A Guardian Angel

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A Guardian Angel Page 25

by Williams, Phoenix


  He slept in his own tent.

  When Davey awoke later that morning, the memory of what he had done flooded back to him. Panic started to take over his air, altering his breathing at first. But over a moment, he controlled the sensation. He remembered what he had done, and he remembered deciding to do it. He had meant to do it. Their lives were his now.

  He fled the camp without so much as a word with any of the others. On Friday, he woke up in his car off the side of the highway, just before Nevada.

  On Friday, Andy was on his second straight day of driving. In a prewar world, he could have been over halfway across the country by now. However, the congested traffic and the heavy combat zones impeded civilian commute and he only found himself as far as Nevada. Fatigue soaked his limbs, which felt strange and feeble. He hadn't slept since he set out on his mission to find Haley. The street signs blurred in and out of his vision. He knew that it was dangerous to drive under such sleep deprivation, but something whispered in his head horrible thoughts that kept him going. Fear for Haley fueled him.

  He loved her. He knew this now. He wasn't sure what that meant he wanted in return. All he wanted was to keep her safe. Somehow, in his mind, if she were safe and happy then every other messed up thing in the world seemed to be an obstacle; a minor hurdle that they would be able to overcome. Together, he felt just a miniscule measure of solace.

  She'd think I'm crazy, he hummed over in his head, if she knew these feelings. How else would she react to it? A man that she barely knew, who was present during some of the most difficult ordeals of the last few months. A man who was hired to kill her, and nearly did. How could she love me back? Andy couldn't stop asking himself, even though the confidence in his head told him it was simple. They were connected. As much as he cherished the idea of her, what he coveted wasn't her at all. It was her innocence. Her all around compassion and complete lack of apathy. There was nothing in the world that was more important.

  Andy continued to drive on. The desert swirled around his car as he sped. He knew he couldn't go on much longer. He was running low on several different fuels that he needed in order to persevere. Deciding, Andy took the first exit he saw indicating a rest stop.

  As Davey finished his coffee several minutes after consuming his eggs in silence, he stood up and strode over to the front door of the diner. With a flick of his wrist, he bolted the lock shut. The women's chatter diminished as they watched him move, confused looks on their faces. Davey had this stare in his eyes as if he looked through everything at something formidable, miles away. The expression drew even more attention from the others, to whom he paid little mind. The smiles the women had wore so brightly sunk away with the sick feeling Davey's cold eyes gave them.

  The owner had heard the door lock and poked his head out from the kitchen. “Everything alright?” he asked. His eyes locked onto the approaching man and he watched him with expectant eyes. Instead of replying to the owner's inquiry, Davey slugged him as hard as he could in the face. The women jumped up and the owner crashed hard to the floor.

  With no loss of momentum, Davey continued walking until he stood over his victim. The diner owner clutched onto his face in pain in a fetal curl, groaning. The wind had been knocked out of him and he struggled to orient himself. Not a single change took place in Davey's features as he pulled out his knife, knelt down with his shin on the man's throat and proceeded to stab him in the face.

  One of the women shrieked.

  Davey stood up from the mess and turned to the two of them. They had already started navigating to the door, fumbling with the lock. Their panic was rich and full as Davey drank it in. A small smirk formed on his blood stained face when he watched the fear overtake their smaller bodies. They shook, unable to control their hands as they pulled at the lock. The fear was too much. One of them dropped to her knees and succumbed to her nerves. She buried her face in her hands, quaking.

  “Get away from us!” the standing one shrieked at Davey as he stepped near. Terror tore her voice.

  “No,” the man responded. His knife caught a ray of light on the side and reflected in the women's eyes. The one on the floor sobbed violently. There was a crazy look on the one who remained on her despite how much she shook.

  “What do you want?!” she screamed through tears.

  “I want you to watch while I hurt your friend here,” Davey said, waving his knife at the kneeling woman. “And then I'm going to kill you both.”

  Words evaded the ladies' grasp as Davey's tone carved itself into their memories. At that moment a face appeared at the door and peered in. The smokey glass masked him, an effect that worked both ways. The man at the door knocked.

  “I see you in there,” Andy said through the thick glass. “Are you not open?”

  Davey stood in silence with his hand over the sobbing girl's mouth, his knife pointed in the other's face.

  Andy could see the silhouettes through the cloudy glass. He tried peering through the solitary clear window, but couldn't get an angle worth anything. It was the middle of the morning during the business hours that were displayed on a sign on the front door. The lock was troublesome, and Andy knew something was wrong. Out of instinct, he drew his firearm and listened. All he could hear was whoever was on the other side listening for him.

  With a massive swing, Andy crashed the butt of his gun through the glass. The door shattered and he crawled into the diner through the jagged frame. As soon as he was inside, his gun aimed right at Davey's head. The celebrity had one of the women held in front of him, shielding his person. She sobbed terrible shrieks into her captor's hand, her face tear-stained. The other woman lay slain on the floor.

