This memory isn’t as scary as some I could think of—I ran from Protection agents before. Screw it, I think. I figure I’ll just do the same thing I did then. One thing about a memory is that like, I already know what’s going to happen.
I see it ahead—the exit’s coming up. And I duck into the garbage alley between two tall scrapers. That’s how I tricked them the last time. Nobody wants to look inside a Protection body-bin. You never know who you might recognize in there. Better not to know. Just pretend they never existed. How did this happen?
“…King!” I barely hear the voice finishing up shouting my name. It catches me totally off guard, and then comes the part where he tries to arrest me. “…hereby remanded to Protection.”
I look at him and I’m all wide-eyed and shit. He’s got a black helmet, goggles, little submachine gun, black boots like they all wear. Where did he come from? And how does he know my…? “Remanded to Protection?” Who is he kidding? Liar. He doesn’t even know he’s lying, because he’s been brain-scrubbed to believe anything they tell him. Protection rookies…
Probably the last thing my dear daddy gave me that didn’t hurt… Before he—when I still believed in him. “Mercedes,” he said to me, “if anyone ever tells you that you are ‘remanded to Protection,’ you run.” I guess he would know.
However the sick bastard knew to tell me that, his advice saved me and my friends’ more than once. But today, I run right into one of the very agents I’m running from—brain-scrubbed little boy with bullets—black-booted rapist PA. Kinda cute though, and I think about trying to fuck my way out of this alley.
I must be older now, because I didn’t start thinking that way until … after. But I don’t think it very long—smoking Salvation, I’m not a slut!
And before he can figure out that I’m not just some fifteen-year-old Bravo Mike jacker that he can snatch up and hand over to his Protection bosses, I fake like I slip, and then I slide backward on my back—between his legs—and just as my waist gets even with him, I kick him as hard as I can in the sack.
He goes down, clutching at himself. And none of them ever like that. By the time he crawls to his hands and knees and starts vomiting, I jump up, roll toward him, and bring the heel of my freshly jacked Betty-boot down on his lower back.
He screams in pain, and then he pushes off the ground and up to his knees.
Bravo Mike? Oh yeah, newbies. Sorry, I know you gotta play catch-up. Just don’t take too long about it, because your granddaddy Jump is a miserable devil—no patience for anyone who can’t keep up. Fall behind-left behind. Welcome to your new hell.
The Black Market—“Bravo Mike,” so we could all pretend it didn’t exist. And before you ask, “Betty-boots” are what Protection issues the chicks—what we all called them anyway. There’s not many of them—chick rookies, I mean. There’s plenty of Protection. Too many.
But no matter how many bastards or how few bitches Protection has, it’s totally illegal for a citizen to have their boots. Normal citizen, anyways. For me, it hardly matters.
Don’t fool yourself—you get kicked with a Betty, archangel or Man-monkey, that shit hurts. Huh? Of course I could buy them—I wasn’t some bread-begging citizen—but what fun is that? We used to jack them—other stuff, too—at the Mike when we were bored.
Enough already, pay attention, no more questions for a while. Quit squawking at me! You might learn something.
I look down at the Protection agent’s soon to be dead body and I frown a little. Before, this would have freaked me out, but that was a long, long time ago. I’m not even supposed to think about back then, anyways. What’s he doing alone? I think.
And before this PA can decide whether he should hold onto his balls or grab his pistol, I spring at him, grab him by his goggles, whip his head back with them, and give him two open-hand knife chops to his Adam’s apple.
And I feel it like, crunch on the second one, and he grabs his throat and spits blood and he’s choking when he goes to the ground. And I jump on top of him and gouge him in the eyes—thumbs all the way in like Jump taught me.
He tries to scream, but nothing comes out, just a little bubble of blood. And then he rolls onto his side, dead. And I wipe my thumbs on my pants.
What? Well, what did you expect? Seven years of Martial Law classes. The last two of them getting the shit kicked out of me by my instructor. You know what it feels like to get kicked in the tits? Of course you don’t, wicked little… Half of you maybe, but none of you other little purgatories.
