The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(64)

“Speaking of seeing someone, your little angel is quite something,” Wanuri says.

“Alice? She’s great.”

“The few angels I’ve ever seen were all so stuck on themselves. Better be careful or I’ll steal her away from you.”

“There’s nothing to steal. She’s my ex.”

“Dumped you, did she?”

“No. A shit named Parker was going to murder her, so she killed herself just to spite him.”

“Damn,” Wanuri says. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Still on crutches, Gisco rattles off a few syllables and signs with his hands.

“What does that mean?”

“I think he’s wondering the same thing I am,” says Doris. “How does a suicide get into Heaven? I thought there was a rule about that.”

Gisco nods.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned about Heaven, it’s that the rules are subject to change without fucking notice. That’s the one good thing about Hell: at least it makes sense.”

“If she put up with you,” Wanuri says, “then she was destined to be an angel.”

Daja puts out a fist so Wanuri can bump it, but before she does, an arrow goes through Daja’s wrist.

“Fuck!” she yells, holding her bleeding arm.

I push her to the ground as a volley of arrows arcs high overhead and plummets down on the ship. Another volley flies up from the opposite shore. All around us, members of the havoc are getting skewered. Pinned to the ground, where they lie, or stuck to one of the masts or a hatch door. Others have it worse. They take shots through the throat or skull.

Then, as quickly as they started, the arrows stop. The wounded lie all around us, but before anyone can get to them, jets of fire erupt from each shore, their streams crossing downriver. We’re sailing straight into a firestorm.

The angels split into two groups of three and fly off, their Gladiuses blazing. The gouts of fire ahead break apart and move upward, trying to catch them in flight. Fat chance. Whoever is operating the flamethrowers is way too slow. When one of the streams gets within fifty feet of Vehuel, she dives for it . . . and catches the flames on her Gladius. The fire arcs back to where it came from, frying everyone on that side of the river.

It doesn’t go any better for the fry cooks on the opposite shore. Alice and a tall blond romance-novel-cover angel named Johel come at that flamethrower from two sides at once. They dive-bomb the shooters. One of their Gladiuses must have hit the flamethrower’s fuel source, because their whole side of the river goes up in an orange ball of fire that rolls all the way to the top of the cavern.

I yell, “Alice!” But I’m being melodramatic. She and Johel swoop out of the flames a second later and land back on the ship. I run over to her, but she puts out her hands for me to keep back. Waves of heat shimmer off her armor.

“I’m still a little hot to the touch,” she says.

“Can I at least light a cigarette off you?”

“Fuck you. I was being heroic and all you want is a smoke. Typical.”

“You cool off. I have to check on someone.”

By the time I get back to Daja, Doris has cut off the tail end of the arrow right at her wrist. Wanuri holds the end with the arrowhead. Gisco and Johnny hold on to Daja’s arm. I crouch down with Billy and grab her shoulders.

“You ready?” says Wanuri.

Daja grits her teeth and nods.

On three, Wanuri rips the business end of the arrow out of Daja’s wrist. Blood spurts from the wound, but Barbora binds it tight with a piece of cloth, stanching the flow.

“Where’s the Magistrate?” Daja says. “Is he all right?”

Wanuri says, “I’ll find him,” and runs into the chaos of the walking wounded and the dying.

“Who the bloody hell was that?” says Johnny as Alice comes over.

“I don’t know,” she says. “We didn’t see on our side, and they ran off into tunnels before Vehuel’s group could find them.”

“Fat lot of good the angels have done for us.”

Alice ignores him and takes Daja’s wrist.

“I can’t fix you, but I can make you feel better. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes. Please,” says Daja through gritted teeth.

Alice puts a hand on either side of Daja’s wrist and speaks a few words. Some of it sounds like one of the High Hellion dialects, but I’m guessing it is the angels’ original language that Hellion came from. I can’t understand a word of it. I bet Traven could.

Fuck. Where’s Traven? I get up to look for him when Alice pulls me back. Daja’s eyes are closed and she’s more relaxed.

“Better?” she says.

“Much better. Thanks,” Daja says.

Alice looks at me.

“Help take care of her. Keep her hand elevated. I have to go help others.”

Before I can say anything, Alice disappears into the crowd, going from one wounded body to another.

“Has anyone seen the Magistrate?” says Daja again.

“Wanuri is looking for him,” Doris reminds her.

She comes back a couple of minutes later, out of breath and bloodier than before.

“Did you find him?” Daja says.

“Yes. He’s hurt, but he’s all right,” says Wanuri.