Forsaken_Cursed Angel Watchtower 12

by Gilbert, L. B.

  This nest had something the others didn’t. Not only were the blankets clean and the tins in a neat row, but it was spotless. No dust. This space was used, even organized in a minimalistic way.

  The only thing out of place was a medical reflex hammer.

  It was lying on the floor next to one of the blankets. His immediate thought was of Dr. Brès. Had the doctor taken refuge down here after she realized she was a Firehorse? How else could the hammer have ended up here?

  It could be nothing. It wasn’t as if the hammer had been carved with the doctor’s initials. Until he found the people who frequented these catacombs, he could only guess. Tucking the hammer into his belt, he resumed his hunt.

  He finally found what he was looking for outside the catacombs, in the wasteland near what used to be Vanves.

  There were people. Not just one or two, but many. At least two score. Ash knelt behind a pile of boulders, trying to hold in the exclamation trying to burst out of him.

  Dr. Brès was down there. A small child clung to Madeleine’s leg, looking uncertain. Her daughter. The rest of Madeleine’s little family was here, too. They were in a basin at the bottom of the cliff. There was a fire going, and someone was cooking what looked to be a wild hare. An aromatic stew was boiling in a large pot.

  They had food in the middle of the wasteland.

  Ash nearly jumped out from behind the stone when he saw Theo Faure and Demetria Long, Firehorses from the last few years who disappeared before he could track them down.

  I thought they were dead. In fact, he’d been certain Theo had been done in by his fundamentalist family. But he was alive. And so was Didier. He was down there, too…talking to her.

  Ash watched his mystery girl move among the crowd at the fire’s edge. She appeared to be introducing Didier to her little band. And it was hers. He studied the group from behind his rock for some time. No one else had the same easy air of authority. All the others looked at or spoke to her deferentially.

  The beautiful brunette was the leader of this band of survivors.

  The girl turned abruptly, scanning the hillside as if sensing his intent gaze. Ash ducked behind the rock, sliding to crouch on the ground. He waited. There was no sound of footsteps, either running toward or away from him. He hadn’t been seen.

  Ash’s mind reeled. How was this possible? This was the wasteland. Nothing survived here. Except for these people…and whatever they were cooking on that fire.

  Merde. This was impossible. How had so many Firehorses escaped not just him, but also the mobs? And why hadn’t the earth swallowed them up?

  Something was going on. Unchecked, the curse had the power to level Bastille. By rights, this basin and the surrounding hillsides should be a smoking crater. Seriously. He wouldn’t put it past Amducious’ blasted hex to call down a meteor to strike them all down. It was what God had done with the dinosaurs when he’d tired of them.

  But there they were—Firehorses who lived, walked, and talked. True, they didn’t seem all that healthy. They were far too thin. Unless Ash was mistaken, several were showing signs of scurvy, too.

  So does half the city. What mattered was the fact they were alive. Somehow, the power of the curse had been checked.

  Sweet Jesus, was this the miracle he had been waiting for? If the curse had been broken, he would have known. There were survivors down there who had been struck down years ago. And Didier had just been cursed…

  Was it possible for the afflicted to be cured? Could he bring Didier home to his mother?

  But what if it wasn’t permanent? What if he took Didier and the others home only to have the destruction resume? What am I supposed to do?

  He needed to learn more. And Ash couldn’t do that as he was. To the people of Bastille, he was a guardian, the savior who had delivered them from demon rule and now from the threat of the Firehorse. But to those who were afflicted, he was the angel of death.

  Those people wouldn’t tell him anything. If only there was a way to win their trust before revealing his identity…

  There is. Ash could go as one of them. Without his armor and helmet there was a chance they wouldn’t recognize him. He could tell them he was looking for his blood, a relative he suspected was afflicted.

  There was only one problem with that. If they even so much as thought he was lying, then they’d try to kill him. They wouldn’t have a choice. If they let him go, he might tell someone in the city, and if that happened, it wouldn’t be long before the mob came after them.

