A Guardian Angel

by Williams, Phoenix

  The voice hissed from inside. “Your crimes have been recorded,” it told him. “The wicked are forfeit to me. Your trial will determine your fate.”

  The hum that grew in the background had arrived and then cut out. Andy could recognize the sound of the engine rumbling off and car doors opening. Andy's attacker turned its faceless head toward the noise and stood up off Andy. He sat up to see a truck parked in the middle of the road and about six men moving outside of it. There was no pause in the action.

  The creature posed as the men charged at it. Each one of them had an edged weapon in their hands; axes, machetes, and swords swung about as they ran. Before they could get all too near, the being spread its wings and lifted off into the sky. It hovered above them. Andy continued to lean on his elbows in the grass and watch the six new faces all turned skyward. They stood in apprehensive stances.

  “It's gonna come back down. Just wait,” one man said to another.

  Each of them were impossible to look at well as they spun around, tracing the path of the circling creature above the road. The smooth surfaces where its eyes should be pointed down and almost taunted the militants on the ground. They all gripped onto their weapons and had them ready to swing. They all perspired, awaiting the winged creature's next move. As the man had implied, it did not flee. Flying about in mad shapes, it continued to tease them.

  Andy was able to steal a long gaze at one of the militant's face, as it was the only one that faced toward him instead of the thing in the air. The hitman laid back down into the grass and made himself as invisible as possible. He managed to turn his head so he could watch.

  The beast made a crazed dive for one of the men. It tackled him down into the road hard, disarming him. It used its legs to pin its target to the asphalt and its hands to begin squeezing the life out from the human's throat.

  “Go!” a man with a New York accent instructed. All of the militants circled the creature. The man it choked panicked, trying to trash about, but his attacker was far too powerful to throw off. The weapons began swinging through the air. The men surrounded the winged being in a bizarre but deliberate formation. The creature turned its head to look at them all as it was attacked. It lost its grip on the man's neck, who laid in the road sputtering. Feathers and blood were thrown out into the air as the militants hacked away. The creature emanated a frightening, shrill whimper that growled from within Andy's breast. With just another swing, a massive feathery wing toppled to the earth, severed from its body. Another cleaved the remaining wing free of the beast, and it toppled over itself.

  One of them walked over and kicked the thing. It reacted only as a limp corpse would. “It's dead,” that man said. He turned to the militant who laid in the street, rubbing his neck. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” He grabbed his hatchet from the road and stood back up.

  Andy could see the man he recognized strolling over toward where he lay. He turned over so that his face was concealed in the grass. He waited, his heart pounding in his temples. He felt a hand grab his shoulder.

  “Let's see who we have here,” the familiar voice hissed. He pulled Andy over and without delay the hitman had pulled his three-eighty auto out and had begun pulling the trigger as fast as he could. It clicked over and over, but nothing happened. Davey grinned at him.

  “Woah, buddy,” Barney Slechta said from beside the fallen creature. He ran up and drew his machete at Andy, resting the cold blade on the gunman's chin. Andy stared down at his handgun with confusion as several more edges were pointed at him. He was surrounded. He surrendered his weapon.

  “That's not going to work, is it?” Davey asked with his horrible mock tone.

  “Who are you?” someone asked from behind Andy. The hitman continued to lay in the grass, leaning on his elbow as he stared at the faces.

  Barney stood out as the leader of these men. “Hey!” he grabbed Andy's attention. “What's your name?”

  “Andy,” the assassin replied.

  Barney looked over this new man, sizing him up as he considered him. “Guns don't work, Andy,” he explained. He gestured to the dead creature in the road. “Not since they've been here.”

  “Slechta,” a man with short blond hair beside him started, “let's go.”

  Barney turned back and looked at the speaker, but turned back to Andy. “You're packing heat there,” he indicated Andy's firearm. “Were you a cop? A soldier?”

  “A tabloid columnist,” Andy answered without missing a beat.

