Star Angel: Awakening (Star Angel Book 1)

by David G. McDaniel

  Willet thought to show a little concern in return.

  “How’s it out there?”

  “Kang has withdrawn,” she said. “For the moment. Other than that, we’re definitely losing.”

  Willet shook his head.

  Then Satori became serious. “Let’s just get the thing we came for.”

  “Agreed.” And he signed off.

  * *

  “We’re near the evacuated areas,” Darvon scrutinized the city around them. He pointed: “Head that way.”

  Jess followed his direction, turning up the street indicated.

  They’d been driving a while, Darvon showing the way, directing her at each juncture. So far she went where he said, eyes ever on the central towers rising high above the rest—her real destination—debating the best moment to reveal that intention. Before they got much further she needed to find Zac. Methodically she wove the roadster down empty streets, waiting to act.

  Not much broke the monotony. Nothing much moved other than what little traffic there was in the middle of the night in a city under siege, where few people even had cars. Which was to say, on most blocks they were the only ones on the road.

  “Tell me more about this prophecy,” she said during a quiet moment. “Who came up with it?” Kind of an insensitive way to ask, she realized, but she’d lost most of her tact some time ago.

  Darvon didn’t seem to mind. “The origins are vague. It was said by our ancestors that it was foretold by some kind of priestess. Long before the current Age.”

  “A priestess?”

  He nodded in the half-gloom. Bands of light passed across him from the streetlamps as they drove, shining through the windows.

  “She prophesied a great demon would rise. To threaten us, but that the angel would come and defeat it and bring about a Golden Age.”

  “An actual demon? Like with horns and everything?” This was a distracting diversion, if nothing else.

  Darvon seemed to quote: “ ‘A great demon will come, yellowed like the sickness of death, and the angel will vanquish the beast and bring to heel the vast armies it commands.’ ” He turned to her and, in the lights as they passed across his face, she saw he wore a patient smile. “Few of us take it literally,” he said. “But we do believe an angel will come.”

  “And you think that’s me.”

  He nodded.

  “So who’s the demon?” She glanced at him as she steered around a corner. “If I’m here now, where’s the demon?”

  Darvon shrugged. “We believe Emperor Kagami was the demon. And the Dominion is a continuation of that, organized in his thrall.”

  Jess kept her eyes on the road. And I’m here to vanquish it all.

  The brief conversation died. Darvon gave more directions, leading her further toward the other side of town.

  For her part she found herself in a state of marvel at the dark city. That a place like this could exist somewhere other than Earth continued to amaze her. That any of this could exist. Piled on top of that bizarre impossibility the city was subtly alien in its own right. Windows and streetlamps were the only lights—only functional lights, no extraneous illumination, no signs or ads or billboards to mark any sort of capitalism—everything dark and shiny from the earlier rain. Like some sort of techno-Japanese dystopia, a bleak world from a grim, anime-predicted future. A steampunk metropolis devoid of color. Inhumanly human.

  Within this surreal landscape they were fugitives, traveling through a practically deserted city in a steam-powered roadster, picking their way toward a restricted area on the edge of a city at war. It should’ve come as no surprise, then, when the flashing lights pulled into the street behind them.

  Jessica’s heart stopped. With the sudden flash of color reality seized her by the throat. Darvon came alert, himself having lapsed—probably expecting they had things well in hand. He too froze, body clenching tight. Both of them stared straight ahead as the flashing lights drew near, illuminating the cabin in reflected green strobes.

  Darvon pressed back into his seat. “It’s the police.”

  Images raced through Jessica’s suddenly screaming mind. Thoughts. Fears. On Earth she’d be in trouble enough. Driving without a license. In a stolen car. Here the consequences were far more terminal.

  Here she would be killed.

  And she realized with certainty the one thing no one ever wanted to know:

  She realized at what age she was going to die.

