Conspiracy of Angels Read online

  He stepped down to the bottom step and crouched down next to Lanny’s cigarette. It lay on a scattering of pine needles, ash just starting to gather on its glowing tip. It didn’t look like Lanny had set it there. It looked like he’d dropped it. Or it had been knocked from his hand.

  Mitch stared out at the darkness. Something about the cold night air felt wrong. It was unearthly quiet, so quiet that he could hear the old board creaking under his feet. The high-pitched whine of Geneva’s pulser. The whisper of the fabric of his jacket as he turned to look over his shoulder.

  Nothing there. Just a towering pine tree, its branches shaking in the wind.

  Only, he realized, there wasn’t any wind.

  Mitch dropped the flashlight and brought the AK-47 up to his shoulder. He opened his mouth to yell to Geneva, but the words dried up in his throat as the thing came at him, a churning blur of darkness against the deeper shadows of the night.

  He squeezed the trigger. The AK-47 hammered against his shoulder, spitting flame. Pine branches chopped and tumbled in the flickering light.

  The thing screeched and leaped at him. Mitch saw it coming and dove off the steps, into the bushes. Wood splintered behind him.

  Mitch landed in dry weeds. He tumbled downhill, skidded to a stop on his hands and knees, fingers digging into a carpet of cold, damp pine needles. He blinked in the darkness, trying to get his bearings.

  He’d lost the AK-47. He felt around on the ground in the darkness, finding nothing but dead branches and pinecones.

  Behind him, the world lit up with a bright white flash. The high-voltage sizzle of Geneva’s pulser cut through the air.

  Through the branches, Mitch caught a glimpse of the thing’s shadow scuttling around the back of the cabin, dodging a thick white energy beam. Geneva stood in the doorway, goggles on, pulser held out before her in both hands.

  She fired again as the thing disappeared around the corner of the cabin. The flash of light glinted off of something to Mitch’s left. He crawled over sharp rocks, dead branches. His hand landed on something warm and soft. He jerked back.

  In the flashes from Geneva’s pulser, Mitch saw the back of Lanny’s head. Saw the blood trickling across Lanny’s dark brown skin. The light shone off the metal barrel of the Cerenkov lying a few feet from Lanny’s empty hand.

  “Lanny? Oh, Jesus.” Mitch felt around in the darkness, finding Lanny’s shoulder, following it up to his neck. A second later, he found a pulse. It made him want to shout out in relief. Instead, he climbed over Lanny and grabbed the Cerenkov.

  His fingers roamed over the gun until he found the power button. The gun charged up with a deep hum, and a ghostly blue glow grew in the muzzle.

  Lanny moaned.

  “Shh. Lanny. Quiet!”

  “Mitch?” Lanny mumbled. “You all right?”

  “Dandy,” Mitch whispered. “Just stay here.” He patted Lanny’s shoulder and crawled up out of the bushes, Cerenkov ready. The porch steps had been shattered. Broken wooden planks littered the ground. Mitch stepped over a couple and edged toward the porch.

  The Archangel had disappeared. Geneva stood in the doorway, breathing hard, sweeping her pulser from one shadow to the next. She had the goggles pushed up onto her forehead. “I can’t see it.” Her voice was high, on the edge of panic. “The goggles ran out of juice. I can’t see it!”

  “Easy,” Mitch said. “Stay with me.” The trees were pitch black against the dark sky. A few stars shone down between black clouds, but not enough to see by. “Listen, Lanny’s hurt, but he’s alive. We’re gonna get out of here.”

  Geneva risked a glance at him. “How?”

  “I’m gonna cover you while you head back inside. Get the black box. I put those reports in the backpack with it.”

  “Mitch, wait—”

  “No, listen. Go get the backpack. The box is wrapped up in that stuff, so the thing can’t see it. Or maybe it can. Maybe that’s how it found us.”

  “Shut up, Mitch.”

  “We’ll get Lanny and head back to the truck. We’ve got the reports. We can read them later, figure out a weakness—”

  “Mitch! It can hear you.”

  “It can what?”

  “It can hear you. It understands English.”

