A Congress of Angels (The Collective)

by Fore, Jon

  Jackson swallowed again, this time hard enough to hear. He slugged a long pull from his beer.

  Vega laughed aloud and Jackson spun on her. She saw him go from pale to a vibrant red, and she laughed harder.

  William began chuckling and slapped Jackson on the shoulder, "You got your hands full, big fella. Let's go get underway.” Without another word, William leapt up on the ladder and vanished topside.

  Chapter 16

  Gabriel took his position next to the door, sitting up as usual, revolver in his lap as usual, Fuggly's head on his shins, as usual. He slept in a rice paper thin way, as usual.

  He woke once during the night, if this really was night. Amelia, who laid down to sleep a few yards away, had come to him, eased herself down alongside him and put her head on his chest. He woke the moment she moved, and didn't sleep anymore. It was not for the smell of the girl, that was alright. She smelled like the barn, and he was growing used to that. It was not the added weight on his chest, she was so underweight he could barely feel her there when he breathed. It was the devastating responsibility that now rested on his shoulders. That, actually, was rather heavy. He had a whole new respect for parents, real parent. The ones that were the guiding part of their child's life, not the friend they thought their child should have. Not the vanishing or part time parents either, the ones that sat awake all night, just because of whatever. They were the very souls of society.

  He looked at the girl as an opportunity for redemption. The face of the other girl, the little child he had shot, didn't haunt him. In fact, the faces, the still images of the people in their own little weather system of pink clouds hadn't visited since finding Amelia. At least not yet. Not a long time, only a few hours. But it was the longest he had gone without a painful cerebral flash. That and the voice seemed to have stopped as well. Either because of the responsibility or the redemption, his mind had pulled free of the self-loathing and brought itself to the now. Or so he hoped.

  Fuggly seemed to understand this. If anybody knew Gabriel, it was that ugly damn dog. He kept to Gabriel's shins and didn't try to work his way up to the thigh, which was his normal pillow. He stayed low and watchful, his eyes either on Gabriel or the door. Considering the healing wound, it was a good thing for Gabriel, not that he would have given the dog any grief over it. It just seemed Fuggly understood him.

  The horses slept still and lock-kneed. No swishing tails or jerking heads. But then again, there weren’t any insects in the barn. There should be, but there weren't. That's when Gabriel realized he hadn't seen an insect in days. He wasn't sure if he liked that idea or not. He remembered they had some important role to play in the ecosystem, most likely as a food supply, but there wasn't anything left to eat them. Well, the monsters, but they were too big to live on bugs. Then he realized he was thinking about bugs and stifled a laugh. He didn't need the voices, the images to flash through his head. He was still pretty much nuts.

  Amelia, a number of times, began to tussle in her sleep. She whimpered softly, her face twisting and relaxing, sometimes her legs would shake somewhat. Gabriel wondered if that was why he felt so attached to the kid. Two trouble souls in a troubled land, in a troubled time. Kindred spirits on an impossible journey, a quest where their lives were the prize. This felt right and he left her to the fretting and squirming. She had to wrestle her own demons, just as he, his.

  Amelia was the first to rouse. She sat up quickly, as if offended, then looked at Gabriel. He could see the affection there, the blooming love for a father Gabriel had become, and risked a smile.

  Fug sat up next to the girl and leaned into her, like he did to Gabriel when Gabriel was having a particularly hard time. She wrapped her arms around the dog and buried her face in the ugly scruff of ugly his neck. Fug beat a slow rhythm on the wooden floor of the barn with his tail.

  "Let's eat a little something before we go.” Gabriel said and holstered the revolver.

  "We are going away?” Amelia asked.

  "Yes, to the south, to find out where everyone went."

  "Today?"

  Amelia sounded worried, or maybe scared. "Yes, the longer we stay here, the more likely we will see more of those monsters. I don't want to see them anymore."

  Amelia watched him stand then head over to feed Fug his breakfast. "Okay, I guess. Um, is it far?"

  "Yes, but you can ride Big Guy. He won’t mind a bit. Promise."

  "Okay."

