Evolution of Angels

by Nathan Wall

  * * *

  Later that day

  Sarah and Ryan approached a train. She sat him on a small bench, put their suitcase down next to him, and told him to stay. At the ticket window, she scanned the destinations. Only one remained for the night.

  “I’ll take two tickets on the last train out,” she said, watching the boy. A worried look washed over his face. She closed her eyes, calming him.

  “Name on the tickets,” the ticket agent replied, looking blankly at her. “And I’ll need to see an ID if you’re paying by card.”

  “Oh yes, sorry.” She handed him her license. “Ryan and Sarah...”

  She leaned against the desk, thinking for a second. The only way to disappear was to leave no trace. Billy was far too smart for her to use cards. She looked back at the man. He slowly lifted his head as if she was willing him to do so.

  “You don’t need us to pay,” she said.

  “You don’t need to pay,” he replied.

  “Our names aren’t Sarah and Ryan. In fact, you’ve never heard of us.”

  “You gotta have a name,” the man replied, shaking his head. Her mind ran through what she should call themselves. She loved the name Ryan and didn’t want to get rid of it. She thought of her two favorite people in the world. Her aunt and her grandfather. She looked at the man and he nodded.

  “Our names are Olivia and Jarrod Ryan.”

  Episode 5

  The back hatch of the plane lowered and the roaring sound of the jet engine was overpowered by the rush of air out the back. Jarrod’s hair fluttered over his eyes as he walked closer to the edge of the plane. His black armored plates extended out of his skin-tight bluish aurascales. A tingle engulfed his fingertips.

  He examined his fingers, stretching them out and then collapsing them into a fist. The aurascales reacted to the people behind him, alerting him of movement. He could feel a shift in the blue skin as Jackson raised his hand and placed it on Jarrod’s left shoulder.

  “It’s like a sixth sense,” Jackson said—standing next to Jarrod— gazing out at the dark clouds which looked full enough to walk on. “Learn to trust them and you’ll be fine.”

  “It’s like they’re connected to my thoughts.” Jarrod looked out the corner of his eyes, but kept his head focused straight. The armor extended over his face and head, covering him completely.

  At first, his heart raced as if he couldn’t shrug off the feeling of drowning. Then, he held his breath and let go. When he opened his eyes, everything was in full focus. The suit was able to filter the things which were in complete darkness and put them together as a cohesive and visible unit, turning the obscurity into the same brightness that engulfed everything behind him in the plane. Images of whatever he wanted to focus on were beamed into his vision. The aurascales reacted to everything around him, and in turn cast an image into his mind. “I can see everything… and in great detail too.”

  “Now you know why it’s difficult to squash a fly.” Jackson took three steps toward the back hatch, looked down, and then walked back toward Oreios who was chained to the floor.

  The chilling air from the sky rushed over Jarrod’s body, but he couldn’t really feel it. The suit filtered out all extreme sensations, but instead delivered a signal to his brain explaining what it was he was supposed to feel. It was as though he could catch a single piping hot pin in a sea of falling pins, and the suit allowed his touch to be delicate enough to snatch it from the air and focused enough to find it while keeping him shielded from the heat. With each step he took around the plane, it was as though he was floating on air, but still able to discern every single crevice of the floor.

  “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now.” Lian had to yell to get her voice over the loud swooshing sounds of the plane, but Jarrod’s suit filtered out the unwanted noise and returned her voice to an appropriate level. She moved around his back and the suit shifted along with her, relaying her every move. She touched his arm, pointing at Jackson and Oreios. “If you were to bail out now, you’d leave me with the odd couple. I can’t handle that.”

  “That’s not the plan.” He smiled, but she wasn’t able to see it. He looked at her, noticing the detail of her skin tight black suit. His armor scanned her, relaying how the many layers of interwoven fabric were placed together in order to allow her maximum mobility, but also increased protection. What he noticed on his own was how it fit the curves of her body nicely and how shapely she actually was—at least compared to the baggy garb she wore back at base that left her looking plain and shapeless. “This is quite different from your normal attire.”

