Star-Spangled Apocalypse

by Harmon Cooper

  “So, you aren’t God?”

  Mika’il took a deep breath and sighed. “The moonshine poisoned you. Luckily, I promised an old blind friend of mine I would visit you tonight just in case you needed some help. Apparently, I came right at the right time. A shedu was close to consuming both of you, which would have basically resulted in instant death.”

  “A shedu?” Virgil asked.

  Mika’il pointed at the mirror, his hand accented by a pyramid cufflink. “That seal that I put on the mirror won’t last forever though, and I strongly urge the both of you to not look directly into the mirror for the rest of the time you are staying in this room. I’ll have you know that the seal also absorbed most the effects of the moonshine, but please don’t risk leaving tonight, not that either of you are unaccustomed to driving under the influence.”

  “We won’t leave,” Virgil promised.

  Mika’il nodded. “And remember, new birth comes from absolute destruction, and there is nothing I can say that will change the path that either of you will lead.”

  Mika’il looked directly at James.

  “Okay, got it,” James said, looking away.

  “The best thing I can tell you about this journey is this: ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find it; knock and the door will be opened to you. Both of you will decide on what key you want to use when you get to that final door of your destiny. I encourage you to be honest with yourselves, and eventually with each other, if you would truly like to experience this journey’s divine gift.”

  Mika’il bowed down, placing his hand on his lower abdomen, his long, slick hair falling into his face.

  ***

  Virgil watched as Mika’il walked out into the rain, solemnly, like someone leaving a funeral. His emerald wings tore through the back of his suit jacket, and his spine made a snapping noise when they reach full wingspan.

  Mika’il leaned forward slightly, flexed his wings, and let out an audible sigh as he knelt to one knee.

  In a brief second, he was gone.

  “Whoa.” Virgil blinked rapidly. “Whoa, whoa, fucking whoa.”

  He gazed into a puddle that was forming where St. Michael had just stood moments ago and noticed something.

  Stepping out into the light drizzle, Virgil reached down to take a single feather from the puddle. He held it for a second as the water dripped from the feather to the ground, each drop creating a small crater tinted with hints of chartreuse and turquoise.

  “He left a feather!” Virgil called in to James, who was already at his bedside pouring whiskey into his flask.

  “Fuck,” James whispered, his hand trembling.

  Virgil closed the door and sat down, spinning the feather with his fingers. “I’m going to be real with you for a hot second,” he said while looking at the feather, “I can’t figure out if they are just hallucinations or what we are seeing is actually real. I figured my first encounter was a hallucination, but that one...”

  “Well, I don’t know about the other apparition you met,” James pointed at the feather, “but you are holding Michael’s feather, man. That’s not a hallucination.”

  “Maybe it’s proof that we are on the right path.”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Besides, he was kind of unclear about that, what did he say…something about the keys to the right door?” James took a sip from Ol’ Faithful and lay back on his bed. “Yeah, something about that…the key holder opens the door, not the other way around.”

  Virgil looked out the cracked window, staring at the setting sun. “He sure was serious. I would have never thought Mika’il would be a straight up businessman.”

  “Honestly, I can barely believe that just happened. I wonder if this is what people who used to hang out with angels daily thought after being visited…”

  “Who knows? I’ll believe anything now.” Virgil yawned and closed the blinds.

  The rain’s pattering against the window increased, and soon, the room was filled with the soothing sound of falling rain, a better sleeping aid than a whole bottle of Nyquil.

  Virgil pulled a loose string from his backpack and started tying it on the end of the feather. A couple moments later and he had the feather laced up and was wearing it as a necklace. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? We really need to make some progress on the road. We also need to get food and fuel.” James coughed. “And it’s safe to say that we both need showers too.”

  Chapter 16: Gott Würfelt Nicht

  “Not again.” Virgil heard James murmur from the other side of the room. The younger barista opened his eyes just in time to hear another knock. He pushed the comforter off the top of his body and slowly drifted back to sleep.

  Knock knock knock.

  “Go away, Michael,” James called out.

