Lesser Gods

by Adrian Howell

  Suddenly Randal Divine was no longer a calm and collected man. His eyes widened in fear as he looked down at me, perhaps wondering why I hadn’t killed him yet.

  The metal pistol was draining my strength, but I refused to let it show as I pushed Randal back out into the passage. Then I jumped back, putting some space between us but keeping the pistol leveled on his chest.

  “I should kill you,” I said through clenched teeth. “You’d deserve it.”

  “I’m all she has, you know,” said Randal, his eyes darting between my face and the pistol in my hands.

  “I know that,” I replied, breathing heavily. “Something’s happening upstairs that you don’t want to be a part of. Get my sister to safety.”

  Randal Divine didn’t move.

  I shouted, “Go now! Before I change my mind! Pray you don’t see me again.”

  The Angel who had become Cat’s father took one deep breath, nodded curtly to me, and then turned around and ran back down the passage. Throwing down the pistol, I ran in the other direction. I heard more explosions from above, and the faint sounds of gunfire too.

  I didn’t have a clue as to the layout of these underground tunnels, but I still knew which direction I wanted to go. The Guardian side of the factory was ahead of me. I’d just keep going until I found some stairs to get me out.

  I soon came to a place where the tunnel continued but the lights did not. There was a staircase set into the side of the passage here, leading up. I guessed that I was still on the Angel side, but pretty near the arena. I could either keep going down the pitch-black passage, feeling my way along in the dark, or I could go up the stairs and possibly walk into a firefight.

  I decided to try the stairs. Even though I could have felt my way along the dark tunnel to a safer place to surface, I feared it would take too long. I wanted to rejoin the Guardians as quickly as possible. If the Guardians retreated, I didn’t want to be left behind.

  As I climbed the stairs, I could hear the gunshots more clearly. I could also smell smoke mixed with a powerful odor of something rotten. There was a heavy steel door at the top of the stairs. I turned the knob and pulled hard. The door creaked open, and suddenly I was engulfed in thick smoke that stung my eyes, forcing me to shut them tightly. My throat burned, and I began to cough uncontrollably.

  Mr. Watson had warned me about CS gas, but I never imagined that it would be this horrible. Tears streaming from my eyes, I slammed the door shut and stumbled back down the steps. I collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, my heart racing as I tried to expel the poison from my lungs.

  Once I could breathe again, I stood and, wiping my damp eyes and running nose, I stepped into the dark path that would hopefully lead me back to the Guardian side of the factory. Once more into the darkness.

  There was no time to do this carefully. With my right hand on the wall, I jogged down the passage, expecting at any moment to trip over something or crash into a wall. And I did several times: There were sudden turns in the tunnel and several large obstacles on the ground. But each time I fell, I picked myself up quickly and kept going. And miraculously, none of my falls had caused me to bleed yet.

  Another turn, and suddenly I could see a light ahead of me. I was pretty sure that I was under the Guardian side of the building by now. Was there an exit? A window? Stairs?

  It was a flashlight. I reached down to pick it up, and then jumped in surprise as I saw the hand holding it. Prying the light out of the dead man’s fingers, I shined it on the corpse, which was lying face up and staring back at me with wide, unseeing eyes.

  It was Jack Forsyth, one of Mr. Simms’s bodyguards with whom I had traveled on our way to the Holy Land. There were burns all over his clothes and body, and there was a small hole in his neck that might have been caused by a bullet or a focused telekinetic blast.

  I saw another dead body next to him, and then another. I didn’t recognize them, but I wondered if some of my previous stumbles and falls had been over other corpses. The battle wasn’t just upstairs. It was down here too.

  The sound of another explosion from above snapped me back into focus. I had to keep going. Fortunately, the flashlight handle was made of plastic, so it didn’t drain me. Shining the light ahead of me, I stepped over the bodies and kept going.

  Turning a corner, my light found yet another corpse on the ground, but I paid little attention to it until, when I tried to step over it, a hand grabbed my left ankle.

