Infinite

by Erica Crouch

  “I hope so,” Michael says.

  I come up and grab his hand. “You’ll be more than fine,” I say. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

  Kala overhears and claps her hands. “That reminds me…” She turns to the others in the room and raises her voice. “Dining hall has food!” she calls, overly excited. “Supply run raided a grocery store that wasn’t disgusting and had been left pretty much untouched. I hope you guys like cereal, soup, and beans!”

  “My three favorite food groups,” Eli mutters under his breath.

  Ana steps away from him. She’s sweaty, and the knot of her gold hair at the top of her head is fizzy and drooping. Somehow, she still manages to look breathtakingly beautiful. I have no idea what kind of magic she knows, but I must get her to teach me. What I wouldn’t give to look like that after a workout like this.

  “Everyone take a break and get something to eat,” she says. “There will be plenty of time to train later.”

  The rooms along the west wing empty and the hall clogs up as all the angels and demons training take the stairs to the main level. Michael and I branch off from the group that is following the south hallway to the dining hall, and instead, we decide to cut across the courtyard. The open space is less claustrophobic.

  The frigid wind slaps us in our faces, turns our cheeks and noses pink. There’s a crack of thunder, an undulation of dark clouds moving in. In the middle of the courtyard, the guardian angels who were supposed to work on a spell to protect Michael’s soul are giving basic first aid training. Their attentive students are sewing sutures into their pants for practice. We walk around the group and let them know that the dining hall is serving food. Almost immediately, they drop what they’re doing and rush toward the door to the east wing, the promise of food too great to pass up.

  Michael holds me back for a minute, and when the courtyard clears out, he pulls me into a kiss. His hands run up my sides, all the way to my cheeks, where they rest, soft and warm. Thunder barrels loud across the courtyard. Lightning strikes far in the distance, and it looks orange with my eyes closed.

  When he pulls back, I smile. “We are going to be okay. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He nods solemnly.

  I have to stand on my tiptoes for my lips to reach his jaw, and I take my time until I find his mouth with my own. We’re going to be more than okay.

  The atmosphere in the dining hall is just as cacophonous as it was in the training room, but it’s happier. Friendlier. There’s less tension when we’re gathered for food instead of weapons, like the small bowls they pass around are enough to distract from our current situation of waiting for war.

  Laughter and chatter take the places of swords and guns. It’s a nice change of pace. I’m getting used to having so many others around. I never thought I’d be so comfortable in a crowd.

  People wave to Michael and me as we pass, and we wave back. It’s almost like we have friends now, and I think that’s what sets this army apart from Azael’s—the relationships of those fighting here extend beyond the battlefield. There are friends; there are lovers. Loyalty is a much stronger bond when there’s more substance than the threat of death. Respect combined with friendship makes a big difference.

  Kala’s beaten us here. She’s already sitting at a table with a spread of food in front of her, and she waves us over. I don’t see Ana sitting with her, but Kala is still surrounded by others. There’s a certain magnetism about her that draws people to her—whether they’re friends or strangers. They want to hear her stories, her jokes. She’s a bright light in the middle of a gray night, a lone firefly in a darkening world. Everyone can see her, everyone wants to be near her, and everyone wants to protect her.

  I swing my leg over the bench and sit down in front of a bowl of colorful circles and milk that starts to change colors with the sugar.

  “I got you guys some cereal,” Kala says, indicating the bowls in front of us. There are six or seven more across from us, and she nods to them, speaking with her mouth full. “One of each. Don’t know what kind you like.”

  “Me neither,” I say. “I’ve never eaten cereal before.”

  “Neither have I,” says Michael.

  Kala stares at us like we’ve egregiously offended her. With a roll of my eyes, I dig in, spooning a heap of the rainbow food to my mouth. It’s soggy and as sweet as candy, and I love it.

  “Oh,” I say in awe.

  “Oh,” Michael repeats. He takes another spoonful, not needing to elaborate.