  Her voice had lightened at this. The idea of riding a horse must be exciting for a little girl, or so Gabriel thought. He had never been one, but remembered riding as a boy.

  This time he brought her corn chips and two of the meat sticks. He also opened a can of green beans and began heating this on his small collapsible stove, right in the can. He felt like a hobo in a box car heating up his shared feast of beans and corn chips. Then he had an idea. Looking over at Fugs bowl to confirm it was big enough, he turned back to Amelia, who was staring transfixed on the stove's blue flame. "How would you like to take a bath before we go?"

  She looked up at him and without pausing said, "The water is too cold."

  "We can heat it with the stove. I have hand towels and shampoo and soap. It won't be like a real bath, but we can get you clean. Mostly."

  "Okay."

  "Oh, wait, we don't have anything for you to wear after. We need some clean clothes for you."

  "I have some at home.” She said, then unwrapped a beef stick.

  The idea of the girl returning to the murder scene of both parents didn't sit well with him. "Maybe there's a clothing store here in town?"

  "There was, a small one, but it burned up. Mommy used to take me to the Target, but that's far, far away."

  Gabriel decided he could go get her clothing from her house, as long as the girl didn't go back there. She had survived alone for so long, he could leave her in the barn for an hour or so, couldn't he? He could ride Lance to her house, grab some clothes and maybe a bag to carry them in, and then come back. He didn't like leaving her alone, but he couldn't see another way to do this. "What about me going to get your clothes. Are you going to be okay if I leave you here? You can take a bath and wrap yourself in a towel until I get back."

  She tilted her head as if thinking about it, then finally nodded, "Okay."

  "Then it's settled. After the beans, we will heat some water. I will take Lance and leave Fug and Big Guy with you while I go off to your house and get clothes. Where do you live now?"

  "Oh, that's easy. You go that way," she pointed in a direction parallel to Main Street, "until you see the big cow. Then you go this way," she indicated a right hand turn, "and my house is where the road ends."

  "Big cow? A real live cow?"

  Amelia smiled shyly, "No, silly. A statue cow."

  Of course. "I just wanted to be sure I wouldn't be looking for a live cow.” He couldn't help returning his own sly smile. "I'll get the water.” He said and rose to retrieve Fug's bowl.

  The barn's darkness had receded enough now to reveal the stalls again, and the closer walls. It was still an unsettling place, but not nearly as bad as a few hours ago. Still, the left hand carried the bowl, the right rested on the grip of his revolver. Just a couple of years ago, there would have been a battle rifle hanging there on a sling. A grip his hand grew accustom to whenever things got a little nerve wracking. Now, he found the same comfort with the large caliber revolvers.

  He filled the bowl and placed it on the folding camp stove, clicking it to life as a small muted blue flame. The bowl was large, really a half gallon metal mixing bowl he picked up at the Salvation Army, and a much cheaper solution than an actual dog bowl. That, and the capacity meant he didn't have to fill it so often. Once a day was normally enough. In the end, though, it should be more than enough for the girl to wash herself off. Just a sponge bath with a vigorous scrubbing.

  While the water heated, Amelia finished eating and came to watch Gabriel saddle Lance. This task he did without much thinking. Done over and ov
er again, it was an automatic, thoughtless activity. But for some reason, the girl's attentiveness made him feel somehow self-conscience. She asked no questions and commented nothing on his technique. In fact she was perfectly silent, watching him, and it gave him the creeps. He was glad to finish and check on the water.

  "This is ready.” He said and left it to heat longer while he retrieved a large towel and a wash cloth from Big Guy's packs. Then he collected a bar of soap and the shampoo he had pilfered from the house he spent the night in, and brought all of this back to her. "Here, you take these," he said and handed her the items. He knelt and turned the stove off, then lifted the almost too hot metal bowl of water, "Let's put you in here."

  He took her down a couple of stalls until he found one nearly clean of straw. "In here, you should be good, no wind either." He took the large towel from her and hung that over the side of the stall, "Now, make a good job of it. I have no idea when we might be able to wash again. When you're all done, just lay back and dip your head in the bowel, use the shampoo, then dip again to rinse. I should be back in twenty minutes."