  Yelping in surprise, I dropped the flashlight and fell to my knees. Kicking my leg free of the hand, I scrambled forward and snatched up the flashlight again. Still shaking from the shock, I shined the light onto the face of the man who had grabbed me.

  “Mr. Simms?!” I exclaimed, almost dropping my flashlight again.

  “Adrian!” Mr. Simms exclaimed hoarsely. “Goddamn it, you’re alive!”

  “What’s going on?” I asked him dazedly.

  “Damned if I know,” said Mr. Simms, breathing heavily. “My whole unit’s just a diversion. We were supposed to keep the Seraphim busy on the ground floor. The Lancers are going for Divine. We had to fall back. They had controllers.”

  I noticed that Mr. Simms’s right leg was bent in a way that was anatomically impossible.

  Mr. Simms grinned, saying, “The bastards followed us down, but we got them! They’re dead.”

  “Where’s the rest of your team?” I asked.

  “Most are probably still fighting upstairs. Jack P took half of the unit to the west side. See if you can find Jack F, Adrian. He should be close. Decker was with us too, but I think she was killed farther back down the tunnel. Find Jack F! My radio’s busted.”

  “Jack F is dead, Mr. Simms,” I told him. “How do we get out of here?”

  “Another eighty yards or so, I think. This tunnel runs to the end of the building. I wasn’t sure I could crawl it by myself, though. Got my leg blasted out from under me, see?” Mr. Simms grimaced. “A damn telekinetic. My knee’s broken. Help me up. You can levitate me.”

  Yes, I could levitate him.

  But I didn’t.

  I killed my own son. Do you have any idea what that feels like?

  Mr. Simms looked up at me. “Hurry, Adrian! We can get out of here together.”

  I stared silently down at his face.

  When I was little, every day was pain. They did things to me. They hurt me.

  Mr. Simms shouted, “Adrian! We don’t have time! We’re all pulling out as soon as the Lancers make their kill.”

  You see? Cathy is an Angel through and through.

  Something snapped inside. Call it anger, frustration, grief, hatred... If I hadn’t just lost my chance to bring Cat back from the Angels, I might have been in a more forgiving mood. I might have taken pity on Mr. Simms, wounded and alone in this dark tunnel. I might have helped him, as undeserving as he was. But after all that I had just witnessed today, and all that had happened during and after the time I spent in the basement of Father Lestor’s house...

  Some wounds run too deep to heal, and I can no more help being what I am than you can help being what you are.

  “Come on, Adrian!” said Mr. Simms. “Lift me up! Save me and you can still be a hero.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Simms,” I said quietly, taking a step back, “but I am no hero, and I think you’re beyond saving.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? It’s just a broken leg, damn it!”

  “I’m talking about how you once led the Sky Guardians to rape and burn a six-year-old girl.”

  “What? Sky Guardians?” sputtered Mr. Simms. “You’re talking about Slayers at a time like this?! You know what the Slayers are like! We saved you from them!”

  “And I’m grateful for that, Mr. Simms,” I said evenly. “But it’s true, isn’t it? You killed Grace.”

  “This is a war, Adrian!” Mr. Simms shouted furiously. “A goddamn war! When I led the Sky Guardians against the Slayers, we always killed the children! If we didn’t, they’d grow up and w
e’d have to kill them anyway! Better to put them out of their misery while they’re young.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Simms,” I said, pointing my right index finger at him.

  His eyes fixed on the tip of my finger, Mr. Simms asked in shock, “You’re serious?!”

  I didn’t reply, my concentration focused on the telekinetic blast I was readying.

  Mr. Simms said quietly, “I told you once before, Adrian, that pity is a poor excuse to go to war.”

  “Nevertheless,” I replied, looking down into his bloodshot eyes, “war is where I am, and it is not you that I pity.”

  I released my blast, putting a hole through Mr. Simms’s right elbow. The Sky Guardian howled in pain.

  “You’re not coming back with us, Mr. Simms,” I said over his curses. “You’re not going to crawl your way out of this one. You’re drained and underground. Not even the Angels will find you here. I hope you die slowly. Very slowly.”