  If he was forced to fight them, chances were he’d kill one or more while trying to protect himself. And then he’d be right back where he’d started—watching a miracle from the outside. Either way, the chance to break the curse would slip through his fingers.

  And that’s the best-case scenario if I’m discovered. The others he’d considered were far worse. But what other choice did he have?

  8

  Ash pulled the hood of his sweatshirt closer around his head as the band of survivors gathered supplies at the outskirts of the city.

  He had taken off his armor and helmet and folded his wings until they melded seamlessly into his back. Then he’d donned his old pre-Collision clothes. Marcus had even found him a beat-up pair of tinted eyeglasses that would mute the slight luminescence of his eyes.

  Ash hoped his disguise was good enough to fool his quarry. He needed to win their trust long enough to learn how they were evading the curse.

  Rain began to fall, making the fabric stick to his skin. Already these clothes felt strange. He’d spent the better part of the last decade wearing full angelic armor on a day-to-day basis, ever since he’d accepted Raphael’s bargain.

  Now the armor is sitting in the back of my closet in Belleville, a shining symbol of God’s might gathering dust.

  But sometimes, might failed. Centuries of observation had taught Ash that. Kingdoms rose and fell like the tides. And it wasn’t the ones with the biggest armies or fiercest warriors that persisted. That distinction fell to the ones that valued peace and prosperity. Civilizations that prized knowledge and art over the sword—those were the true immortals.

  Knowledge and understanding were required to win this battle as well. Somehow, he had to convince those people down there to give him both.

  It’s a good thing I didn’t throw out my human clothes. He’d kept them in part to remind himself of the goal he was working toward. But Ash hadn’t anticipated ever wearing them again—not until this undercover mission.

  For the last few weeks, he’d tracked the band of survivors, studying their ways and piecing together their structure. He confirmed his mystery girl was their leader. He could see it in the way the other members deferred to her, always seeking her approval before striking out to gather supplies. Another woman, a wizened and wiry crone, appeared to be her lieutenant. That made the entire group distinctly matriarchal in bent.

  There were over forty in all, but the survivors rarely congregated in one place at the same time. They were typically split into smaller groups of four to six. Some hunted in the catacombs, looking for rats and other vermin, while others moved at the fringes of the wasteland, scavenging whatever they could to survive.

  And somehow, against all odds, they were making it.

  Okay, here goes nothing. Ash climbed down from the pile of rubble he’d been using to spy on the group who scavenged in the outskirts of the former commune of Bagnolet.

  In the demon days, anyone blundering about out at the edge did so at their own peril. Humans attacked humans for whatever supplies or valuables they had. Unspeakable acts had soaked the soil with blood and bile. This was still considered to be a no-man’s land. Only thieves and killers lived here.

  Can’t come off as one of those. Ash waited until his quarry was around the corner of a burned-out building before running out at a jog.

  They stared and started, but not as badly as he. His eyes widened, and his mouth parted in feigned terror. Pivoting on his heel, Ash ran a few steps,
tripping over his own feet and face planting into the dirt with a loud thud.

  Scrambling, he turned again as if afraid to keep his back to a potential threat.

  The others had begun to run away, too, but when one of them saw him fall, he turned back. It was a teenage boy—Theo Faure if his guess was right. He stared at Ash as the others ran.

  Ash held out his hand, palm out defensively. “I don’t want trouble,” he called out. “I’m just looking for someone.”

  He thought the boy wasn’t going to answer, but the youth’s curiosity got the best of him. “Who are you looking for?”

  Slowly, Ash got to his feet. He dusted himself off, careful to keep the movements slow and unthreatening. As an angel, he could never look as emaciated as a human even when starved. Here the appearance of being well-fed and fit was a mark against him.