  "Okay.” Her voice had turned a bit sad, and Gabriel picked up on it.

  "I'll be back. I am not leaving you, okay?"

  "Okay.” Her voice had not changed.

  "Remember, I'm leaving my best friend, Fug with you."

  "I know.” Still, her voice had not changed.

  Women. "Don't leave the barn unless you really, really have to.” He backed from the stall and led Lance to the rolling door. He looked back once to see Amelia's filthy shirt swing over and hang next to the towel. Then he opened the barn's wide door, looked about, and then led Lance out before closing it, this time completely--not just for Amelia's safety or modesty, but to keep Fug in.

  Gabriel mounted Lance and set him off at a good pace. Not quite a trot, that would be too loud, but a decent pace. He steered the horse left around the first building and right onto Main Street. The road was empty, except for the bits of crumbled building and leaf litter.

  In a few yards he found the rhythm of the saddle and passed the reins to his left hand, his right to the butt of the revolver. He didn't like traveling, even this short distance, without Fug. He knew he relied on the animal's nose to warn him, but didn't realize how much. He smelled things long before they came into sight, and heard things Gabriel couldn't hear. Fug was really good at this. Fug was also his only friend.

  The cow came into view in less than ten minutes. A great bloated plastic cartoon cow, now on its side but still ridiculous to see. Two of its legs were broken off at the knee, but still it smiled its smile, its bell defying gravity under its neck. What it was supposed to advertise, Gabriel couldn't tell because the large structure behind it was burned to its foundation. But, as Amelia had said, the road was there, the right hand turn, her road.

  He cut through the gravel space, around the plastic cow and started down a thin road, unpainted and tree lined. After a few minutes, houses became visible in the nude trees, all with some form of damage if not destroyed. These were nice houses at one time, homes of the well-off nestled in the privacy of thick trees. Well, they were thick once. Now they were just trunks surrounded by dry leaves rotting on the ground. Gabriel couldn't live in a place like this, in a neighborhood like this. Not with his money. But he still felt that swell of anger in his chest. Whoever had lived here and could afford these homes, the homes belonged to them not the invaders.

  The road came to an end with a driveway curving just off center. Before him stood a yellow and black guardrail, trees standing thickly behind it. The driveway, unlike most of the others, was paved and not gravel. At the end, some twenty yards away, sat a modest two story colonial. Nothing glitzy or rich here, but the simplicity of the house was its aesthetic statement. The landscape appeared to have been good, rich and diverse, but most of that was brutally torn from the ground by some spiteful something.

  He brought Lance around and headed along the driveway, toward the home. To the right was a small workshop, probably filled with the lawn equipment required to keep up with the landscaping, but it was untouched by the invasion. The house, on the other hand, showed scars of both skin and glass. Most of the panes were shattered, at least on this side of the house, but the aluminum siding was clawed and torn like some cat's toy.

  Gabriel dismounted at the front stoop, a cement set of three steps leading up to the front door. Now it was more a ragged hole, lacking in straight lines in its opening or even a door to fill it. Beyond that was a corpse splashed up the stairs towards the second floor. To his disgust, he could see small footprints in the blood and gore, more than one set as Amelia traversed the stairs. He could tell this was her father, but only by the clothing. At least he thought it was her father, unless her mother wore jeans and a flannel and what looked like a wide leather belt.

  Never know....

  Gabriel swallowed the revulsion in his throat along with a wad of bile, and headed into the house. He spent no time downstairs, but headed up the steps, avoiding the scabrous remains dried there in the carpet.

  At the top of the steps, he chose right, and opened the first door to find a bathroom. The next door was a den or library or office or who cared. The next was the master bedroom suite, then a linen closet, then a room that could only be described as a little girl's room. Pink and cream and posters of hearts and unicorns. He rushed in, went right to the dresser and began rifling the drawers. He tossed handfuls of jeans and panties and t-shirts and sweaters and socks all on the bed.