  I turned and ran. Mr. Simms roared out my name once, and then was silent.

  Flashlight in hand, I reached the end of the tunnel easily enough. But when I tried the steel door at the top of the stairs, I found it locked.

  I could still hear gunfire and an occasional explosion, but that didn’t stop me from pounding my fists on the door and calling for help at the top of my lungs. “Open the door! Someone open this door!”

  Suddenly a female voice shouted from the other side, “Identify yourself!”

  “Adrian!” I shouted. “I mean Hansel! It’s me! Let me out!”

  I heard a click. The door opened, and I found myself looking into the face of Ms. Jodie Decker.

  “I thought you were dead!” we exclaimed at the same time.

  Stepping through the doorway, I said, “I thought you were with Mr. Simms.”

  “We got separated, Hansel,” said Ms. Decker. “Did you see him? Did you see Swoop in the tunnel?”

  I hesitated for but a microsecond before I answered, “Yes. There’s a bunch of Ravens down in the tunnel. But they’re all dead. Mr. Simms too. And Jack F.”

  “Cookie ordered a general retreat,” said Ms. Decker. “I don’t know if we have time to collect the bodies. How far down are they?”

  “Far,” I said, “and I think there’re some Angels coming through this way.”

  “Alright, forget it, Hansel,” said Ms. Decker, locking the door.

  And that was it for the last Sky Guardian, or so I thought at the time.

  “Where’s Alia and Laila?” I asked. “Where’s Terry?”

  Ms. Decker shook her head. “I’m not sure. I saw Rabbit a moment ago, but most of the witnesses and VIPs are already gone. I’ll get you out myself.”

  “I’ve got to go check our room!”

  “No!” said Ms. Decker. “You’ve got to get going right now! We’re pulling out!”

  Ms. Decker tried to grab my hand, but I sidestepped her and sprinted down the corridor. There were other Knights running in both directions, but no one stopped me. In less than five seconds, I was through the main factory entrance and running toward the Guardians’ motorhome barrier.

  The air reeked of CS gas, but it wasn’t concentrated enough here to slow me down. As I levitated myself over the barrier, I saw what Ms. Decker had been talking about. Most of the cars behind the motorhomes were gone. Cindy’s sedan was gone too, but Laila’s small camper was still parked. I sprinted up to it and banged on the door, but there was no answer.

  “Adrian!”

  Turning toward the voice, I saw Terry rushing up to me. Her clothes were covered in what appeared to be dried blood, and she had several long scars on her right arm, but otherwise she looked okay. Alia had done her job well.

  Steadying her breath, Terry asked hesitantly, “Did you find your sister?”

  “Yes, but she’s not coming,” I said quickly.

  Terry nodded. “At least you made it back alive.”

  “Just barely,” I replied. “Where is everyone?”

  “Retreating, of course!” said Terry. “The Lancers said they couldn’t find you on the far side of the factory. I’m not sure, but I think they killed the queen!”

  “I mean where are Alia and Laila?!”

  “Alia’s already gone. I got one of the Lancers to drive her out in Cindy’s car. I had to hit her pretty hard, though. She refused to leave without you.”

  “And Laila?” I asked anxiously.

  “I’m not sure,” said Terry, shaking her head. “I didn’t see her after my fight. I think she already left too.”

  “Her camper’s still here!”

  “Her camper’s too slow, Adrian! We’re ditching all the motorhomes. Come on, we’re running out of cars.”

  “I’m not leaving till I’m sure, Terry!”

  “I thought you’d say that,” said Terry, and then pointed her hook toward the factory building. “Look over there.”

  I turned my head. The next instant, there was a blinding flash of light behind my eyes, and then everything went dark.

  Chapter 18: The Dawn of a New Age

  Cat’s eighth birthday party ended without any major injuries, and we sent the last of the kids home by 6pm. I helped Dad clean up the living room while Mom tackled the kitchen, conscripting Cat to assist her with the dishes.

  “Tired, Adrian?” asked Dad as I listlessly picked up scraps of wrapping paper from the floor.