  Mitch tried to swallow again, but his mouth had gone dry. “You know, this night just keeps getting better and better.”

  “We’ve got to move fast.” She backed toward the doorway. “Cover me?”

  He nodded. “Go.”

  She darted inside.

  Mitch swept the Cerenkov back and forth, looking for any sign of movement. The gun didn’t have any sights on it, so he just held it up and hoped he could aim it when the moment came.

  “Yo.” Lanny’s voice carried through the darkness. “Yo. Don’t shoot.” He staggered up out of the bushes, holding his head.

  Mitch ran to him and caught him just before he fell. “Whoa, there. Stand up. There you go. Can you walk?”

  “Yeah. No. I don’t know, dog.”

  “Okay. Just one foot in front of the other. It’s easy.”

  Geneva came out of the cabin, the stuffed backpack slung over one shoulder. The flickering outline of the Archangel rose over the roof behind her as she ran down the steps, but she didn’t see it.

  The Archangel crouched low and sprung, tines spread out like the fingers of a grasping hand.

  Mitch swung the Cerenkov up and fired. He missed. The blinding bolt of blue energy tore through the side of the cabin and annihilated the trunk of a pine tree.

  Geneva threw herself to the ground. The Archangel sailed over her body, claws missing her by inches, and landed on the ground between her and Mitch like a waterfall of shadow.

  Echoes of the Cerenkov’s energy beam crashed across the mountainside. Sparks swirled from the ruined cabin. The tall pine groaned and splintered.

  Mitch fired again, but the Archangel blurred out of the way. A line of pine trees across the clearing burst into flame as the blue energy torched them.

  The Archangel screeched, a sound that was half creature and half tortured metal. The noise warbled as the thing circled around them.

  Geneva sprung to her feet, lugging the backpack, her face lit by the orange glow of flames. “Come on!”

  Mitch pushed Lanny toward her. “Get him out of here! I’ll cover you!”

  Lanny staggered toward her. She grabbed his arm.

  Mitch scanned the edges of the clearing. The budding forest fire shed enough light to see, but there were deep shadows everywhere. The smoke stung his eyes. He tried to blink it away. The roaring flames spread from tree to tree.

  Something snapped behind Mitch. He spun and fired. The blue energy beam flashed through the bushes, blasting them into cinders. The Archangel dodged the beam and closed in, headed straight for him.

  Something like ice flooded Mitch’s body. He was going to die. He knew it.

  “Hey!” Geneva shouted, and the Archangel stopped just a few feet short. Mitch stared at its rippling black silhouette, like a dark figure looming behind a rain-swept window. It didn’t come any closer. It turned its long head toward Geneva.

  Mitch tore his gaze off the Archangel long enough to see what had grabbed its attention.

  Geneva stood across the clearing, in front of the burning cabin. Lanny swayed behind her, blood trickling down his face, looking like he wanted to run. Geneva had the backpack unzipped at her feet, and the stealth mesh lay in a crumpled wad on the ground. She held the black box in one hand, and with the other, she pressed the muzzle of the pulser against it.

  “You touch him,” Geneva said, “and I’ll fry your precious box.”

  Mitch stared at her. Her finger tightened on the trigger. He risked a glance at the Archangel. It stood motionless, its outline rippling even though it didn’t move.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Mitch called out. “Geneva?”

  She didn’t answer. She took a slow step sideways, as if she was going to try circlin
g around the Archangel. In the blink of an eye, it moved to counter her.

  Geneva froze. The Archangel did the same.

  Mitch swallowed. “You can’t get past it. It’s too quick.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I know.” And with that, she turned and hurled the box with all her strength into the trees. The box sailed away into the night, tumbling in the firelight.

  The Archangel blurred after it, streaking across the clearing and vanishing into the trees with a high-pitched screech.

  Mitch felt all of the energy drain out of his body. “What did you just do?”

  Geneva slung the backpack over her shoulder. “It’s done. Let’s go.”

  When she walked past him, Mitch stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He leaned close. “What did you just do?”

  “I bought us time,” she said. “If we don’t get out of here, it’ll kill us. We can’t stop it. I know that now. I’ve seen what the Archangel can do. I’m not going to let it do that to you.”