  Kala laughs at us and gets back to her own food, continuing her storytelling to those around her begging for more.

  Ana joins us after Michael and I have made our way through half of the cereal. She lets Kala know that the others are arriving, and I lift my head in time to see new faces filter into the dining hall. They disperse easily, melting into the groups without any awkwardness.

  With one last survey of the hall to make sure everyone is fed and comfortably content, Ana squeezes in next to Kala and they start talking about everything and anything: training, the war, the snow, the supply run, the new socks Ana found for Kala (fuzzy, with jingle bells on them). Their chatter gets quieter as it shifts from mindless topics to more personal things. I hear a word or two rise from their conversation. They mention something about Heaven, but mostly, they exchange short, anxious sentences—fear for each other’s safety once the fighting breaks out, Kala worrying about Ana in battle.

  Eli drops down in an empty seat across from Michael and hits the table in a mini drumroll. He grins. “How’d training go?”

  “Fine,” I say around a spoonful of chocolate cereal.

  “How about Ana?” Michael asks.

  “Ana’s good,” Eli says, looking over at her and Kala. Their heads are still bent together, and the whispering is intense. “She just has to know that she can do it and she’ll be okay. Doubt always trips up beginners. If she can get past that, she’ll be able to handle anything that comes at her.”

  That seems to be the key to everything: faith.

  He shrugs. “Her heart may not be in it, but when push comes to shove… We’ve all had to cross that line before. At least, now, she knows how to protect herself now.”

  “Why’d you agree to help her anyway?” I ask.

  It’s something I’ve been wondering. When he offered, it didn’t seem like he was after something more. There didn’t appear to be an ulterior motive for his help, as there normally is. Eli doesn’t do things out of the kindness of his heart. There’s always an angle, always a payout, some reward for his effort.

  He shrugs again and glances at the two angels. “I like them,” he says. “I think they’re good for each other. You saw how Kala flipped out when Ana was almost hit in London.”

  “Yeah,” I say, looking into my cereal and stirring the chocolate milk.

  “And she had a point,” he says. “If Ana can’t at least defend herself, she would be a burden in a fight. Someone will have to watch out for her, and that could get them killed.”

  “Almost got you killed,” Michael says. “How are you healing?”

  “Healed enough,” he says, lifting his shirt. His wound does appear to have healed over well, but there’s still a wicked, purple bruise over his muscled stomach. It has to be sore. He winks at me, and I look away. “She’s a great strategist, and now, she’s an okay-ish fighter.”

  “Okay-ish,” I repeat.

  “She’s trying,” he says. “That has to count for something.”

  Michael slides another bowl to me, and I start in on a new cereal. This one has marshmallows—stale but delicious.

  “Soooo,” Eli says after a long pause, “what do you think Azael’s gonna do next?”

  I sigh and shake my head. “I don’t know. Come after me, I guess?”

  “Well, obviously.”

  “There weren’t many others with him in London,” Michael says. “He has to call for reinforcements. Stack his army to come up against ours. I wouldn’t be surprised if
he’s sent scouts searching for our location. Once he hears how many of us there are, he’ll know he needs a bigger army. It could be a while.”

  “Depends,” I say. “Azael is impatient. He could attack even before there’s enough support on his end. He’s getting desperate.”

  “Yeah?” Eli says, raising an eyebrow. “Desperate is good. It means he’ll make mistakes.”

  “It means he’ll do whatever it takes because he has nothing left to lose,” I respond flatly.

  Eli leans forward. “What do you guys think of the rumors about Lucifer? Think he’s really”—he makes a whistling sound and jerks his thumb over his shoulder—“out of commission?”

  Before I answer, a hand lands on my shoulder. When I turn around, Ana’s standing behind us, Kala by her side.

  “We’re ordering you to get some rest,” Ana says. She looks over at Eli and adds, “All of you.” A small smile touches her face and makes the order seem more friendly than bossy.