  I smiled weakly. “Let’s stop having birthdays at home.”

  Dad nodded. “Agreed. Next time we’ll rent a tar pit or something.”

  We laughed, and then Dad said, “Thanks for being such a good sport today, Adrian. I never thought a group of second-grade girls could be so rowdy.”

  “They’re Cat’s friends, Dad. What did you expect? As long as Cat had fun, it’s fine. It was her party, after all.”

  Dad smiled. “It’s amazing how you two get along, Adrian. When I was your age, your uncle and I used to fight all the time. Even at parties.”

  I shrugged. “Cat and I fight sometimes.”

  “Yeah, but there’s never any blood on the carpet.”

  I heard Mom call from the kitchen, “Addy!”

  “I really wish she’d stop calling me that,” I grumbled. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

  Dad chuckled, saying, “As far as mothers are concerned, we’re always their little kids.”

  “Addy!”

  “Coming!” I called back. “Just a minute!”

  Then I looked at Dad in dismay. “Always?”

  “Always,” confirmed Dad. “Your grandmother still treats me like I’m four years old.”

  I made a face, and Dad laughed. “Hey, what’s in a name, anyway? Your mother knows you’re grown up. You help around the house. You watch over your sister. You’re a better kid than I ever was.”

  I could never quite picture my father as a child. What was it like to have a brother instead of a sister? It was probably more fun, even with the fights. Oh well, no one chooses how they’re born.

  I asked hesitantly, “Dad, do you think I’ll be like you when I grow up?”

  “Not if your mother has a say in it,” said Dad, grinning widely. “Why? Did you want to?”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” I mumbled.

  Dad laughed, and I looked away, embarrassed. Mom was straight as a ruler, but Dad usually made being an adult seem like fun.

  “Addy!” Mom called again.

  “I’m coming!”

  “Addy, wake up. Cindy’s home.”

  I opened my eyes halfway and looked up at Alia, who was standing beside my bed and peering down at me. Then I looked over at my bedside clock: 6pm. I had been alone, lying on my bed since noon, and I must have fallen asleep. I groggily sat up and, my head still spinning, stared blankly at Alia.

  It was the day after Laila’s funeral. We had been back in New Haven for just under a week. Mark Parnell had conducted the funeral service himself, but there was no body to bury.

  When the Lancer Knights reported t
hat they couldn’t locate me and were pulling out, Laila had run into the factory to beg help from the Ravens. Mrs. Brown chased Laila into the building, and just after they met up with Jack Pearson, there was an explosion. Jack P, who was also injured in the blast, reported that both Laila and her mother died instantly.

  When Terry first told me, for a while, it was all I could do to just keep breathing. Laila had been Terry’s best friend, and one of Alia’s only friends. Terry didn’t often cry, but that day she did. That day, we all did.

  And yesterday, I sat with Terry, Alia and Cindy in Mark’s church for the joint mother-daughter funeral. Guardian dignitaries were invited to talk about how special Mrs. Brown had been. A third generation non-psionic Guardian. A distinguished, honorable member of the Council. Someone who would be missed by all who knew her. Mr. Baker himself talked at length about dedication and self-sacrifice, and how Mrs. Brown and her daughter had not died in vain. But I knew better. They died because of me.

  Mark had offered to let me say some words for Laila, but I declined. I couldn’t bring myself to stand there and talk about her. Terry shook her head too.

  But Alia stood.

  “Laila was a great friend to all of us,” she said aloud. “She was someone I could talk to.”

  Throughout the entire service, I didn’t cry even once. I felt too hollow to cry.

  “Addy?” said Alia, peering hesitantly into my face. “I said Cindy’s home.”

  “I heard you, Alia,” I whispered back, but I didn’t stand up.

  I knew Cindy had been friends with Mrs. Brown, and I knew that I wasn’t the only one in this house that was mourning. I felt guilty about not making a greater effort to remain composed when everyone felt the same loss. After all, Terry had known Laila since long before I met either of them, and Alia had been very close to Laila too. But Laila and I had been more than friends. Much more.