  “Did you have any experience with combat, Andy?” Barney interrogated.

  Andy's neck felt tight with the sensation of half a dozen blades against it. Still, he managed to talk clear and eloquent. “Oh yes,” he replied.

  “Then we need your help,” Barney began. “You need to come with us and help us fight back.”

  “Fight back?” Andy scoffed.

  The man with curly black hair who had been tackled by the beast pointed his hatchet back toward its corpse. “They can be killed, man. We can stand a chance.”

  “Not much of a one,” Andy replied. “Why is he with you?” he indicated Davey who smirked all the while. His eyes almost looked hungry.

  “How do you mean?” Barney asked. “He fought against the Russos in San Francisco. He's a skilled soldier.”

  Andy's eyes became angry slits the more he stared at Davey watching him. His eyebrows pressed down hard on his eyes and his lips were cold. “A skilled murderer? Yes, he is. This man kills innocent people. Women and children.”

  “Davey Tolmes?” Barney said the name with as little severity as he could get away with. “You have seen the Davey Tolmes Show before, haven't you?”

  “I know who he is,” Andy said. He stopped staring into the infuriating, enthusiastic face of the serial killer and turned up to Barney's. “Do you?”

  Barney turned to Davey with a look of expectation. Everyone watched him to listen to him explain himself. Still, he smirked.

  “Some people can never forgive you for the things you're asked to do during war,” Davey commented. His eyes pierced Andy. Davey looked back at Barney. “But I never killed children. That I know.”

  “He's lying,” the hitman interjected. “He killed for amusement. It had nothing to do with war.”

  “Now Andy,” Barney started, “you can't just go throwing accusations at my men. What people do during battle can be terrible, but they still have to live with it. You have to as well.”

  “Barney, we should just go,” the blond man said again. “Leave him. He's way too hostile to work with.”

  “Damn it, we're stretched as far as we can be!” the leader bellowed. “I mean, come on, we need help. This guy is already trained.”

  “Yeah, but he sounds deranged,” the other militant retorted. “He seems foaming at the bit about Tolmes. He could be dangerous. In fact, we shouldn't even leave him. He can't follow us.”

  “Nah,” Davey said. “I don't think there will be any problem here.” He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward so that his face was only inches away from Andy's. The other blades retreated back to their owners as he moved. “Will there?”

  Andy looked around at them all. The faces turned so curious toward him, the eyes peered and gazed for the source of his morality. The lips almost seemed to mouth little noises as they thought about letting him live, let alone join them. The weapons were no longer against his throat but they were not sheathed yet as they were held in the militants' hands.

  “No,” Andy almost spat. “Of course not.”

  “So you'll join us?”

  “Who is 'us,' exactly?” Andy asked. He was allowed to stand up again as everyone started moving back to the truck.

  “We're the resistance, man,” the blond talkative militant replied.

  “Some of the guys call us the American Prevailers. Don't even think it's proper grammar. But we're fighting those things,” Barney said. “And we're getting our loved ones back from their
prison. We've been wandering together for only one day, but in that time we've gained a lot of techniques.” He bent down and pointed to the severed nubs on the creature's back where its wings had once been. “You have to cut off their wings. Nothing can touch their skin, no matter how hard you try.” He demonstrated by stabbing at the torso. The blade nearly reached the surface of the skin, but never could. It was like trying to push matching poles of magnets together.

  Andy observed with cautious eyes. “So you really think you can fight them?” he asked. He noticed Davey watching their conversation out of the corner of his eye.

  “Oh yes,” Barney replied. “Do you know how many people there are on earth? If just the smallest fraction fought against them, we could send them packing. They don't even use weapons.”

  “You mentioned a prison?” Andy commented.

  “Yeah, their gigantic interrogation center in D.C. where they've been taking everyone,” Barney replied. “They've taken so many people. The presidents of every nation at least, they took all the cops and military men. Snatched up that Flynn girl who doesn't even fight.”