Here’s another little lesson I learned from Jump—mercy is for maggots. Maggot food anyways, because that’s what you’ll be if you don’t learn this one. Old Jesus, I sound just like him. Dammit!
How did I get like this? I got like this because—I thought I said no more questions! Look, I was trying to take you back—start you at the beginning—but something’s wrong with my resurrection. Oh … those evil…!
Mercedes, I think, you stupid bitch. You should know better. Jump is gonna be pissed.
— LXXIII —
IF THERE WAS one thing Jump—the Great Dragon archangel of Judgment—knew after living in the shithole that Life and Lived used to call humanity, if he waited long enough, something was bound to get screwed up. And if it wasn’t by him, then it would be at the hands of some other numb-nut … or “nookie” if he decided to go all sarcastic-technical on someone.
This particular nookie was becoming a pain in his ass. Really, Fury had always been that way, but some days were more uncomfortable than others.
Jump sat by the fiery lake with his head in his hands, running his fingers through the steel pinfeathers on his scalp, rubbing and massaging his mind to try and calm himself down. It worked better when Salvation did it. But his sweet savior liked to watch the games in the arena until the bitter end, and after a thousand… He had lost track of how many years they had ruled over Hell in this new eternity.
Jump spread his huge wings and shook his steel feathers. A fine mist of blood floated to the ground. He paid no attention to the remnants of the night’s judgments. It was a habit by now, like a seahawk shaking water off its back after returning from scooping up a fish.
Most nights, before the last souls were judged, Jump flapped his way out through their personal portal to his own private hell—back to the warmth and solitude of his fiery lake beneath the dungeons. Once, when Fury brought him in to help prepare the new purgatories for their part in the judgments, he had smiled at them—Jump had a particular grin that spoke of wickedness beyond what he now ruled over in Hell—then he told the little hatchlings, “Once you’ve gutted a god, the judgments lose their … glory.”
Now, he waited and listened until the noise from the crowd in the arena died down. And right on time—a few minutes later—though time was relative when he was waiting for his sweet Salvation to fly back from a party… So when Salvation finally appeared next to the lake, Jump stood up quickly, spread his wings as wide as they would go, and cawed angrily at her, “She’s at it again!”
At the end of the last eternity—during the great cleansing of the garden—Salvation had been content to take a backseat to Jump’s judgments. But after Rain took power, her new role had nothing to do with being a passenger on her husband’s “rage train” outbursts. Sweet, nice, balanced and beautiful Salvation or not, there were times when she just wanted to reach out and choke him.
Salvation spread her own great gray wings, flapped them a couple of times, and then mirrored Jump’s wings-wide stance. Then she frowned at him. “Rain almighty, what is it today?” she asked. “Seriously, you are mad every day. You need to give her a little breathing roo—”
“Not this time,” Jump said. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. They should’ve made you a mockingbird, or a parrot, or something. Squawk, squawk, squawk. Don’t even—this is real shit, right here.”
Salvation folded her wings behind her. Then she crisscrossed her ballistic fire-feathers to create
the shield on her back. The shield was protection against attack from behind. And every angel in the new Heaven and the “new and improved” Hell learned how to use theirs first. Salvation’s feathers fit together tightly, and the burned-in warmark of the Great Dragon—Jump—shimmered black and gray on her back.
Salvation stared at Jump, crossed her arms, and puffed out all of her body feathers—another one of Rain’s new “commandments.”
Secretly, Salvation was glad that her daughter had the good sense to require that all the angels in Heaven and Hell leave their armored plumage out in public. Soul safety, golden guardian, not to mention avenging archangels, flying around throughout Rain’s eternity, trying to deliver the justice and judgments of the new Words … naked, no less? That would not do.
For a thirteen-year-old turned protecting-god ruler, there would be no naked commune of angels flying through Heaven. Rain had made that crystal clear—the purgatories didn’t need distractions like that.