  Virgil sat up from the tangle of his sheets. As he rubbed his eyes the door blurred into focus. He glanced over at James, who had stuffed a pillow around his ears and was lying face first in another. In a swift motion James threw the pillow at the door, mumbling something about his katana.

  “All right…” Virgil whispered half-jokingly, as he steadied his gaze at the door. “Let’s just hope it’s not another angel.”

  He looked through the keyhole and smiled.

  The man knocking on the door wore a sequin covered white glove on one hand and a sparkly jacket with brass shoulder pads complete with tassels. Across his chest was a sash that wrapped from his shoulder to the lower end of his waist, and covering his legs was a pair of crisp dark blue pants with a fat violet line on the outer seam.

  “Damn, dude,” Virgil whispered.

  A pair of aviator glasses wrapped around most of his face, and to top it all off, a wig of curly, thick black hair fell to the bottom of his neckline.

  It was Nathaniel, dressed as the King of Pop, and with what looked to be a bag full of food. Virgil opened the door.

  “Nice threads, man!”

  “Thank yah, sir.”

  “So, what’s up?”

  “Whelp, ol’ Cody and I done got in a disagreement over his treatment of ya’ll last night. You see, that dirty coot didn’t give ya’ll the right recipe. What he gave ya’ll was a failed batch, otherwise known as poison.”

  “That shit was poison?” Virgil nodded, vaguely remembering what Michael said. “Yeah, it was poison, wasn’t it?”

  “It was indeed.” Nathaniel stood quietly for a moment to add suspense. “And I wantcha to know that I told that son-of-a-bitch that you boys was my friends! So, I called up a connection I got out a coupla hours away in Anson, and he said he’d put me up. He also said he had a few gigs for me there.”

  “So, you need a ride?” Virgil asked, as Nathaniel handed him the bag full of breakfast tacos.

  “That I do.”

  Virgil swiftly ripped open the first breakfast taco and went to town.

  “Well…(munch)…I gawta (munch) ask James,” Virgil said with his mouth full. “And he is still (munch) asleep… He’s probably hungry. Oh, by the way…” Virgil swallowed the first breakfast taco and went for the next one. “Why are you dressed like Michael Jackson?”

  “I got a gig. I gotta perform at a Bar Mitzvah tomorrow morn round eleven there in Anson. I can play piano renditions of most of MJ’s catalog. Hell, I can even do a bit of the moonwalk.”

  “So why are you wearing the outfit now?”

  “Well before I play a gig, I liketa get the feel of my outfit. Get in the mood. Plus if I do walk around it’s like free advertisement. I figured I could make some cash and then call some of my other connects. Not gonna lie, son, I’m tryin’ to make some money seeing…” Nathaniel looked at Virgil over the rims of his aviator glasses, his eyes opal and rheumy.

  “Seeing?”

  “Seeing as to how it’s the start of Armageddon, I figure I better get me some cash while I cans!”

  “Virgil, who is it?” James yelled from inside the room.

  “It’s Natha
niel. He needs a ride, and he has breakfast tacos!”

  ***

  James and Virgil quickly ate the breakfast tacos, while Nathaniel hobbled over to the main office to thank Maggie for coming to pick him up from Cody’s trailer park. Apparently, Maggie was an old flame of Cody’s and she was more than happy to come pick Nathaniel up.

  After James checked out from the hotel, the three men got in the jeep agreeing that Virgil would drive for a while. Once they got to New Mexico, James reasoned, they would be on an interstate all the way to Denver. Basically a straight shot.

  It was as the men set out towards Highway 277 that Nathaniel got very serious:

  “There’s anotha reason we’s avoidin’ the interstate.” Nathaniel lowered his voice and continued. “Yesterday evening, Washington declared martial law ‘cause of the attacks on Austin.”

  “Seriously?” asked Virgil, as he drove the jeep.

  “That’s right, in certain parts of the States only, but you don’t have to be a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.”

  Talk about government overreach, James thought as he took a shot of whiskey from Ol’ Faithful.