  Once he was sure the boy wouldn’t run, he pulled out a sketch. He’d made it himself. The rough picture was of an average-looking young woman. “This is my sister, Helena. She was at work in the canning factory, but disappeared a few days ago. It was just before the glassworks had a meltdown. I’m…worried about her. She has brown eyes and hair my color,” he said, pulling his hood back to reveal his head before drawing a line at his shoulders. “She’s this tall. Have you seen her?”

  The boy’s head drew back as if he were thinking, but he was eyeing the bulging muscles on Ash’s forearms.

  Ash could see the youth’s suspicion, but also concern and sympathy. The latter was the sentiment he needed to exploit—carefully. Someone in his position didn’t come right out and admit they had a relative who was a Firehorse. That would only put a target on their loved one’s back, and their own by extension.

  The boy knew that. He was wary. Though this area was not as dangerous under Ash’s rule as before, traps were still common enough. The kid would be a fool to take him at his word. Ash needed to prove himself trustworthy.

  “Look, I don’t know if you’ve seen her, but if she’s anywhere, it’s here at the fringe.” He kept his hands up, palms out, to demonstrate his weapon-less state.

  The boy shook his head. “I don’t think she’s out here, man.”

  Ash took a shaky breath. “Maybe she is, and you just haven’t run into her yet.” He paused, trying to figure out how to convey his honest desperation. The sentiment was real—it just wasn’t about a missing relative. “I would like to give you something in case you find her.”

  He opened his knapsack and took out a few of the ration bars he’d packed, making sure the boy saw the rest. Made with oats, cereals, wild nuts, and honey, the bars were a highly sought-after source of nutrition. Packed in dried maize husks, they could last for almost a year if stored properly.

  After fastening the sketch to the bars with a string from his pack, Ash held them out. “I realize you’re going to eat these instead of her, and it’s all right. But if you see my sister, maybe you can help her out if she needs it. It would only be long enough for me to get to her. I would owe you a favor then—a big one.”

  The boy shuffled his feet, maintaining his distance, but still taking what was offered. But he couldn’t mask the calculating expression on his face as he weighed the bars in his hand. “Can you get more of these?”

  “I can,” Ash said. “I used to haul grain at the factory that made those. The foreman promised to hold my job because I can haul the most bags at once…I have almost a case hidden at home. It’s how he paid me when he couldn’t afford my wages. I can bring them, but only if you pass along my message and sketch to others out here. The more people willing to help my sister, the better.”

  The boy appeared to think about it. Then he offered his hand, careful to tuck the ration bars into his pocket first.

  Ash clasped the teen’s hand and shook. “My name is Ash.”

  “I’m Theo,” the boy said, withdrawing.

  It is him. Another confirmed Firehorse—alive and well. Ash hid his excitement, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything that might betray the storm of emotion roiling in his breast.

  The boy glanced over his shoulder. None of his compatriots were in sight, but Ash knew they hadn’t gone far. He could feel their eyes on him. They were hiding behind the ruined cars, watching and waiting.

  “Thank you,” he replied, his gratitude genuine. “I’m sleeping in that building over there while I search this area, but will move on in a couple of days.”

  Theo nodded. “I’ll pass the word along, but you may want to rethink keeping that food on you. People around here kill for less.”

  That was part of the plan, but Ash nodded anyway. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Later that night, Ash threw together a makeshift shelter in the corner of the empty ruin he’d pointed out to Theo and settled down to wait. After night fell, three people approached, climbing the stairs.

  They are making enough of a racket to wake the dead.

  It wasn’t the smooth operation it would have been under his command, but hey—humans. He suppressed a sigh and rolled over, giving his back to the trio.

  At least they didn’t hesitate when they saw his vulnerable position. One of the men came at him with a piece of a broken pipe. A second carried a piece of timber. Ash could tell what their weapons were when they struck his body.