  “Why me?”

  “Jesus, Mitch, what does it matter?”

  “Because I’ve gotta know. I gotta know why you just handed over the goddamn doomsday device to that thing.”

  “Because you’re all I have, Mitch.”

  A tree fell nearby, its branches wrapped in flames.

  Mitch shook his head, feeling like he was missing something. “What?”

  “You’re the only person who’s never lied to me. Or tried to use me. You have any idea what that means?” Her eyes welled up. “Do you? You’re a decent human being. I don’t know if there are a lot of people like you in this world. I’m not going to let that thing get you. Not now, not ever.”

  Mitch felt a weight settle on his shoulders. Now he knew what he had to do.

  She looked lost, like she was waiting for him to say something. She wiped at her eyes. “Damn it, Mitch, come on. Let’s go.”

  Lanny came up alongside him, saying nothing.

  Mitch pointed. “You two go on ahead. I’ve got the big gun. I’ll cover us.”

  Lanny didn’t look too convinced. “You sure, dog? We ought to stick together.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I gotta have room to maneuver. Come on, that thing won’t be far behind us.”

  Geneva peered into the woods. “Mitch, I don’t know.”

  “Do it. Go. Don’t look back. I’m gonna be right behind you, even if you can’t see me in the dark. Don’t stop. Just get back to the truck as fast as you can. I’ll be right there. You got it?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Now, which way is it? Let’s go.”

  She led Lanny to the edge of the clearing and started down the path.

  Mitch followed them a few steps until he knew Geneva wasn’t going to turn around and look back. Then he stopped, and watched the two of them fade into the night. Lanny’s eyes latched onto his for a moment.

  He knew. But all he did was nod, once, and then he disappeared in the darkness with Geneva.

  Mitch swallowed the lump in his throat and went back to the clearing, looking around at the flames eating up the trees. They popped and cracked. Embers floated up into the night sky. He took a deep breath and headed across the clearing, after the Archangel.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Mitch crouched, trying to stay low as he headed into the woods. The fire lit the forest with a dull orange-yellow glow. But there were too many shadows to watch. Too many pools of darkness for the Archangel to hide in and wait.

  Mitch felt his way between the trees, one step at a time, careful not to trip. He gripped the Cerenkov tight, measured time out in shallow breaths, trying not to make any more noise than the popping forest fire shaping up behind him. Trying not to cough on the smoke.

  A quarter of a mile away, light exploded from the top of the ridge. It burned white-hot through the forest, throwing trees in high relief and casting long shadows around Mitch. He hit the dirt, expecting a shockwave to roll over him any second.

  It never came.

  Slowly, Mitch got to his feet, squinting into the glare. A hush fell over the forest. The light burned steady, impossibly bright, as if a chunk of the sun had fallen to earth. It was colder, though, more blue-white than gold.

  Mitch stayed hunched behind a tree, the smooth metal of the Cerenkov warm in his hands. A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Whatever this was, it had the end of the world written all over it.

  Slowly, he made his way up the ridge, half blinded. The light washed everything with a uniform whiteness, so that all he could see was the stark black silhouettes of tree trunks and rocks in front of him. He tripped over tree roots and sinkholes left by the snowmelt.

  The silence of the light unsettled him. It somehow seemed to shush everything, even the sound of his heavy feet trudging through the underbrush. All the same, he moved as quietly as he could, working his way closer to the eerie light.

  The trees came to an abrupt end at the top of the ridge. There was nothing else to give him cover, other than a few scattered boulders at the edge. The drop-off was steep, probably forty feet straight down to the thick pine trees below.

  Above, something moved among the stars. A pinpoint of light, then another, and another, each one spiraling down toward him. As if the stars themselves were all dropping to earth. Like angels falling.

  There was brightness round about it, and gleaming fire. Michael’s words echoed in his head. The cities shall be made desolate, and the mountains utterly laid waste. For the end is come.

  Mitch hesitated, holding up his hand to shield his eyes. Deep in the brilliant light, shadows moved. He fought to keep his eyes open through the glare. The shadows took form, hazy figures that he couldn’t quite make out. But they looked like people.