  At this, Andy jolted a bit and blinked. He did his best to play it off coolly. “Everyone?” Andy echoed.

  The militant leader nodded. “Our attack is set for tomorrow. We're going to free and arm as many people as we can and hold our last stand there.”

  “Is that the plan?” Andy asked for confirmation.

  “Yes,” Barney stated.

  “Then I guess I'm in,” the hitman said.

  With the expression of a man who hated everything about his current situation, Andy ate his sandwich behind a rock, away from the fire. In the warm glow was where the rest of the men sat except for two who adjusted their seating so they could keep an eye on the hitman. Warm waves of sweat washed over Andy, his skin growing hot and his heart beating fast whenever he remembered the psychopath that he was stuck with. He kept his eye over his shoulder in fear that Davey would sneak up behind him and stick him with his iconic blade.

  He could overhear the men by the fire speak. Without noises to muffle them, their voices carried quite clear to his ear.

  “You used to be Decree, didn't you?” one voice said.

  Barney's voice was the one that replied. “Yeah, for a small period,” it said.

  “And then you used to be one of the Knight people, didn't you Walt?”

  “That's true.”

  “That's who we were,” Barney commented. “We may have been against each other at one point, but wouldn't you say we're all in the same boat by now?”

  Andy opened up the water bottle that they had given him and sipped it. It was Davey who came around the rock without warning and sat beside him.

  “Hey buddy,” Davey said in a familiar manner. “How you doing? Eating enough?”

  Andy did not look at the murderer as he finished his gulp. “Get the hell out of my face,” he hissed.

  “Oh, come on, cut it with the hostility, Andy,” Davey told him. “I'm not going to hurt you yet. I'm much more interested in Miss Flynn.”

  Andy's eyes shot wide open and his jaw clenched.

  “Oh yes, I recognize the name quite well from several of my episodes,” Davey explained. “You may have hid it from the rest of them, but I saw your look of recognition when she was mentioned. I know you care about her. That makes this so much better.”

  “If you touch her,” Andy started, “I'll kill you.”

  Davey laughed as he sat himself in a much more comfortable position next to the hitman. He patted Andy on the back. “Not if I kill you first,” he replied. “You know, I never really told anyone the story of my escape from Los Angeles. The horrible things I saw. It might be my last time to breathe a word of it.”

  “I should hope,” Andy retorted.

  “Come on, Andy,” Davey grinned at him. “Maybe you can get to know me better. Let me tell you my story.”

  -Chapter Thirty-Nine-

  City of Angels

  “It was only a little under a month ago that the Decree puppies came into Los Angeles, wouldn't you say?” Davey asked. “Where were you then? Were you around there? Anyway, it was kind of funny to me how no alarm, no heads up was given to anyone in the city when it happened. There were just so god damn many of us strolling the streets, running errands, going on dates, being heathens. Then it was boom, boom, boom. These explosions went off on the sides of buildings and in the street, just spraying rubble all around. Throwing stones at people and blowing them apart.

  “At the time, I was just eating a pot pie. I was in one of the lobbies for the studio. It was the one with the patio furniture indoors. I always thought that was weird. One of the shells that they were hurtling down on us went through the glass ceiling and right into the receptionist's desk. Dear God, you had never seen such a mess in all your life, Andy. There was this one really lovely, very confident looking middle eastern woman in a sage colored blazer that was standing pretty close to the counter when the shell went off. Poor darling was wounded, unable to stand on her own. I was terrified! There was blood everywhere; glass shattered all over the smoky floor. Still, I managed to stand up on my violently shaking knees and move over to her, bracing for anything. She begged me for help, and I told her to save her energy, then I picked her up and carried her out the front door.