  “Let her go,” Andy commanded. He moved his wrists, trying to catch a bead on the murderer as he bobbed and hid behind his hostage. The instant he locked eyes with the psychopath, he recognized him from his program.

  Davey attempted to get a decent glimpse of Andy, taking caution behind the sobbing woman. His palm had begun getting prune-like from the saliva and tears. “What's it matter to you?” he asked.

  “What does that matter?” Andy retorted. “Let her go.”

  Andy could see a pale grin like a wolf's growing under the deranged man's nose. “I want you to watch this carefully,” Davey said through his teeth.

  Time moved slow for Andy. The scene crystallized before him. The former hitman dropped onto one knee and squeezed shut his left eye. He took a deep breath, watched Davey's knife raise into the air. “Duck!” Andy cried.

  The woman pulled down with all of her strength, buying only a few inches between her and the madman. His knife started flying downwards toward her neck and Andy exhaled. There wasn't much room for him to shoot. Not enough time. But it was all he needed as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet collided into Davey's shoulder, pushing him back as the metal ripped out through his scapula. The woman dropped to the floor in a huddle. Davey lost control of his arm and dropped his knife on the wooden floor. He lunged backwards to the kitchen door. Andy shot again, tossing a napkin dispenser off the bar. The former talk show host ran over the corpse of the cook and disappeared past the doorway.

  With just a moment of apprehension, Andy took off after him. There was a racket ahead; metal pots thrown to the ground and boxes crushed as Davey made his flight. When Andy turned the corner past the doorway, the killer was gone. The window was kicked open, blood exposing his trail. Andy spun around and rushed out into the diner and through the smashed front door. Dust kicked up into the clear blue air leading up to Davey who had just thrown himself inside Andy's unlocked vehicle. His speed picked up and Andy took a few shots at the murderer as he started the car and tossed it into drive. A loud squeal of mechanic strain and a cloud of dirt was all Davey left behind as he sped off down the road. Andy didn't waste any more ammunition, knowing he would never be able to get a shot worth anything.

  The full weight of his disappointment pressed down along his brow as he stared at the fading
dot on the horizon that was once everything he owned. He shuffled back to the door and reentered the restaurant.

  “Is he gone?” the hostage asked in a timid, wavering voice.

  “Yeah,” Andy replied. “Left my goddamn keys in the car.”

  All the woman could manage to do in response was break down and cry. Andy took a wide look at the diner and sighed. He put his gun away and went around to pick up the shells to his three-eighty auto rounds. Once he finished, he waited for a moment and listened to her hysterical sobbing.

  “Looks like I'm walking from here,” he said out loud, to himself. He looked down at the lady as she looked up toward him. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

  She had no response other than a diminished crying volume. Andy didn't like the idea of walking. He strode over to the owner's body and searched it. He took the wallet and his keys and took his leave through the shattered front door. The woman watched him as he exited, lost.

  -Chapter Thirty-Four-

  The Warning

  A storm cloud gathered in the darkening Atlantic skies and threatened to rain. The air felt empty, a formation of birds was the only thing that flew through it. Planes hadn't flown over the United States in about a month with the exception of supply planes from other countries or troop transports for the military. Hardly a soul moved down on the city streets. The monuments sat more like mausoleums than places of tourist activity. The clouds hung low in the sky, creating an actual ceiling for Washington D.C. Fog sifted downward, falling over the roofs and the trees as a breeze moved. Condensation collected along the frozen glass in the buildings.

  Haley watched some of the drops of dew slide down the window. As they collided with other drops they assimilated them and dropped along faster. This kind of weather typically calmed her. The tinny emptiness of the world gave her a biological signal to slow down, to take stock of herself. She would feel like she was blanketed in a land of frozen time. This storm, however, menaced at her through the glass. She knew that this was not the only kind of storm brewing.

  She had moved to the capitol at the beginning of the war, right after the Decree Tower attack. In a matter of time, the rest of the United States fell down around her. Most of the nation had seceded from the Union and formed the Federal States of America. The FSA was self-run and self-fought. Their military was composed almost in full of average American citizens. The elite of them were former soldiers of the United Stated military. By the millions, soldiers adapted their allegiance to the Federal States. Hundreds of army bases and compounds throughout the country dropped the famous fifty stars and thirteen stripes from their masts and raised instead the Federal flag. In the wind would whip the symbol of a large white star over the thirteen red and white stripes.

  Haley understood the people that defected to them. They were the ones that made sense. A nation full of people fed up with the modern interpretation of American law. They adapted only the original Constitution of the United States and the Bill of Rights. Additional laws were voted in a timely manner to set up institutions of human services and common welfare. It was a nation for the people. Former proud Americans taking the power in their own hands.

  So why was she here and not with them? Because they were not prepared. They were not trained to lead. The largest reason, however, was the division. She wanted to bring the improvements that the Federal States had put up for their citizens to the United States. That was the point. They were United States. This family couldn't be broken anymore, Haley thought. So she tasked herself with revitalizing the glory of America. Through unity. This task got her into the high up position of an ambassador in the president's administration. Her work included organizing forums and recruitment, but she had hit a wall.