  CHAPTER 21: THE ICON

  Heart pounding in her neck, Jess pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped. Trying desperately not to hyperventilate, to think, to vanquish the hollow sickness in her gut and regain a sense of confidence. What now?! The police pulled in behind at a leisurely pace, completely belying the desperate urgency of the situation. Green lights flashed with numbing regularity, shadows shooting around the interior of the roadster, patterns repeating with each new flash. Over and over. Wrapping them in their fate. She kept glancing in the rear-view mirror, waiting for the hammer to fall but, just like a cop on Earth, this one remained in the car. Checking things, preparing a ticket or just finishing a donut she couldn’t know. All she knew was that it was over.

  They had her.

  In no time at all they’d have it figured out, call her out of the car on their loudspeakers, cuff her and drag her off to her doom.

  Beside her Darvon worked to steady his own breathing. She could see he had no ideas.

  Then he spoke, voice startling her in the empty silence.

  “You know what I’m going to miss most?” he asked. She snapped her eyes to him. Desperate for anything; a way out.

  But Darvon was just reminiscing, a certain distance in his gaze. “My daughter’s fuzzy head.” He smiled in memory of it, the recollection of happier times relaxing his expression. And though their lives were most certainly at an end he looked, for that instant, at peace. He closed his eyes. “There’s nothing like the feel of a warm baby head against your nose,” he said quietly, a gentle smile on his face. “The smell.”

  Jess stared at him. Darvon inhaled as if smelling it now. Oddly she smelled it too. The memory of it. The unmistakable, wonderful presence of a child.

  And for a bitter moment she nearly cried. At the idea she might never smell that smell again. At the idea such a thing could ever be lost. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat.

  “You have a kid?” Her voice shook, fear plain in it.

  “Three.”

  And she realized, as if entirely missing it before, the stakes of this game. It wasn’t just her. Others’ futures were on the line. Others’ lives. Darvon would go to jail, locked away for his assistance in this. Or, more likely, be executed with her. Never to see his family again. Never to nuzzle his baby’s head. Probably his family would be ripped apart. Maybe the police would even find out about the Conclave. Others would be locked away.

  Others could be killed.

  For a moment she lost it. The last of her determination, like the wind dying in a sail, leaving her flapping in the breeze. The fear, the consequences for so many, not just her …

  It overwhelmed her.

  Behind them the cop stepped out. Two cops, one from each side. Moving kind of lax. Clearly they didn’t yet know the importance of the people they’d just caught.

  And in that same, funeral instant, as Jess was accepting the end, caving in on herself and giving in …

  The pendulum of her emotions swung completely the other way.

  Shockingly, a full hundred-and-eighty degrees. Surging; rallying her collapsing will.

  Reminding her of her decision.

  All or nothing.

  This would not end here. Not for her, not for Darvon. They’d come too far and this was not over. Execution or capture were not a given. They were still free. And, she resolved, with a sudden clarity that made her shudder, when they were caught—if they were caught—it would be in a blaze of glory, kicking and screaming as she drew her last breath. Not waiting for
some cop to walk up and rap on the door and slap on the cuffs.

  There was no hope in surrender.

  “This doesn’t end here,” she said, fear gone from her voice all at once. The sound of it, so strong, so confident in the quiet cabin, gave her a momentary chill. She looked at Darvon.

  “Are you with me?”

  He came into focus, a look of alarm on his face. Reluctantly he nodded. Knowing what he signed up for.

  “Hold on.” And, without further thought—lest she lose the moment—Jess hit the button, gassed the turbine and kicked everything back into gear. A wash of steam poured from the sides of the roadster as she stomped the pedal, riding powerful emotions—nearly yelling with the mania that gripped her as the car surged from the curb. This does not end here! The thought was so clear, so focused …

  It had to be true.

  Darvon would see his baby again.

