Desert Angels

by George P. Saunders

  I found myself a parking spot in front of Tomfoolery’s Saloon and got out, glancing at the town’s one and only Shell gas station, more crowded than I had ever seen it. The atmosphere there was one of barely contained frenzy and panic; an argument had broken out between two men over who had next turn at a gas pump, and the small store annexed to the station was filled to capacity with shoppers. Cars were backed up to the road leading from the main interstate.

  I walked into the bar, and sure as shit, there was Dr. Mathias, at a table, chatting with, of all people, little loony Aunt Sheila. They were absorbed in the only conversation that absorbed the world of late – impending world war. It was perhaps unfair of me to label Aunt Sheila as loony, inasmuch as the woman was quite intelligent, even if her conversational content was off the charts.

  Mathias saw me, and gave me a small salute that seemed to say “hail well, misguided scientific one. You shall burn in the hell-fires of eternity’ for your self-absorption and commitment to your evil sciences.” I gave him a cursory nod, and thought I could escape with that, but Aunt Sheila called out to me in what I could only describe as a contained shriek.

  “Howdy, Dr. Calisto,” she wailed. “Grab yourself a beer and take a chair for a bit, won’t you?”

  I genuinely liked Aunt Sheila. For all of her old-fashioned folksy pretense, she was highly intelligent and shrewd. I never learned her first name; in town, I suspect, most folks simply knew her as Aunt Sheila as well.

  I tried desperately for the love of Christ to find a reason to decline her offer, but I was out of sorts that day with a quick response of “sorry, I’m on the move today, Aunt Sheila” so I simply nodded and said, “sure.”

  I saddled up to the bar and old Hank was tending drink as usual, his wall-mounted television blazing away with broadcasts on Fox News about the impending calamity of war and how it would not be averted, short of Godly intervention.

  “Howdy, doc,” Hank said to me in his customary quiet voice. “What’ll it be?”

  “Coors,” I said. “How goes it, Hank?”

  “It clearly goes,” Hank said laconically, glancing at the television, then looked out to his very uncharacteristically crowded bar. “Doomsday in the air has made for booming business.”

  “So I see,” I said, glancing around at generally anxious folks, young and old, most of them glued to the television screen.

  “How goes all the experimenting out there with that rocket stuff you do? Found a way to get off Earth yet?”

  “Would hope that it could be that easy. No, like your business, it goes,” I said, feeling almost impulsively to add “But what I’m mainly waiting for is all out-nuclear war on the 23rd of December. Kinda like everyone in this bar … and the world.”

  The frosty beer, poured from tap, suddenly appeared. I paid Hank, adding my customary one dollar tip for a beer that cost only three dollars.

  I looked to the table where Dr. Mathias and Aunt Sheila were sitting, and saw that she was again waving me over to chat and chew jaw.

  I trundled over to the table, and took the only remaining chair.

  “Morning, Dr. Calisto,” Mathias nodded neutrally.

  “Morning, doc,” I said. I still gave the man what little respect remained in my soul for him by acknowledging him by a title that once held some honor.

  Sheila dove in immediately. “Dr. Calisto, Father Mathias and I have had the most fascinating conversation. Of course, it’s all about the talk of war. Now I may sound like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind when she says ‘fiddle-dee-dee’ to the notion of the Civil War starting, but I declare that I do not believe a war will transpire. Why? Because I don’t think folks around the world are that stupid.”

  I took a sip of beer and said, “I agree, Aunt Sheila. I don’t think a war will happen, either, but not because of people not being basically dumb. Folks are that dumb, and the history of Man pretty much makes that clear.”

  “Then explain your conviction that war can be averted,” Dr. Mathias said. “You know my position on this matter. Scripture and my own personal visions through God’s blessing, deems that war will indeed transpire in 48 hours.”

  Oh, fuck. What nonsense, I thought.