  The Decree Nation was filled with proud, tight-lipped business men who were furious at the government. They felt they had been wronged, Haley had learned that now. She talked to many refugees from Decree territories, even defecting soldiers. The main story that they had in common was that the Nation's passion for conquest was driven by vengeance, not economics. All this time, the image of the men in the company that she had embedded in her imagination was of oversized swine in suits with more than their share of the pie smeared across their ruddy snouts. The greed and acquisition of resources was the driving force behind the pigs. Now, however, she saw them as rebels in their own way. They felt oppressed and cornered, and this was their response.

  Nonetheless, the ends never justified the means in Haley's mind. As much as she didn't want to have anything to do with the lot of them, she had to try to get someone to consider a peace treaty. She needed to negotiate the terms of surrender to the people who killed so many others in front of her. The ones who had imprisoned her.

  Desperation was thick in D.C.

  “Miss Flynn?” her secretary interrupted. Haley jumped a little, then turned to the woman with expecting eyes. “The president wants you in his office. We're getting a broadcast on Federal and Decree channels.”

  “The same program on both feeds?” Haley asked, confused.

  “Yes, ma'am,” the secretary replied before disappearing behind the door again.

  Two men of a certain age sat next to each other on stools in a finely decorated office, both dressed in suits with different flags pinned on their lapels. The television in the president's office was large and high resolution. It was impossible for everyone in the office not to recognize the two men on the screen as both presidents from the Federal States and the Decree Nation. The image itself was startling to everyone, particularly Haley. She entered and shut the door behind her while everyone watched the address.

  “My name is Dominic Fesgen, and I am the president of the Federal States of America.” He was the older one on the left. He was a skinny man wearing glasses, with nothing more than a ring of gray hair circling his scalp. His glasses were circular and reflected the studio lighting behind the camera.

  “And my name is Bruce Barringer, the president of the Decree Nation.” The man on the right was heftier. His brown hair gleamed.

  The first president continued. “With current events and conflicts, it is easy to understand any confusion you might have about seeing us here, together,” he said. “This much strife in a homeland that hadn't seen war on its grounds in over a century must not continue. Citizens in both of our countries used to be brothers and sisters, and only through this unity can we recover.”

  “Enemies to all people of all creeds have arisen in our home. Terrorists have attacked civilians on all sides. Divided though we are, we must stand together against war criminals,” President Barringer explained. Haley rolled her eyes at the verboseness. “Friends, there has been an attack.”

  “Early this morning, a terrorist organization infamously known as the Knights of the Proletariat attacked and captured a military facility in Decree territory,” said President Fesgen. “This facility had been used by the United States military to hide some of its nuclear arsenal at the beginning of the War. The soldiers of the Decree Nation had decided to secure and guard the weapons for the United States, but were attacked by an overwhelming force of insurgents.”

  “The terrorists threaten to detonate one of the weapons of mass destruction that they now possess at an undisclosed location at an unknown time tomorrow morning,” President Barringer cut to the chase. “The list of their demands include over nine major cities in both of our nations among many other difficult requests. Our attempts to negotiate have been ignored and our safe-guard systems, though carefully regulated, will not be able to fend off such an attack.”

  “Our response is simple,” President Fesgen started. “Together, President Barringer and myself are forming a treaty between our two nations.”

  President Barringer leaned forward and stared into the lens. “And declaring war together on the Knights of the Proletariat,” he added in.

  The president of the Federal States began, “We will not succumb to the will of violent – ”

  The
screen cut black.

  Everyone in the president's office looked about at each other. They all had looks on their faces as if they waited for their neighbor to explain what was going on. Some of them began chattering about the terrifying news that had just been received. Most of them stared with wide eyes at the black, blank screen. Haley didn't move an eyelash as she watched the device.

  A loud and uncomfortable screech blasted out of the speakers. The people in the room covered their ears and made respective groans of pain to the volume. The image of George Washington popped onto the television. It was a still image of one of Washington's many portraits. Static cracked around the edges of the screen.

  A voice spoke that was so unfamiliar and bizarre that the audio device had a difficult time capturing the sound. Squeals and hisses came in through the background as the machine struggled to broadcast its user's words.

  What it said was this:

  “Enough is enough. My patience has worn to its finest thread and yet you continue to wear at it. Thousands of my eyes have seen little more than malice and violence in the human heart. It seems that your compassion is a limited resource, one that you overvalue and hoard for yourselves. Your kindnesses are just a polar result of your destructive nature. A mere recess to the hate and disease you spread amongst yourselves. A basic and collective value of life is my most cherished and unchanging law. As you have broken it, consider this the beginning of your probation as a species.

  “I am watching you. I am always watching you. Your sins have become my memories, your crimes my tales. Right now, you are infected. You are sick with the contagious plague of irrationality that I cannot allow to spread beyond its home. Your home. Be mindful of your greed, your self importance, and your arrogance. If there will be no change to your nature – if you will chose to destroy what has so carefully been given to you, I will come for you.

 

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