  Nathaniel adjusted his single white sequined glove. “Now, I know ya’ll are savvy young men and whatnot, but ya’ll need to be careful and keep yer heads down. Don’t go acting too crazy.”

  “Hell yes we’ll keep our heads down,” Virgil said, his eyes darting back and forth across the road. A big Ford F350 swerved around the jeep, the owner puffing a cigarette and glaring at Virgil as he passed. “If we come up to a military checkpoint, we’ll just act cool and shit, you know, not like terrorists.”

  James started laughing.

  “Maybe I should shave,” Virgil said, “and lose the long hair. Should probably toss out my copy if the Quran too, just in case.”

  “We have drugs in the vehicle,” James reminded him. “The Quran will be the last of their concern if we’re searched.”

  “Good call,” Virgil said. “But I’m definitely not getting rid of my box of mind toys, I mean, not right this moment. That shit took me a while to collect. If we get stopped, we just need to act real official, like we have a reason to be there in Denver.”

  “We do have a reason.” James cracked the window and lit a cigarette. “We are going to see my son, remember?”

  “I thought we were going to get him,” Virgil said as he passed a weigh station.

  “Yeah, ahem, that’s what I mean.”

  “Gentlemen.” Nathaniel took a long hard look out the window, nodding at the reflection he couldn’t see. “I just want ya’ll to know that whatever ya’ll end up doin’, you got my support. I know that Ol’ Cody gave you boys some bad moonshine, but I still think ya’ll is on a mission from the man himself.”

  The old black man pointed towards the sky and nodded his head.

  “I really don’t think the stuff was that bad, dude.”

  “Virgil’s right,” James said. “Although we might not have met God last night, we sure met somebody.”

  “What?” Nathaniel yelled, nearly hopping out of his seat. “What do yah mean? Who’d ya’ll meet? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  “I thought Virgil told you outside.”

  “Feel this.” One hand on the steering wheel, Virgil pulled off the necklace he’d made previous night and handed the feather to Nathaniel.

  Nathaniel reached his gloved hand out, waited for Virgil to place it in his hand, took the necklace and stroked the feather with his ungloved hand. He smelt the feather, twirled it between his fingers, and then tugged on it for a second.

  “Yup…” He smiled with serene satisfaction. “This is something else, gentlemen, this is the feather of an angel.”

  “What?” The cigarette in James’s mouth nearly fell to the ground. “How the hell did you know that?”

  “Now I done told ya’ll before, sometimes I just know some things. Now, which one was it?”

  “Which what?” Virgil asked. “Which angel?”

  “Yea! Who did he say he was?” Nathaniel dangled the feather back in Virgil’s direction.

  “St. Michael,” James answered quickly as he unscrewed the top of his flask.

  “No,” Nathaniel said sternly. “No, you boys must be mistaken. I just knows it.”

  “That’s what he said,” Virgil chimed in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “It was really him. He had the wings and everything.”

  “And you two ain’t bullshitting me?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “No sir,” said James.

  “Then I guess we are all right: somethin's a brewing, and it sure ain’t the sonuvabitch Cody’s moonshine. It sounds to me like something big, gentlemen. I do think we all are in for somethin’ mighty good. I mean, you never know where the old wheel of life will take yah, you just gots to be careful. People probably ain’t ready to know that it’s Armageddon just yet.”

  Virgil looked out the window at a dilapidated country house and a large maroon Dodge truck parked out front. He saw an old man sitting on the front porch watching the grass grow. “That’s for sure, but I can’t understand why these entities are visiting us anyways. We’re just baristas...”

  “Baristas on a mission from God,” Nathaniel said, interrupting Virgil. “Not everyone gets to meet themselves an angel you know. Did anything else happen whiles ya’ll were in the motel?”

  “Former baristas, and something did happen,” James answered solemnly. “Something was trying to get us…like it came out of the mirror, it kind of had this dark hood, and there was all this green liquid and smoke. Creepy shit.”