  “Yes, I’m aware of your connection with the Almighty, Mathias,” I said with clear irritation. You’ll forgive me if I have my doubts. But to address the issue you raised, Sheila, I do believe there is a good chance of a limited nuclear exchange in the Middle East. I believe that’s inevitable. But I don’t think it will go much beyond that.”

  “It will,” Mathias said with damning certainty. “And those who do not embrace the Lord before that time will be consigned to eternal torment.”

  I feigned a sudden fascination with my wrist watch, and then my cell-phone, but did not respond. Nor did I need to because Aunt Sheila spared me the effort to retort to Mathias’ deranged proclamations.

  “I’m a church-going woman myself, Father, as you know, but I just have to disagree with you. But then again, perhaps I interpret scripture in my own way. I don’t see our Lord as a mean old bastard, hell bent on the destruction of his most beloved creation – us.”

  I snorted my beer in repressed laughter, and ended up choking on a gulp of suds which sent me into a minute-long laughing fit, which was responded to by Mathias as follows:

  “Good lady, you are a very sweet soul. And because of that, here is my offer to you. You just drive an hour or so east on the main highway, then turn off on my exit, well marked, of course, and when the nuclear fires begin, you high-tail it out of town and come to the welcome embrace of your Father Mathias.”

  Aunt Sheila smiled graciously at him. “Thank you, Father, I’ll keep that in mind. But I’d rather go into a ten dollar bet with you on my being right, and you being, mistaken, in your apocalyptic prediction.”

  “Done!” Mathias responded good-naturedly, and then he and Aunt Sheila shook hands on it over a chuckle.

  “My word, though, I would feel out of place on a … commune.”

  “You would soon fit right in,” Mathias assured her. “We are well-provisioned and in an ideal spot to avoid most of the effects of the radioactive fallout.”

  Though Mathias would be proved correct that World War III would happen two days before Christmas, he would be tragically wrong about the absence of devastating effects of the radiation on his cult homeland.

  I finished my beer in a chug, and looked at my watch once again, then looked to Aunt Sheila.

  “I must be going,” I said, looking from Sheila to Mathias.

  “Ah, yes. Back to your mysterious facility borne out of the ungodly study of all things scientific,” Mathias said through an acrimonious smile.

  “Yes, back to that fetid homestead, doc, immersed in the world of science. A world, I am constrained to point out, that you were once a part of as a board certified physician.”

  Mathias’ smile evaporated as fast as a subatomic quark.

  “That was before my enlightenment and transformation into a vessel for God’s greater plan.”

  “Yes,” I said dully, having no wish today to spar with Mathias on his clear insanity. I stood and looked to Aunt Sheila.

  “But if that war comes, Aunt Sheila, and the doc’s invitation is surprisingly not inviting when doomsday hits, just follow that beaten up dirt road by your store, directly east for half an hour, and you’ll come upon my neighborhood. I’ll keep a pot of coffee hot and ready until that day comes.”

  Aunt Sheila laughed with genuine mirth. “To heck with the coffee, a nice toot of tequila would be more called for on the day of Reckoning, don’t you think?”

  “I’d have to agree,” I said.

  Mathias suddenly rose, and looked to both Sheila and myself. “You must excuse me now. I have matters that require my attention in town.”

  He exited quickly.

  I leaned in to Aunt Sheila, conspiratorially. “I think we upset the preacher.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m afraid so.” Aunt Sheila looked af
ter Mathias as he exited the bar, and she shook her head in wonder.

  “Now how does a man get that crazy, doc?”

  I chuckled again, but with zero humor. “You got me, Aunty.”

  “You here in town for a beer run?”

  I smiled at her. Word gets around quick about the colorful characters living in and around town. I was known as the borderline alcoholic recluse medical man to the East who made bi-monthly runs into town to drink or purchase Coors beer, while Mathias was the barely-tolerated nut case who ran his own mooney camp of religious whackos.

  “Yep,” I said. “Will pick some up, a six-pack at Lenny’s, then head back to the salt mines.”

  I turned to leave.