  Covering his head with his hands, he rolled to see one man rear back to bring the pipe down on Ash’s shoulder. The other landed a lucky hit with his wooden bat. While a blow from a human was nowhere near as painful as one from a demon, the strikes still hurt. He fought to keep his warrior instincts from reacting, letting let them get two or three more good blows before spinning forward and putting his hands up.

  Once on his feet, Ash feinted right and threw himself left, avoiding a hard blow that would have broken the ribs of a human. Reacting a beat slower than his inclination, he threw his gear pack at one of the attackers hard enough to make them lose their breath. The last man, who had stood by and watched throughout, snaked forward to grab the bag. Only it wasn’t a man at all. It was a little girl of about nine or ten. Hugging the pack to her skinny chest, she ran out of the room.

  Damn it. If he wanted to pass as a desperate human, he needed to go after the bag, but what if the little girl hurt herself trying to get away from him? With a growl, Ash shrugged off another hit from the first attacker, whipping out his hand to knock the weapon out of the man’s grip. Then he rushed the second man, giving him a little shove to clear a path to the stairs.

  Ash ran down two before intentionally tripping over his own feet. He cried out as he tumbled down the flight of stairs. A broken step at the bottom added the finishing touch, a jagged shard of wood impaling his side. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it bled—or at least it did once he shoved the six-inch splinter in hard enough to break his preternaturally tough skin.

  Picking himself up with bloody hands, he limped across the floor, making it down into the open area in front of the building before collapsing.

  9

  Ash peeked out from beneath his lashes to where Theo and the crone named Sij were arguing about whether to help him. Each was pleading their case to their leader Kara.

  That was his mystery girl’s name. Kara. And she was even more intriguing up close. Not that he’d been able to take a good look, pretending to be half-conscious the way he was. But the few glimpses he’d snuck had been so intriguing he regretted feigning an injury. If he’d chosen some other tack, he could be on his feet talking to her now.

  Of course, those other options might not have worked. His gut had told him this was the tactic with the greatest chance of success. And he’d been right. A few minutes after his attackers had run away, Theo had come back with Kara, Sij, and two other men.

  “I’m so sorry about this.” A near-tearful Theo knelt in front of him. “I told our people about your ration bars. Some of them wanted to come and take them, but Kara told them not to. They disobeyed, but they didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  I knew it! A
sh was triumphant. He hadn’t lost his touch. His assessment of Theo’s character had been spot on. Even the hapless thieves hadn’t seemed evil, just desperate. Apparently, Kara didn’t surround herself with bad people.

  He’d murmured something suitably indistinct to Theo, keeping a hand over his bloody wound so no one would notice it was almost closed. As soon as the others began to argue about him, he reached under his shirt and reopened it again with a hard yank.

  “We should dump him in the desert,” the old crone argued when he let his head droop as if he’d fallen unconscious. “Look at the size of him. He’ll snap our necks in our sleep.”

  “He’s injured,” Theo protested. “And it’s our fault. We need to help him. You never know; he might even be able to help us when he gets better. He’s so big and strong. He could help defend us when the raiders attack.”

  Raiders? What raiders?

  There was a soft snort. “We haven’t seen any raiders in over seven weeks. They’re probably all dead. Not that this man would be of much use. If Saul and Gaspard were able to do this to him, a raider would tear him apart.”

  Ouch. For some reason, Kara’s judgment stung. He peeked, trying to get another glimpse of her face. She was standing with Theo and Sij just a few feet in front of him. He thought he read reluctance in her expression, but her voice was too low to be sure.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kara was done hearing arguments. She approached and knelt in front of him. The hard planes of her face were chiseled, carved out by life in the fringe, but her lips were still soft and full.

  I want to kiss them.

  Ash blinked in confusion as that unbidden thought ran through his head. Despite spending over a millennium on earth, he’d never felt desire so strong. It was bewildering, which perhaps was fortunate timing because Kara’s face softened as if she’d been undecided. His temporary disorientation had worked in his favor.