah, Freehold and Newark.” Maria said, looking at Jackson for confirmation.

  Before he could, Vega continued, "Then we have to get from Europe to America. Somehow.” The idea of getting from here to America when she couldn't go get her damn jacket was more than daunting, it was impossible. They, neither of them, had a clue about the conditions of any of the military forces. Flights would be grounded, there was no question about that, so the
y had to go to water. But was that even possible? There was too much unknown to really make a decision. Hell, where were the demons massing right now? Could they even get to the open ocean?

  She looked up and noticed the two were still looking at her, waiting. Now, the pair had a hopeless expression on their faces.

  A pair of German soldiers walked toward them. They parted, one to either side of the three, not even withdrawing from their conversation as they did. It was obvious to Vega that they knew something was standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, but not what. They walked around them, talked through them, and kept going.

  When the soldiers were a few more steps away Vega said, "We got to find a boat. One that's big enough to cross the ocean."

  Jackson's eyes widened at this, but Maria's face remained unchanged, as if she expected this bit of news.

  "It's the only way I can think of to get back to America. I know commercial flights have stopped, right?” Vega asked.

  "Yeah.” Jackson sounded resigned if not a little scared. "I just don't like boats. I get kind of sick on them, boy-howdy."

  Vega felt her face widen in a smile and turned to see Maria looking at Jackson with the same flavor of grin. "Well, our first problem is getting to a boat, which means getting to the shore. At least the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. If I remember my German geography, we can head north and a bit to the west toward Amsterdam. There has to be commercial size boats there that can cross the Atlantic."

  "It has to be boats?” Jackson asked, his eyes pleading towards Maria.

  "Well," Maria slide toward him in an even, sly step, like a cat stretching from its sleep, "I think boats are kind of romantic. That, and I have never been on one before."

  Maria worked her eyebrows like a professional, and Vega decided Maria's father must have spoiled the hell out of that alluring, blinking set of eyelashes. No father stood a chance against those things.