  “What is it you really do out there, Dr. Calisto?” Aunt Sheila said. “I know you’ve told me before it deals all with physics, but really … that is kind of vague.”

  I watched Mathias through the window as he met up with three of the women in his cult near a dilapidated van. He referred to them as his wives of God. Including a girl that looked like she was barely thirteen years old.

  I looked to Aunt Sheila, as I began to walk away.

  “In the words of Father Mathias, I would like to think I’m doing God’s work, too.”

  I walked out the door, unaware of course, that the next time I saw Father Mathias, he would be a mutated monster, scarred and homicidal in the extreme. And his entire cult population would likewise be contaminated and beyond rehabilitation. They would come to be known in my circle as Maddogs.

  Mathias and the Maddogs would prove to be mortal enemies to the human community I would soon inherit by proxy of global annihilation.

  WALTER

  That night, as I expected, I transformed.

  I was human again, as old as I had been when I died. The transformation was so extraordinary that for half an hour I simply reveled in human, tactile sensation. I felt as I did before I fell ill. I went to the kitchen and pulled out some chocolate that Jack had purchased in town that day and took a bite. I closed my eyes in ecstasy.

  I opened them a moment later, realizing instantly that it was incumbent upon me to perform a critical duty.

  I went to Jack’s quarters and found a pen and paper, and began to write. The note was as follows:

  Jack, you do not know me, and I cannot explain to you who I am. But there is a storm coming your way, and your responsibilities will be great. Realize that in two days, the War to end all Wars will indeed transpire. Ninety percent of the planet will die, mainly from the radiation fallout, but also due to a cosmic shift in things that will alter the very fabric of known physical understanding. I do not wish to be so vague – I do not understand it myself – but from time to time, I will communicate to you thus, and try to be of assistance to you. Please do not ask what I am … but I will give you my name, which I believe is entirely appropriate. Your Guardian Angel.

  I held the note in my hand for nearly five minutes, doing nothing but thinking about the apparent lunacy of what I had just written. For a moment, I just stared down at Jack, my one and only love. I so wanted to kiss him, but I was fearful he would awake and I would instantly be transformed into Walter, the pigeon. I repressed my instinct and instead placed my note on his desk and put a piece of chocolate under my name – Guardian Angel.

  I had a whole night to enjoy being human so I exited the facility now known as Eden and looked out over the cool night. I had brought a blanket with me, as the desert in December is far from warm. But I did not care. I looked up at the sky, and saw a waning moon. It seemed to me that the cosmos were perfect, that all was in place, that there was only perfection in all things.

  I knew, of course, that this was far from true.

  I knew that violent and dreadful times lay ahead, and it would be my Jack who would have to bear the burden of those times to the extreme.

  I stayed outside until dawn. I napped a bit and dreamed of days of love long past with Jack, my husband and soul mate. When I awoke, there were tears in my eyes.

  I saw the sun rising over the eastern hills, and ran inside, realizing that Jack, per his habit, would awaken at the crack of dawn.

  I rushed into his quarters and kissed him on the lips.

  ONE – THE GUARDIAN ANGEL

  Jack awakened with a start, Walter flapping nearby in mid-air. He had been dreaming again. Of Angela, of course. Those dreams of his wife were the only dreams he ever had. With some wry amusement he attributed this to sadly lacking imagination.

  They had met when they were both in college. He was the young genius from MIT, whose theories in particle physics would one day transform the world, and she was the bright young scholar from Boston University, eager to heal mental illness wherever they found it.

  She was the daughter of a steel magnate and could have fallen in love with any of the more than adequate suitors from equally wealthy origins, but Angela Wilkes had eyes only for the reclusive young scientist from MIT.

  He was an ill-tempered lad, not one to suffer fools gladly, and did not appear overly interested in dating; in fact, Jack and Angela had met quite by accident when their two bikes collided on a narrow street that led to both MIT and Boston University.