  They walked as if in slow motion, drifting in and out of sight. He could see right through them, the rocks and dry grass standing out against the blinding light. Just looking at them, these living shadows that drifted like ghosts, made his blood run cold.

  Something called to him—something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. It tugged at him, like a voice carried on the wind, except that there was nothing to hear. It was just a wisp of feeling, barely there.

  Cautiously, Mitch left the trees behind and edged toward the light, toward the figures. He kept the Cerenkov up, looking for any sign of the Archangel. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. He should turn and run. He knew that. Nothing about this situation was good. Nothing made sense.

  Vaguely human sounds drifted across the ridge. Whether they were distant words or just the wind, he couldn’t tell. The shadowy figures moved past him, around him, drifting as if they were made of smoke. One brushed against his arm, deathly cold, and sensations flooded through him. Bits of memories. Snatches of conversations. Laughter. Grief. And then it was gone, all the memories slipping away from him, escaping like dreams vanishing in the first moments of waking.

  Mitch stood frozen in the light, afraid to move, afraid to hear what the whispers that drifted through the air around him were saying.

  He fought to see. The source of the light was close, whatever it was. It sat on top of the ridge a dozen yards away.

  Mitch took a step toward it, then another, until the light was so bright it surrounded him. Engulfed him like a wave.

  A figure appeared before him, indistinct. After a moment, it drifted closer, its slender arms reaching out. Mitch stepped back, stumbled on a rock. He fell hard, and scrambled to his feet. He aimed the Cerenkov, squinting to see.

  The shadow stayed put, watching him, arms still held out. The wispy shape gained focus, becoming the figure of a girl. A peaceful silence washed over him, like the eye of a storm. He blinked at the shadowy form, the brightness of the light drawing tears to his eyes.

  He knew who she was. The realization hit him like a jolt of electricity. Goose bumps rose on his skin. It was impossible, but something inside him told him it was true.

  “Jocelyn?” he whispered.

  The shadow didn’t answer.


  More than anything, Mitch wanted to believe. He had no way to know what any of this was. No way to tell if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. If any of this was real or just some kind of hallucination.

  “Jocelyn?” The light seemed to swallow his voice. “Jocelyn. Look, I’m …” He faltered. Words couldn’t carry the weight of all the things he wanted to say. They jumbled together in his mind, turned into a tangle of things that he couldn’t voice. He tried anyway. “Hey, kiddo. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I gotta tell you something. The thing is, I don’t know how to say it. Every day … every day I think about how I could’ve done things different.”

  The shadow turned and faded, started to drift back into the light.

  “No, no, wait! Jocelyn!” Mitch stumbled closer. “Listen. Listen.”

  The shadow waited for him.

  “If there’s one thing I want you to know, just one thing, it’s … I did my best. Okay? I miss you. And I’m never gonna stop missing you. Ever.” He blinked to keep his eyes clear, so he could watch her as she faded back into the light, and keep it together as she vanished. If it was even her.

  But he had to believe it was her. Had to.

  What if he’d stayed home, all those years ago, instead of running trucks with Lanny? What would have happened then? If he’d raised Jocelyn differently, done better somehow? What if he’d never gone to prison, and she’d never been put in a foster home, and run away to the mountains?

  What if it had all been different? Could he have saved her?

  A deeper shadow grew in the distance and closed in on Mitch, beams of light dancing around it like spotlights through mist as it got closer. Mitch could tell what it was by the jittery way it moved.

  The Archangel. Coming after him.

  He knew, deep down, that if he’d done things different, and Jocelyn had never been here, the Archangel would have killed Geneva years ago. It would have gotten the black box, done its thing, and no one would have been here to stop it. Like he was now.

  He knew it. He could see each cause and effect laid out in front of him, like a chain of dominoes, falling just out of reach. There was nothing he could do to change it. This eerie light, whatever it was and whatever it was doing, was exactly what everyone had feared. It was exactly what shouldn’t be happening. It felt wrong, deep down in the animal part of his mind that was telling him to run.