  She’s trying, I remind myself. I’m trying, too.

  “Not tired,” Eli says, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head.

  “Too bad,” Ana says. “None of you have slept since we left for London. It’s been too long, and we need everyone as rested as possible for the upcoming days.”

  Kala stands on her toes and looks around Ana. “Can’t have you falling asleep if a fight breaks out! Sleeping on the battlefield is frowned upon, generally. No timeouts in war, ya know? But could you imagine?” Her eyes light up.

  Ana looks at her, shaking her head.

  Michael stands and helps me up off the bench. “Wake us if there’s trouble,” he says.

  “Yeah,” Kala says. “You too.”

  We don’t go into our separate dormitories. Neither of us even considers being apart tonight.

  In Michael’s room, we push our mattresses together. Mine is still in here from the last time we actually got some sleep—the night Azael compelled Michael and I woke up to him strangling me. I shove the memory out of my mind. Tonight’s different. No more interruptions.

  I insist on blocking the door with our mattresses even though I’ve grown to trust the others. I don’t think anyone’s going to come and kill us in our sleep, but I like the privacy. I like knowing we’re locked in here together and no one else can come inside. It makes me feel protected. It makes me feel…brave in a different way than I normally am.

  It takes us a few minutes to remake the beds, and I use the extra sheet to cover the window of the door.

  “I don’t like the windows,” I explain when Michael cocks his head. “It always feels like someone is watching us. Creepy.”

  Beyond the other window that looks outside the compound instead of into the hall, the night is heavy and dark. A storm is pushing in from the north. I hope it brings more snow. I want just one day of not fighting, of not training, to spend in the snow with Michael. He told me before that he’d never seen snow, and now, he’s seen days of it. Weeks. But we haven’t been able to do anything fun. Not with the world ending and all. The apocalypse tends to derail such frivolities.

  If it snows a lot tonight, it will probably delay Azael, too. Then I could find an excuse to take a few hours off for Michael and me to enjoy as we see fit. I want us to lie out on the ground when the snow falls, staring up at the sky and trying to find the clouds it’s coming from, attempting to spot where the snow begins. We’ll track the snow as it swirls around us like soft, gentle stars. It’ll bury us together, but we’ll have one another to stay warm.

  “What are you thinking about?” Michael asks.

  “Snow,” I say, sitting next to him on our makeshift bed.

  He pulls his arm around me and we settle back against the wall. “Snow,” he says, amused. There’s a smile in his rough voice.

  “One day, you and I will actually get to enjoy it. This war will be over, and we’ll do normal things. Boring things.”

  “You want to do boring things?”

  “I’ve never been able to do anything boring before,” I say, turning toward him. “I’m always following orders, and we’ve never not been in the middle of some war. It would be such a nice break to do something mundane. Something that didn’t involve killing someone or fighting for my life. I want to be bored for a change. Being bored might actually be exciting.”

  Michael laughs. “I don’t think you could stand being bored, even for a minute. I have serious doubts that it’s even possible for you to sit still.”

  “I can sit still,” I say, and I do so for a full sixty seconds to prove my point. Then I lean closer to him, and his fingers trace patterns up my leg.

  We sit in silence, and I watch the clouds outside, waiting for snow. Waiting for a sign. Only the sounds of his breathing and the steady beat of his heart fill the room.

  “I love you, remember?” he says into my hair. He kisses the top of my head. It’s not good enough, though, so I sit up.

  “Forever,” I say, letting the word linger over his lips before I kiss him. “I love you.”

  Hands come first. We touch each other everywhere, careful and controlled. Religiously, slowly, we trace the shape of one another. We memorize each other’s scars with our fingers before we let our lips do the remembering.

  ‘You contain galaxies,’ I whisper in his mind, ‘on your shoulders / In freckles and scars.’

  “Another of your own?” He pulls his lips from mine, his voice as ragged as his breathing.

  I gently touch the rough scar at his neck, wishing I could fix it for him. I nod, and he pulls me closer.