  “I had no clue where the shells were coming from. I didn't even think about how safe the route I'd chosen would be but instead of how quickly we must go down it. My head turned stupidly from side to side as I jogged with the woman in my arms. She made horrible, childish noises of terror. Her voice was fading. I looked everywhere I could for some help but all I found were frantic herds of people running about. There were more explosions detonating in the background. I look down in my arms and I realize that all I'm doing is carrying a dead body. There was no way to describe quite how I felt then. I look back and realize that I am weak. That I am too soft to contemplate the stress I was under and I used terror and grief as an excuse to quit. That will get you killed.

  “I didn't stay long. My mind sort of cleared up a bit, like I had caught this good whiff of concentration. Do you know what I mean? My family came to my mind and I was off. I didn't give a shit about anything but getting to them that instant. There was a car idling in the middle of the street as I ran with the door ajar and no one in it. The keys were in the ignition so I just hopped my happy self in the cab and sped off.

  “Disoriented, it took me too long to get home. The entire drive, my feet were just getting this terrible icy numb sensation about the base of the toes that drove me up the wall; like an itch. My muscles twitched sometimes like they do when you resist that itch for a long time, trying to will it away. I felt hot in my throat but cold in my churning stomach. Anyway, enough about feelings. These are all just feelings.

  “Guess what was there when I got home? Lilith and Alexa, my two little daughters had been murdered and left lying upon the dining table. This was right in the entrance of the house; the very first thing that I see. Lilly was nine, and Alexa was ten. They were such smart, clever little children with nothing but dreams and hope. NOTHING BUT LOVE AND A DESIRE TO GIVE! I – I can't even – talk about – IT'S THE FINAL. STRAW. ANDY. You understand?

  “I couldn't keep walking, couldn't keep standing. I dropped down hard onto my knees and wept. Just cried and cried and cried without noticing the racket upstairs. I tried to muffle myself, but the noise carried. The commotion stopped, and after just an intsy little pause, there was a gunshot. Feet came down the stairs and three Decree soldiers were there, pointing their guns at me.

  “'Who are you?' they ask. One of them lowered his gun and said to the other, 'Oh my God, I think that's Davey Tolmes.' He was so god damn excited. Like I was going to give him an autograph or something. They grabbed me and dragged me upstairs to my bedroom. Jana was on the bed with a hole in her chest. The life was gone from her eyes as well.

  “'Why?!' I screamed at them. 'Why the fuc
k did you do this to me?!' They didn't have an answer. Of course they didn't. They barely even acknowledged that I was yelling at them as they giggled excitedly. One of them said, 'Get a picture of me with Davey Tolmes!'

  “The entire time I was on my knees with my head bowed in grief, I felt around behind me. My ornamental knife was somewhere on the floor by me. I had noticed it knocked off the wall when I had first come in. When the bastard picked me up so that he could pose with his gun in my face and a huge, dumb smile on his broad, shit eating face, I dug my knife into it. Instantly, I spun the fat mercenary around and pushed him toward his friends, who had no idea what the hell to do. They started fiddling around with their rifles, trying to turn the safety back on, but it was too late. I was already on them and I slashed one throat wide open. I had no idea what my own body was doing as I turned to the last one, who fired and hit me in my side. Just a little nick. I jumped onto his chest and stabbed him in the face over and over again. It took about five good plunges before the son of a bitch stopped screaming.

  “I dropped my knife and I looked at the carnage all around me. I was shocked, horrified. My finger trembled, but my breathing was clear. My heart pounded with both fear and excitement. It came to me, how terrifyingly easy it is to kill. How, once pushed, snuffing a life out becomes a reward; the fruit of an effort. Something you really want to do. Anyone can have it. That was the first time I ever killed anyone, and since then, it has just never been that good. Because they deserved it.

  “They killed my children, Andy. They raped and shot my wife. I have no remorse for what I did. Yet, through all the seething anger, I wasn't mad at the Decree Nation. My anger was not at an entire military or country but just these three men. I realized that a uniform didn't commit these horrifying crimes. Men did. Human fucking beings.”