  “Do you like it?” She blushed slightly, tilting her head as she smiled.

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  “You’ll need to put this on.” Jackson handed Lian two pieces of facial equipment. One was a pair of black goggles and the other was a mask to put over her mouth and nose. Lian took them, confused. “We’re not landing. The goggles will not only help you see in the night, but they’ll shield you from the rush of air into your eyes. The other mask will help you breathe.”

  “In that case, thank you very much. It’s like Christmas.” She nodded jokingly, putting the items over her face.

  “Where are mine?” Oreios shrugged, cocking his head side to side as he batted his eye lashes. “Aren’t you worried about me?”

  “No,” Jackson replied, pulling Oreios from the floor and unchaining him. He tapped three times on the collar around Oreios’ neck. “Get more than a thousand yards from me and you lose your head.”

  “Duly noted.” Oreios saluted Jackson.

  A red light illuminated the cabin, casting everything in a bloodlike filter. Jackson threw Oreios a chute and then grabbed Lian, turned her around, and strapped her to his body.

  “Aren’t you going to grab one of those too?” Lian asked, pointing at the parachute, grinning nervously.

  “I don’t need one.” Jackson held her off the floor and dove out of the back opening.

  “I bet she is freaking out right now.” Oreios looked out of the back of the plane and smiled, winking at Jarrod.

  “Shouldn’t you hurry up and follow him?” Jarrod flicked the collar around Oreios’ neck three times. “What was it... a thousand yards?”

  “Right,” Oreios nodded, jumped out, and turned to give a sarcastic salute.

  Shah gave Jarrod a thumbs-up. Jarrod stepped tepidly to the end and jumped. His arms clung to his sides as he shredded through the clouds. The ground below was a sea of dark greens and ashy grays, illuminated only by the fingers of lightning which stretched across the horizon as he made his way through the rain. Each and every droplet was visible to him, unique in its own way. The armor shielded his ears from the thunder that stomped around him as he looked with intent at a raindrop just to the right of his head. He studied it. The way it curved slightly, giving into the resistance of air as it fell to its demise.

  “Jarrod, the mountains are about two miles ahead. You need to tell your armor to glide to the coordinates I’m sending you.” Jackson’s words entered Jarrod’s thoughts. Then, as if he knew it all along, a spot on a ledge in the distance beckoned him.

  “Tell it what now?” Jarrod shook his head, still spiraling toward the ground.

  “It’ll respond.”

  “And what if it doesn’t?” Jarrod laughed halfheartedly.

  “Do your legs collapse when you tell them to walk?” Jackson asked, his voice growing impatient. “Just spread your fingers and extend your arms. Feel the air move through you.”

  Jarrod’s vision locked onto Jackson, watching as he soared in a different direction and adjusted his descent. Jarrod quickly shot past him and Lian, hurtling toward the ground. A bolt of lightning stretched out across the sky, expanding what appeared to be a full 180 degrees around. The cliffs ahead—their destination—was highlighted.

  Jarrod spread his hands and the blue skin expanded, becoming malleable to the wind between his arms and body. He spun in circles before
righting himself, heading toward the jagged range just over the second snowcapped ridge.

  He shot through a split in the mountain. The tips of the trees seemed to reach for him as if they were stretching from the ground. The treetops were dangerously close to his feet until the tree line suddenly vanished. He soared over a massive rock lake. Turning to his left, he made his way back toward the ridge, dipping his toe down into the snow. Jarrod pulled his arms in, landed on his right shoulder—the armor adjusting for his angle and speed of impact—and rolled five times in a controlled manner to a stop before springing up in one fluid motion to draw his sidearm.

  “I’ve landed.” His breaths deepened as the aurascales retreated from his face. The smell of rain and pine was a welcoming sign that he was still alive.