  “I want to hear every poem you have trapped inside you,” he says, as quiet as the night.

  “You will.”

  My body sighs into his, and we’re a tangle of sheets, hands, fingers, and lips. Pale moonlight against a golden sunrise, our legs knotted together like the lines of our fates. He tastes like sugar and starlight, like cold winter winds and Michael, and I wonder how we ever managed to stay apart. How we ever didn’t know one another. It’s unimaginable, not having this, not having him.

  We are an immaculate mess, two beautiful catastrophes with each other’s names hovering on our tongues. After a few quick moments, there’s nothing left between us but skin. Our movements speak of the dexterity and skill of honed soldiers, of the nervous hesitation of those used to keeping their hearts behind cages. Neither of us has known something like this. It’s new for us both, this fearless vulnerability. This victorious surrendering.

  In a shared breath, we come together, and somewhere behind the blanket of clouds that covers the sky, the stars flare a little bit brighter. New universes explode into existence. Infinite possibilities and futures open to us, and we can have it all—every last piece of it—together.

  Ink spilled across a blank page: we are permanent.

  Kisses, fingers wandering over skin and drawing patterns, words, signatures. I write poetry on his body, and he remembers every line. Commits it to memory, collects it and saves it in his heart, where he holds all of his promises for us.

  Michael’s smile is the only light in the room. The rough bedsheets tangle around our feet, the blankets half on and half off, air cold and bodies warm.

  Twenty-six letters seems so insufficient. I don’t have enough to work with. No combination of those twenty-six letters can ever explain how grateful I am—for this moment, for Michael. For my second chance. I need to invent a new language that could encapsulate this. A language only we will know.

  For now, tomorrow fades away. The dangers that wait for us, the very real possibility of death, is insignificant when we are together like this. Everything is so small in comparison to the infinity we create.

  Michael’s heart beats against my bare chest, and it echoes back to him. I wish I had my own heartbeat to offer; I wish there were a way I could show him how much he means. If I had a heart, it would be full of him, warm and alive because he is with me.

  I roll us over and the sheets toss to the dirty ground next to the ma
ttresses. He laughs, a carefree sound in the middle of disaster, and it lights me on fire. I trace a line of goose bumps that rise across his arms with my finger, and then I lean into him, kissing every warm part of him. His breath gets caught in my hair, and he calls me Heaven.

  “How,” he breathes, “did you ever believe you were anything less than an angel?”

  Michael falls asleep first. He looks so gentle and young when he sleeps. Temporarily, he’s relieved of the weight of the world, and it transforms him completely. Nowhere can I find the dutiful obligation and stress of Michael the archangel. Asleep, he’s like the rest of us. Asleep, he’s allowed to dream of freedom from this life we’re destined to live.

  I can’t stop watching him. Under the filtered, gray light of the early morning, I follow the soft lines of his face with my fingers, kissing him on his jaw and sliding closer next to him, pressing my body to his.

  With a sigh of contentment, I close my eyes and rest my cold hand over his heart, counting each steady, strong beat. We’re going to be okay. If there’s any chance that there is someone watching over us—if God cares at all about us down here, so small and so insignificant in this grand universe—we’re going to make it. We will survive this war. He wouldn’t take Michael from me. He wouldn’t be so cruel.

  The universe wouldn’t dare.

  I fall asleep listening to his pulse and the sound of a storm pushing close against our window.

  An alarm wakes me up, what feels like moments after I’ve closed my eyes and given in to my exhaustion. It’s another piercing wail of the siren, and I wait for the crackly voice telling us to lock the compound down, but the words never come.

  Michael sits up, and I sit with him, the sheet held tight against our skin.

  “Lockdown?” Michael asks, looking out the window.

  I shake my head. “They would announce it, wouldn’t they?”

  We’ve only been through two lockdowns, but each time, a voice followed the sirens announcing the purpose of the alarm.