  Jack had fallen ass over teacups in his effort to avert a head-on collision with Angela, but she was still knocked off her own 10-speed by the force of impact, both cyclists turning a blind corner far too fast for their own good.

  Neither of them were hurt, but Jack insisted on taking Angela to lunch for his carelessness. That lunch was the lynchpin to their relationship; his cool, cynical view of a world rightfully run by electromagnetism, gravity and positive and negative forces was a diametrical opposite to Angela’s dreamy scenario that the world was a mystical place of wonder and constant change.

  He found her both beautiful and beguiling.

  They were married one year later.

  He was nabbed by NASA for its propulsion research team, and she opened her own private practice for psychiatry. They suffered a devastating loss to their prospective family when Angela miscarried in her seventh month of pregnancy. Shortly thereafter, she began to manifest very tangible and frightening episodes of psychic capability.

  Angela’s father took a pragmatic approach to his daughter’s talent, having the specialists at Duke University, one of the foremost psychic research centers in the world, take on her case. That learned school of edification attested to the genuineness of Angela’s gifts and endeavored to find out how powerful her precognitive capabilities were.

  Angela pulled back on continued research the day her vision came to her of the end of the world, which she shared with her father and Jack. Because her attendant psychometric skills were undeniable to her father, he took her vision to be one hundred percent bona fide and a snapshot of Mankind’s future by way of God.

  Shortly thereafter, Angela was diagnosed with stage four brain cancer, or more specifically, an astrocytoma growth, and all research discontinued permanently into her unique gifts.

  Through all of this, Jack was so immersed in heartbreak for his wife’s condition, little else intruded into his private family nightmare. Not so with Angela’s father, who contracted virtually every available architect at his disposal and top engineers and builders. The purpose for this was to create an Ark for human survival – an Ark that Jack would captain once doomsday hit.

  Cut to the here and now, and Jack looked to Walter, flapping around him.

  “Mornin’, Walter,” he said, watching Walter land on a nearby bookshelf.

  He rose slowly, and as was his nature, wandered over to his desk where both a laptop and stand alone PC computer were stationed side by side.

  Per routine, he would usually check his emails first, of which there were very few; he had become a virtual recluse to friends and former colleagues. His parents had passed away in a plane accident twenty years earlier and his brother had died a year ago from a heart attack at the age of thirty-eight. He had been one year younger than Jack, and Jack would for
ever be mystified by his brother’s premature passing, as his brother had lived a life of near dietary perfection, free of any unhealthy life-style choices … the likes of which Jack possessed in abundance, including the occasional cigarette. His brother did not drink; Jack, conversely, considered himself a moderate to heavy drinker, periodically telling himself that he would one day modify such behavior.

  That day had yet to arrive.

  Only one email this morning and it was from his father in law, Thurmond Wilkes.

  How are you today, son?

  That was it.

  Jack could not help but smile. Thurmond was a man like himself – possessed of a remarkable thrift of language.

  Jack responded in kind.

  Pretty good. Waiting for Armageddon.

  Bought some beer for the occasion.

  How about you?

  Jack then checked the CNN website, and the news was pretty much as dreadful as it had been for the past month. Iran had officially threatened to launch its three existing nuclear missiles at Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. The United States put its military assets on full alert in the Persian Gulf, and off the coasts of South Korea, as North Korea was threatening to launch missiles on Japan and South Korea, should any adversary to Iran retaliate on a nuclear level to Iran’s attack. Pakistan and India were snarling at one another as well, Pakistan taking Iran’s side, India taking no particular side but fiercely in opposition to any military action foreseeable by Pakistan.

  The Russians were now officially threatening the United States, and vice versa. Canada likewise was rattling its limited nuclear capability, and Venezuela, who had acquired several nuclear weapons in the past few years, threatened to immolate most of South America should the United States become involved in the Middle Easter imbroglio.

  Jack sat back in his chair, suddenly weary.

  Christ, was crazy old Mathias right, not to mention my deceased wife? Was this shit going to get completely insane?