  Crash! the rear window took a hit, shattering glass into the cabin and bringing with it a fresh dose of reality. The thunk! thunk! of bullets hitting the body were audible over the deep roar of the steam turbine, but before she could even look back she was at the next corner and snapping the wheel right, then hard left, drifting the heavy roadster onto the next block. As she stuck her foot in it she recoiled from the surge of power, the turbine launching the car ahead with a deadly rush.

  But she managed it, gained control and kept on the steam, snapping a left-hander and fishtailing wide right—just as she caught a glimpse in the mirrors of the flashing green lights in hot pursuit.

  The next block was the same as the last … except for a car parked in the street. She corrected sharply, reaction time uncanny as she pedaled the power and held the wheel—unaware from where these instant reactions sprang—though her fast thinking wasn’t enough to prevent contact. BAM! Both she and Darvon bounced to the side as they slammed flush against the parked car and raked along it, sparks flying.

  But she was hard on the gas and pulled herself back into the driver’s seat, hands tight on the wheel and grinding along the other car in a shower of fireworks, coming free and racing on.

  Behind her, much to her surprise, the cop driver wasn’t so deft. He nosed right into the rear of it. Whoom! their pursuer went up in a billowing cloud of steam, flashing lights coming to an abrupt halt. Seconds into the chase and the cop was already out. Yes! Before Jess could rejoice, however, another one shot across the intersection ahead, more green lights flashing—hitting its brakes just as it passed.

  This chase was far from over.

  “Hang on,” she said needlessly as she swerved around the rear of it, the cop backing to block their way.

  Too late.

  She clipped its fender as she passed, yanking the wheel, hard, using the impact and their own momentum to break the rear tires free and kick them all the way around, howling smoke and pointing back the other way—lining up the nose of the roadster right on the flashing lights.

  Time to take out cop number two.

  “Hang on,” she repeated, genuinely amazed at that point with her own split-second decisions. It was like she’d transcended to a different plane. One of pure action. She felt completely out of her head, no idea where this surge was coming from but riding it for all it was worth. Nothing to lose and everything to gain and she was holding back not one ounce of determination as she hit the gas, tires boiling white smoke as … Crash! she rammed the roadster right into the side of the cop car. It was a perfect T-bone and, staying on it, she drove the cop sideways—staring down the long hood of the roadster into the freaked-out eyes of the cop driver and his partner—tires of both cars howling … straight into a light post. Crunch! she nailed it there, jamming the cop neatly against the thick metal pole.

  Gotta keep moving.

  In one fluid motion she was punching reverse and stomping the gas, tires continuing to smoke furiously—now in the other direction—bumper ripping away the cop’s door as they unhooked, clanging to the street as they backed away from the ruined car and leaving the cops inside exposed, eyes wide with disbelief. She cranked the wheel sharply to one side and swung the nose of the roadster around in a disorienting instant—caught it—snapped the wheel back, jammed the gas and was fishtailing away in the direction they’d been headed.

  Darvon stared at her in white-knuckled awe.

  “This doesn’t end here,” she said through clenched teeth, whipping them around another corner. A freshly arriving cop at the end of the street saw her; she jerked onto a new trajectory and stood on it, nose rising under acceleration. Hooking up an alley she went two blocks then snapped the car down another, floored it again, raced to the next and hooked up that one. A quick check in the mirrors revealed the zig-zag worked: no sign of pursuit.

  She burst onto the next road, scanning all directions—no more cops in sight—spotted her next objective; braked and drifted wide across a larger lane, still hauling ass, through a chicane that was never intended to be driven at that speed, onto a wide roundabout—drifting the whole way round, rear of the car hanging wide, steam and tire smoke floating in clouds behind them. On the other side she snapped it in a new direction, continued the drift across a wide expanse of asphalt, tagged something on the sidewalk that went clanging loudly away then aimed them onto another street and out onto a completely different heading.

  Absently she wondered what the boys back home would think. She was doing things with this massive roadster she was sure no teenager had ever done with their little rice rockets. The Fast and the Furious. Hmph.