  Jackson and Lian landed delicately beside him. The three of them turned their focus to the sky as Oreios barreled toward the mountain in a freefall with his parachute flying a good ten feet out of his grasp. He extended his one remaining arm toward the ground and a funnel of rock, dirt, and snow shot up from the ground to meet him. The funnel swarmed swallowed him up and carried him down safely. A plume of dust arose when Oreios landed. He walked toward them, swaying his shoulders back and forth like a cowboy entering a saloon.

  “It’s great to be back doing what you love.” He smiled and winked at Lian. He knelt and swirled his hand above the loose dirt. “But first things first.”

  Particles of clay, dust, and pebbles slowly quivered in the confined area in which he twirled his hand. He moved his half-arm over the rumbling debris and wafted his fingers over where his other arm used to be. The pebbles and dirt obeyed his command and reformed his arm, merging with the energy that still flowed through his phantom limb. He stood and flexed his newly-formed arm and hand, though the various grains of pebbles and clay were still very much visible.

  “It’ll take a while for the skin to grow back. But until that time, I can do this.” Suddenly, his hand formed into a small, razor-sharp hatchet, and then into a bulbous mallet before returning to the normal-looking five digits. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  “Find the rift.” Jackson dug his left fingers into Oreios’ collarbone and squeezed, causing the mountain dweller to buckle at the knees. Jackson pushed him forward. “Do it now.”

  “I think I am picking up something.” The wrist pad on Jarrod’s arm started blinking. He pointed at it, showing Jackson. “What is it?”

  “It’s the drones.” Jackson looked at his own wrist pad and punched in a few keys. “I am picking them up too. They’re not far up ahead.”

  The four started out in the direction of the signal, climbing up a steep incline, hearing the long, drawn-out tones of the drones beeping. Jarrod looked around the ledges and paths, taking careful notice of the chaotic footprints scattered about and of the weapon blasts which were carved into the rock in numerous places.

  They reached the next landing and Lian pointed at the first drone lying on its side, unharmed from the fray of battle. Jackson knelt beside the drone and opened a side compartment to see what the problem was. Oreios quickly put a hand to Jackson’s shoulder, shaking his head.

  “Don’t do that.” Oreios’ eyes scanned around, unable to focus on any one thing for more than a brief second. “I think he is drawn to the signal they give off.”

  “Who?” Lian asked, stepping closer.

  “The Ferryman,” he whispered, slowly swallowing. “We should leave.”

  “Can anyone else see the faint pink trails of light?” Jarrod asked, snaring Oreios’ attention. Jarrod leaned back with an uncomfortable expression as Oreios stuck his face close to Jarrod’s and looked into his eyes. “Excuse me. Ever heard of personal space?”

  “I don’t see anything.” Lian shook her head, desperately looking everywhere, trying to find what Jarrod was talking about.

  “Describe the pink trails,” Oreios demanded.

  “It’s like a transparent pink vapor trail… much like one you’d see behind a jet plane.” Jarrod scratched the back of his head, biting his confused, slanted smirk. “You guys can’t see it? It’s freaking everywhere.”

  “Yes, I can see.” Oreios nodded, stepping back. “But you shouldn’t be able to.”

  “I don’t care who can see it.” Jackson stood, walking over and standing between the two. “I just want to know what it is.”

  “It’s the Ferryman. The one responsible for bringing individuals in and out of reality.” Oreios turned and walked for the slope away from the area. He pointed up another incline wrapped around a small cliff. “We aren’t coming back if he doesn’t want us to. Heading that way is a good way to just disappear, and I quite like walking around you mortals.”

  “I am heading that way. You’d be wise to follow along if you want to keep your head,” Jackson advised.

  “What’s the point?” Oreios turned, chuckling as he shook his head and looked at the ground. “I lose it to you or I lose it to them.”

  “The chance to keep it. That’s the point,” Jarrod said, following the trail. “It gets stronger over here.”

  Oreios reluctantly fell in line behind Jarrod and in front of Jackson. They stood before a large wall-like section in the mountain. Jarrod could decipher a hazy door floating along it.

  “What is it?” Lian asked, confused.

  “A door,” Oreios replied, taking position in the front of the line. “Do you want me to knock or just open it?”