  Looking around, he found a white backpack with hearts imprinted all over it. It was good canvas and bulging with school books. He unzipped everything, and dumped it unceremoniously on the floor. Then he jammed all of the clothing he collected into the bag, bulging it tight against its stitching.

  Going to the closet, Gabriel went through the disorganized mess with both hands, tossing things out as unimportant with little more than a quick glance. He managed to find a sleeping bag and a pair of girl sized work boots. Probably more fashion than functional, but he took them anyway.

  The boots topped off the backpack, which threatened to not close. After Amelia went through it and got rid of the clothing she didn't want or didn't fit, he was sure it would close without much trouble. The sleeping bag he carried under one arm and headed back out of the house with a sense of urgency.

  Punching his hand through an arm strap of the back pack, he was able to mount and single hand the reins. He sent Lance back toward the road keeping a free hand for his gun. He nudged Lance into a quicker pace than last time, feeling a need to be out of here and back inside the barn. He didn't feel like something horrible was about to happen, or had happened to little Amelia, it just didn't feel right leaving the girl alone in that barn. That or the terrible death one of her parents had suffered was just too unsettling.

  Gabriel remembered the bodies. Plenty of bodies. Some of those bodies he turned living people into. But that corpse wasn't just killed, it was torn apart. Whatever did that was acting out a deep hatred, a terrible hatred. It took Gabriel's war wary gut and twisted it. It also added soil to the hatred he had in his own heart for these monsters. His palm itched for the butt of his gun, for a target he could kill. He realized he was gritting his teeth, and just didn't care.

  The ridiculousness of the cow didn't lighten his mood. The fact it was laying on its side, destroyed with no concern had the opposite effect. It was no great work of American art, but that didn't really matter. What did is something destroyed it, with intent, without reason.

  Looking out at Main Street was like looking at the damn plastic cow. It was ruined. People were killed, burned, literature was burned. The facades were torn away, the windows were broken, the buildings pulled down or burned. Burned. They wanted to not just invade but eradicate, to remove from Earth humans altogether. It was a global cleansing, an extinction event. His jaw began to ache with the force of his bite.

  He dismounted, yanked the barn door open with no attempt at s
tealth, hoping in his sub-conscience that a monster would make an appearance, something he could gun down in brutal vengeance. What he found was Amelia, wrapped in a towel, shivering and painted a sickly shade of blue. His anger dissolved instantly, and his teeth unclenched in hot pain. "Oh, Amelia. I'm sorry."

  He rushed in, pulling Lance along like an unwilling accomplice. She was shivering visibly and Gabriel could actually hear her teeth chattering together. Her legs were just as skinny as he thought they would be, and her knees looked like coconuts caught mid twig. Her hair hung in limp wet clumps, and she looked near tears.

  Turning just long enough to close the barn, he pulled the zipper of the backpack open and pulled out the boots, then started to make a pile of clothing on the floor. There was no order or attempt to separate, just a mad pile of chaotic colors.

  To Gabriel's surprise, the girl just dropped the towel and squatted, combing through the clothing for a pair of underwear. What he saw was shocking. She was a spine with ribs, and not much else. He knew some girls were just incredibly skinny, a pipe cleaner with feet, but this couldn't be healthy. She had no fat and very little muscle on her, whatsoever.

  She stood, drawing up the cartoon decorated panties, and squatted again for a large fuzzy sweater, which she more dove into than put on. It hung down below her knees, and she hugged it to her corpse colored body and began shivering again.

  He began sifting through the clothing, picking two pairs of socks and a pair of actual Levi jeans. Not some cheap pair of soon-to-be-grown-out-of knock-offs, but actual golden stitched, riveted Levi jeans. He threw these over his arms and offered her the socks, "Here, put these on.” He said and went back to the pile, looking for a more reasonable shirt.

  After a moment, he realized she had not taken the socks and looked over to find her holding a leg up at him, waiting. He stared a moment before realizing she wanted him to put the socks on her. "Oh, sorry.” He said, and waddle-walked one step over and selected one of the thinner satin like socks. He rolled it up on his hands like his dad used to do for him, and tried to fit it over her boney foot.