The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(53)

The Magistrate swallows and nods. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him truly spooked. He grabs a couple of gallon jugs of Spiritus Dei from the ambulance. As he climbs out he says, “With this on our bullets, will we be able to destroy them?”

“Spiritus Dei will kill pretty much anything, but I’m not sure about angels. But it will slow them down until we come up with a better idea.”

He heads out with the jugs to the center of camp where they’re handing out weapons.

“You stay with Mimir,” he says. “I will rally the havoc.”

Right. Great. This is exactly what I wanted. We’re about to be overrun by flying armored assholes with flaming swords and I’m on babysitting duty. I look down at Cherry. She makes choking sounds, so I roll her on her side and use a rag to wipe the spit off her face. The ambulance is full of medical supplies, but I don’t know what 90 percent of them are for. I was never great at healing hoodoo, but we’re all about to die and there’s no one around to see me, so I improvise a quick spell.

Cherry does one more big convulsion and coughs up a lot of white spittle. She opens her eyes and looks at me blearily.

“What the fuck is happening?”

“Congratulations. I actually believe you’re an oracle, but you’re a shitty one with bad timing.”

“What are you talking about?”

I help her sit up and point to the approaching cloud.

“That was my vision,” she says. “Angels.”

“Do you have anything more helpful to say?”

“Yeah. They’re going to kill us and it’s your fault.”

“Why is it my fault?”

She sits up and I help her out of the ambulance. She looks at the angels, and then looks at me as if I’m the stupidest person in Hell.

“Who do you think they’re looking for, Shit-for-Brains?”

They’re close enough that I can see individual angels in the swarm. Their Gladiuses—their flaming angelic swords—crackle with power and flash like lightning.

“Well, go ahead,” says Cherry. “Save us.”

“What? How?”

“Give yourself up.”

“Yeaaaaah . . . I’m not doing that.”

“Are you going to do anything?”

“Yes—I’m going to go out there and fight them.”

“By yourself?”

“If I have to. Do you have any better ideas?”

“Yeah. Let’s run. This ambulance is gassed up. Let the Magistrate and the Lost Boys distract them while we get away.”

“Right. I’m sure no one will spot that and then we’ll have angels and the havoc after us.”

“How are you going to fight them?”

That’s right. Cherry doesn’t know that my angel half can manifest its own Gladius.

I say, “Like this—”

—and nothing happens.

I look at my hands and there isn’t the slightest flicker of flame.

“Anytime now!” Cherry screams. The swarm is right over the havoc.

I think about screaming, too.

So, let’s see. I’m still fast and I’m still strong. Check. And I still heal quick. Check. But I didn’t think about taking the Gladius out for a test drive. In retrospect, I should probably have checked on it earlier.

Without warning, the mass of angels dives and tears through the camp like a tornado, knocking aside vehicles and blowing members of the havoc into the air, where they smash to the ground like sacks of meat or are sliced in half by fiery swords. The remaining havoc pours automatic gunfire up at them. It doesn’t kill them or even penetrate their golden armor, but it drives them back into the sky. The murder cloud climbs out of the range of the rifles. But one angel descends and hovers above the camp, his wings wide and his sword high.

By the time he starts jabbering, I’m already on the roof of an eighteen-wheeler with a plastic bottle I stole from the ambulance. When I get to the top, I slice my wrist with the knife Doris gave me.

The angel bellows, “We have no quarrel with you. Give us the Abomination and you may pass in safety.”

It’s no big surprise when no one in camp has a fucking clue what he’s talking about. I pull the Colt and fire off a couple of shots into the air.

I yell, “Hey, space monkey. I’m right over here. Come on over and let’s have a drink.”

I wave the jug at him and pretend to take a swig.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. Flyboy shoots down at me like a meteor, but stops just before he hits the top of the eighteen-wheeler, drifting down for a gentle landing.

Show-off.

He drops his Gladius down to his side and we walk toward each other. We’re only about three feet apart when he stops.

“I didn’t think you possessed enough honor to show yourself.”

“I never could resist an asshole in uniform.”

He looks around.

“Still, you did let some of your compatriots die for you.”

“Don’t kid a kidder. We both know you’re going to kill everyone here whether they gave me up or not.”

“True. But now I have the pleasure of killing you face-to-face.”

“What’s your name?”

“I am Simiel of the Thrones.”