  “Can you?” Jarrod cast a furrowed gaze at Oreios. He wondered if he would be able to open it as well, since he could see it.

  “Of course I can, and I recommend us sneaking in before the welcome wagon realizes we’re here.” Oreios snickered at Jackson. “I just can’t promise I can bring us back.”

  “Can we bring the drones with us?” Jarrod walked past Oreios and knelt by one of the drones.

  “Yes, but why?” Oreios folded his arms and rolled his eyes. “They’d easily know the drones are present once they’re activated.”

  “Because once they know we’re there, we’ll need backup.”

  Jackson nodded in agreement with Jarrod and the two of them proceeded to collect the other drones. Once they retrieved them, Oreios shot them a worried look and raised his hands, palms out, toward the door.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

  “Do it,” Jackson said, his tone cold.

  “Very well.” Oreios shrugged.

  He closed his eyes and a static charge ran through his bones, over his skin, and then out his fingertips. Jarrod could see the small particles float along in the air as time began to drag. Lian and Jackson flinched in slow motion while Jarrod and Oreios were still able to perceive reality at normal speed. Their eyes connected. Oreios gave one more pondering raised brow at the new black and blue Agent who wore colors he’d only heard stories of long ago.

  Thin, quick spurts of pink static connected everything Jarrod’s eyes could see. Lian’s body glowed and eventually became translucent. The same thing was happening to himself. The suit told him the sensations he should be feeling, but left him unaffected.

  Oreios leaned forward, grabbed the hazy doors, and flung them open. The entire area was washed out in a great light and the four of them vanished as the doorway shut behind them.

  * * *

  Hershiser’s head dangled from side to side. Sweat-drenched hair covered his battered face as he was dragged through the halls of the torch-lit fortress. His feet slid along the stone floor while his one unswollen eye counted the cracks in the numerous rocks. The slow but steady clicking of chains demanded his attention. He lifted his head in time to see the large wooden double doors swing toward him.

  Once the doors were completely open, he was carried into a grand circular chamber. The repeated noise of hundreds of collective feet stomping on the ground caused his heartbeat to quicken. As he was carried to the center of the room he looked up to see the full moon perched on the black backdrop, shining furiously through a dome window. His eyes
ran down the cylindrical room, scanning the three levels of onlookers who waved their fists in the air, and landed on Kirk whose armor had receded completely.

  “Kirk,” Hershiser hacked, unable to move his jaw. He attempted to crawl toward his comrade, but a large foot stepped between them. He looked up and the towering Cyclops snarled in reply. A pink light washed over the room, encouraging the owners of the hundreds of stomping feet to lift their voices with loud cheers.

  The man from the boat stood at the steps of a throne. Seated in the massive gold and stone chair was a woman: Princess Maya. Her crimson hair draped down the side of her face covering her eye and cheek on the right, and was tucked behind her left ear on the other side. Her dress, inordinately long, sprawled all the way down the five steps away from her seat. It was slit along the right leg, exposing her olive skin. Her eyes were dark, but as she looked at Hershiser he noticed the slight orange glow around the pupils.

  She stood, grabbing the sides of her form-fitting dress and flapped it, creating the cracking sound of a whip. Those who cheered before fell silent. A muscular gladiator dressed only in a loincloth knelt down on the steps before her, raising his hand to help her down the stairs. She reached the cobbled floor. Her spiked black boots made a distinct clacking noise as she approached Hershiser.

  “What have you done with our Lord?” Maya asked, with a firm, yet alluring voice. He wanted to respond to her question—to give her a pleasing answer, but he didn’t know what she was talking about. She knelt beside him, exposing her smooth thigh, and grabbed him by the face. “Answer me.”

  “I’ll help you find him.” He tried to grab her dress and pull her close, just hoping to smell her hair, but she pushed him away. He didn’t know why she spurned him nor did he know why he cared. He just wanted her attention. The song in her voice aroused him. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

  “I find your begging to be pathetic.” She walked over to Kirk. Her fingers massaged his face, making Hershiser’s blood boil.