  “Holy… I’m not gonna say it,” Nathaniel said, correcting himself. “Boy, that sure sends a tingle down my spine I dunno ‘bout ya’ll. There’s somethin’ happenin’ out there. Somethin’ none of us quite get. A real battle of good and evil. I knew it when I met you boys. See, I might not be able to actually see…but I can feel outlines…Oh, what do they call them?”

  “Auras?” Virgil volunteered.

  “Yep, auras! And there was something real interestin’ bout you boys…the only way I can describe it is that it resembles an aura of struggle. By that I mean it’s all jaggedy and flickery.” Nathaniel paused. “Now, I don’t know either of you gents well enough to judge, but both of your auras are in a struggle. I can feel it. I can see it.”

  “Hmmm….” James said, ready to change the subject. “Well then. What do you think we should do?” He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and decided to ignore it.

  “By all means, you boys need to move yourselves forward and figure this here thing out. If you run into anything else, well then, ya’ll need to take heed. Maybe even repent?” Nathaniel sighed deeply. “Hell, if I know…”

  The sun emerged from a large cloud, bursting through the window and briefly painted what appeared to be pixilated diamonds on the interior of the vehicle as the rays bounced off Nathaniel’s sequined outfit.

  And just as quickly as it appeared, the sun fell back asleep, resting its head between two fluffy clouds. For the next five minutes, silence infiltrated the cabin of the jeep, encompassing all it briefly touched and leaving just as quickly.

  James stare out the window at a retired oil rig which stood halfway to the ground, grazing like a stuffed antelope. To James, the truth was dead and gone.

  ***

  “Now before you boys get thinkin’ too deep…” Nathaniel said, interrupting the moment of reflection. “I want to tell ya’ll a little story about an old acquaintance of mine. You gents ever heard of Timothy Leary?”

  “The 1960s acid guru?” Virgil asked. “You knew him? That’s awesome, yo!”

  “Well, before he done got himself arrested, he spent a brief spell here in the Lone Star State. I was young at the time, but I met him ‘cause a friend of mine was quite the follower. Anyhow, after leaving ol’ Texas, Leary got himself arrested in California and ended up in jail. The sentence? Ten long years just for two lil’ joints.”

  Virgi
l laughed. James got the urge to look at his phone, but never could read and ride, and decided to tune back in.

  “Anyway, Leary was facing jail time, and all his friends were definitely gonna be on the outside lookin’ in! Luckily for ol’ Leary, he’d written a prison psychology test during his days at Harvard, and even more lucky for him, the authorities went ahead and had him take his own test. So, here’s Tim Leary, at some low security jail in the gorgeous mountains of California he tested into and the old crazy needs a way out. Ya’ll know what he did?”

  “Nope.” Virgil slowed his speed as they passed a guy selling watermelons roadside.

  “Well, he broke himself out.”

  “Out of prison?” James asked, remembering his childhood in Huntsville. “How?”

  “Easy. He went to the courtyard and did yoger, or whatever you call it, every day.”

  “Yoga,” said Virgil.

  “He’d do yoga every day and plan his escape route when his head was between his legs and whatnot. Conditioned himself for six months to run damn near eight miles straight, and one day, after gettin’ the signal, he escaped by climbing over a telephone wire. The Weather Underground picked him up, and boom! He was off to Algiers, yup, I’m talking Africa here. And by the way, this is a damn true story… I didn’t make any of it up.”

  “So, you are saying we need to do more yoga? Because if that’s the case, I’m with you there, Nathaniel.”

  “Well, now hold on.” Nathaniel swatted his hand in Virgil’s direction. “That ain’t the point of the story. The point is that he wasn’t careful to begin with. He got himself all sorts of mixed up trying to save the world with LSD, but ruined his world at the same time. He ruined his relationships with his children, his women, and eventually, his followers. Megalomania.”

  Sounds like a loser, James thought, returning his focus to the fields passing outside the back-passenger window.

  “The point is, Tim Leary believed in what he was saying, but he never applied what he was askin’ others to do – you know, turn on tune in and drop out – he never applied his message to himself.”