Salvation wondered how the last two rulers ever got anything done. It was a miracle that it took two thousand years for their eternity to fall. She had no idea it had been much longer than that.
“Don’t puff your plumage at me,” Jump raised his voice at his wife. “I told her not to take those little shits out before they were fully fledged. Now she’s… Who knows where she’s got them off to. I swear to—”
“Careful,” Salvation said, “you know how your daughter feels about cursing … and hypocrisy.”
“Hypocrisy? Who you calling a hypocrite?”
“Listen to yourself,” Salvation said. “Did you ever do what anyone told you to? You don’t even listen to me, and that’s supposed to be the law. Your daughter’s law, by the way.”
Jump stared blankly at his “better” half. He knew it was coming.
“Yeah,” said Salvation, “let me help you out. The answer is no. That’s why Fury makes you so nuts, and that’s why you love her—she’s just like you. Angry at the world for half your life, trying to burn it down for the other. You’re lucky I don’t tell—”
“Oh,” Jump said, cocking his head and scrunching up his face, “so now you’re a rat?” He smiled—he did love Fury for the angry, vengeful archangel that she was. He loved the banter with his wife even more.
“I’ll rat you,” Salvation said. “And don’t even think about threatening me with that ‘angels and demons’ crap again either.”
Jump knew his wife was no rat, and he also knew that there were some discussions that she would never have with their only daughter turned benevolent—if still a bit naive—Protector of the two Heavens. He had threatened Salvation that he would have the little “birds and the bees,” angel procreation conversation with Rain. He knew “the talk” was way overdue, but he kept putting it off—it was a great chip to play if he wanted to end a spirited debate with his wife. Regardless, he looked forward to their “discussions.” Salvation’s anger kept things fiery hot, just the way he liked it.
Salvation could see another one of her man’s pointless rants coming. She could also see that, though he was probably overreacting, Fury was missing … and so were the wicked little hatchlings that the girl was charged with training.
But Salvation had witnessed Fury in action during the cleansing of the garden at the end of the last eternity. Dubai … and Old Vegas … and then there was the Battle of the Books. Wherever she was, Fury would be fine. Besides… Salvation looked around the shores of the great lake of fire. “Where would she go?” she asked herself more than Jump.
“I’ll tell you where she went,” said Jump. He was starting to boil now, and for a dark soul turned angry leader of unruly angels in Hell, the boredom of this next eternity had him itching for somewhere to point his poison. “She’s off flying them around the mountain again, showing off her wings.”
“You blame her?” Salvation said. “Little girl is blazing fast. Faster than me, faster than—”
“Don’t say it.”
Salvation smiled back at him. Her man needed a little humility. “Way faster than you.”
“Oh, to hell with this,” Jump said. “Are you coming with me to find her, or not?”
Salvation looked around again. Most of the angels of the second Heaven… Hell had duties that kept the fully-faithed angels away from the lake at night, and without the new ones, things were quiet. It felt eerie to her, even for Hell. A pack of adolescent angels, flying around with a furious, fully-fledged, fallen archangel leading them? That was unpredictable and dangerous. “You don’t want to wait a little,” Salvation stated more than asked. “See if they show back up?”
Jump frowned. “You know better.”
They both flexed their wings, pushed out all of their armored feathers, and threw their heads back a little, before cawing in their own special code. One thing they both knew—never ever leave the lake unless you were prepared for battle. Jump brought that with him from his time with Protection.
When they were both satisfied that their armor shields, ballistic fire-feathers and long, hooked talons were ready, they turned toward their private portal—the doorway to the darkness outside and the base of the Great Mountain of the Eternities.
When they turned around, they were greeted by the brightest light in Heaven or Hell, shining truth into every wicked crevice of their dark lake of fire and lies.
“Dammit…” but it wasn’t Jump who muttered it and Salvation stared, searching for the words. “We … we were just coming to—”
— LXXIV —
“COMING TO VISIT me, Mother?” said Rain. And she shined the bright of her truth—the law of this eternity—brighter than she ever had. “How nice.”