  She was fast and furious.

  “Up there,” she nodded to a sloping hill, hands tight on the wheel like a race driver. No more cops but she slowed not one bit. If anything she went faster, putting major distance on the area. Two cops were out of commission and they’d lost one. More would likely be coming.

  “I’m going to ditch it,” she said. Darvon simply nodded, by then too stunned for words.

  She slowed, checked, hooked the car yet again, up an alley and back out onto another main road—in yet another direction—doubled back and got onto an even wider street and floored it, letting the steam turbine spin up as far as she dared.

  These roadsters were frickin fast. As outdated as they looked, as big as they were, she wondered if anything on the streets of Earth could keep up. The thing pulled like a locomotive.

  White steam poured from the sides, wind rushed through the cabin, the scroll of the road and buildings alongside quickly became a frightening blur and she realized it was time to end it. Another cop could be lurking around any corner. By now she’d drawn attention all over town. Did they have city-wide cameras? Surely some old lady looking out a window was already on the phone, reporting what she’d seen.

  Time to go.

  Gradually she backed it down to a sane speed, whipped them off the main road and into a series of increasingly tight alleys, shut off the turbine at the last corner and let the car roll silently as far as it would, steering it eventually toward a pile of debris.

  Before it came fully to a halt she was out and running.

  “Come on,” she got Darvon moving and he joined her, jumping out awkwardly and jogging after as the car crunched into its hiding place. If Darvon was in reverent awe before he now looked at her as if she must truly have supernatural powers.

  “Do you recognize anything?” she asked as they ran, sticking to the windowless alleys. Adrenaline surged through her. She needed an outlet, needed to run, to sprint, to race full speed to the inner compound and rescue Zac. The rush of the car chase seemed only to have gotten her started.

  Darvon wasn’t so energized. “I think I know where we are,” he said, starting to huff. Gotta remember he’s an out-of-shape old guy, Jess thought. Consciously she slowed her pace. Jogged up another alley. Then another. Winding their way, putting distance on the scene of the crime.

  After a few more blocks, Darvon huffing badly, she decided they needed more permanent cover. A place to think.

  “Is there anywhere
we can regroup?” She came to a temporary halt, not really wanting to hunker down in a pile of garbage.

  Darvon welcomed the pause. He put his hands on his hips, then leaned and braced them on his knees, catching his wind, struggling to speak around gasping breath.

  “I think,” he breathed, “we should be able to find something. It’s not too late for a bar to be open.”

  “A bar?” She asked the obvious: “Can I get in?”

  “Of course,” he mistook her question. “Women are allowed in bars.”

  It was an odd answer. But apparently the age thing wasn’t an issue.

  Slowly his breathing stabilized. She started them walking. More carefully now, moving as casually as they could. Eventually they found their way to one of the main streets, down a few blocks until …

  They spotted a corner bar.

  * *

  The mood in the room had deteriorated. Grown unbearable, in fact. Only the expressions of the priest warriors remained neutral, yet only because their expressions could not be seen, hidden as they were behind their masks and cowled hoods. Behind those masks they must certainly be gnashing their teeth, thought Ashikagi, as were all the rest. He surveyed those present, standing dutifully on hand; himself long since wanting to be done with this. Even the normally impassive clerics looked strained. Nothing their witch leader tried was working. She herself seemed near cracking.

  Then she did. In desperation she turned to Kitana, strode directly to her and … slapped her across the face. The blow, unexpected as it was, caused Kitana to react, breaking her unrelenting stoicism. A gasp escaped her lips and she put her hand to her face against the sting.

  “There!” Oinana seethed at Horus, who strained in response to her action. “What now, my dear Horus?” She almost bared her teeth like an animal: “You will put this behind you!”

  Again she struck Kitana; Smack! Then again, harder, the sound of skin on skin reverberating in the painfully quiet room. Handprints flushed red against Kitana’s cheeks but, prepared now, she stood and took it.