Jump squinted and reached for his sunshields. “God-goggles,” all the hounds in Hell liked to call them. From the warm safety of the lake, of course, because using that word was the new blasphemy. “Shit…” he muttered.
Salvation flitted one of her wings a little and bumped it against Jump’s side and he stumbled. Then she reached for her own sunshields—no one could withstand the blinding truth of the innocence of youth that Rain almighty brought to the Throne of Judgment.
Their daughter floated past the two of them as if they weren’t even there, out to the edge of the burning lake. Then she stared out across the great burning waters, fluttering and hovering with her back to them. “I see that the great lake is having no luck in watering down my father’s wicked tongue.” She paused and turned her head just enough that they could both see her lips when she continued to speak. “It is a difficult task, even I must admit, but one that I am sure you agree is in desperate need of doing. A duty that I believe I asked you to assist me in accomplishing … Mother.”
Neither of them could picture Rain as anything but the little girl they had lost to the State Med-mart during the last eternity, but for barely a teenager in their minds, she was remarkably condescending.
It was tough for any parent to watch their child grow up, but Rain had grown … beyond. Beyond the pettiness of the last eternity in the garden, beyond the violence and the thieving, and the viciousness of her predecessor, Life’s, Man-monkey souls.
Rain surpassed all in power and restraint, and she had far outlived the “adorability” phase of her father’s nasty disposition. She knew that Jump, however, had not outlived his surliness.
“The only thing I’m in desperate need of, little girl,” Jump said, “is a good—”
“What he’s trying to say,” Salvation interrupted, “is that it’s been a long time since you have visited us. And we are so pleased that you are here.”
Rain continued to hover at the edge of the lake. Her snow white feathers, shined and glowed hot light, illuminating the lake like the Med-mart operating room that she had died in. “Yes, it’s been quite a long time,” she said. “Yet that is largely because I do not like it down here. Too hard to sort the truth out from the … untruths that were left here by your… I guess we all know that makes them my grandparents. How ironic is that ap
ple, Mother? The evil Chosen One and her deceitful Devil, grandparents of truth and justice. The eternities do have their own sense of irony, don’t they?”
Jump didn’t even look at Salvation before he said it. “Ain’t that a—” he caught himself. He knew that Rain had the power to end anyone, but he also knew what she did—he was the only thing between Heaven and Hell plunging into anarchy again. And no one wanted that to happen. Another war so soon after the last would be … “Unfortunate,” he muttered.
Rain turned around, and for a brief instant she had a look of surprise on her face. Even Salvation looked at Jump in silence—she couldn’t find the words.
Rain could. She said, “A”—she looked like she was searching for the correct word—“wiser choice was never spoken, especially by you, Jacob.”
And Jump’s face changed. There wasn’t an angel in the two Heavens that would risk speaking his Man-monkey name, Jake, much less address him the way his mother used to. Dream mother or not, and daughter-turned-god or not, no one called him that. “Now listen, you little—you must be—”
Salvation grabbed Jump’s arm. “You must be very tired,” she said to Rain. She squeezed his arm just enough as she spoke again, “And we know that it is uncomfortable for you down here, so how can we be of—how can we help?”
Rain looked at Salvation’s hand on her father’s forearm, and then at Jump’s face. She smiled at him and said, “The father was right. She really is your only salvation.” Then she looked at her mother and shook her head. “How do you do it?” she asked. “He is simply beyond redemption.”
Salvation smiled at who she now recognized as her innocent and benevolent, if not a bit mischievous, little girl. “Not beyond,” she said. “A long, long way away, but not beyond. And … I like a good challenge.”
“Challenge?” Rain almost laughed out loud. “He is just too much work. I should saint you.” And she giggled and held up both of her hands above her head forming a big “V” with her arms. Then she said, “Saint Salvation—tamer of the great profanity of Purgatory.”
TF- C - 00.00 - THE FALLEN Dark Fantasy Series: A Dark Dystopian Fantasy (Books 1 - 3) Page 28