Blue Angel

by Phil Williams

  Ginger gathered up his weapon and the men observed the landscape ahead of them.

  No more shots.

  “Holy shit,” Letty said quietly.

  “We’re ten years behind,” Lightgate said. “You see it now? The damage Val’s peace has done to our people? We should be dominating these scum.”

  The agents crossed the invisible barrier, walking unhindered towards the FTC building, where the citizens must have been scrambling to flee. There was another crack of sound off to the side, another advancing MEE agent firing his weapon. Then another, and another. Ginger’s friend, closest to them, fired again. Letty shuddered in the air, feeling it in her bones.

  They were raking the sky, making sure no one was flying up, which is exactly what the Fae would be doing. A thousand or more people scrambling to flee, just to survive. Otherwise they were boxed in to be exterminated like insects, as the humans saw them.

  “You want to do something?” Lightgate said. Her pistol was held out again.

  The agents’ armour wouldn’t defend them from a shot up close, not against a gun pressed to their skin. Letty looked at Lightgate’s pistol.

  “All yours,” Lightgate said.

  Letty reached for it. Shit, she had to do something.

  Ginger pointed and his pal fired another shot. A lone-standing pillar in a bombed-out warehouse cracked and slowly tumbled.

  Letty streamlined her arms and legs into a torpedo aimed right at the fuckers. Hurtling through the air, seeking flesh. A gap between the back armour and the helmet, that was hers. A bullet in the bastard’s neck.

  “Hold up, hold up!” Ginger shouted, suddenly. He put a hand to his headset.

  The other guns went quiet.

  Letty stopped abruptly, barely a building’s width from them. The rifle guy straightened up as Ginger frowned at whatever he was being told. “Fall back. Commission’s orders.”

  “Now?” his friend replied. “This isn’t –”

  “No, move,” Ginger told him firmly. He turned back the way he’d come and Letty flew up, out of his line of sight. The other guy started after him, giving fleeting looks towards the FTC. Ginger was grumbling, both of them pissed at the news.

  As Letty floated towards the nearest building, Ginger tried to justify the cancelled attack out loud. “We got a few, hey? At least that’s –”

  He dropped like someone had cut his strings, offering a startled gargle as his Adam’s apple burst out in a small mist of blood-spray. A thin red stream crept down his neck. The tubular weapon clattered to the ground and got in the way of his fall, both his hands limply rising to his throat as he tried to stop the bleeding. He spat up blood as he squeezed his own throat, choking as it filled with blood.

  His friend was shocked still, the same as Letty. At the sound of a gunshot, his head snapped back and he hit the floor without so much as a splutter.

  Ginger gargled and twitched like a drowning man, then his quivering stopped.

  Lightgate floated down between the two bodies, turning in the air to check her work. Her expression was entirely neutral. Letty checked the pistol in her own hand: not even had the chance to check it worked.

  “Make your decision now,” Lightgate told her. “I’m not having you sneaking behind my back, so you’re either gonna help me bury the rest of them or you’re joining them now.”

  “They were falling back.”

  “Back to a time when they hadn’t killed our people?”

  There was no arguing. She wanted the violence.

  They were metres apart, bobbing up and down in the air. A difficult shot with the best conditions, let alone up against this monster.

  “Oh.” Lightgate steadied in the air, sensing Letty’s intentions.

  Letty ran her fingers over the pistol handle, tensing. It was only another Fae. She’d faced countless pricks with guns. Just one more. Lightgate raised her free hand in a fist to cover her mouth, a little gag. Burping? Now? A distraction, Letty was sure, to try and draw her out. She knew this bitch was ready as ever.

  Lightgate met her eyes, lowering the hand slowly.

  Nothing left to say.

  Letty whipped up the pistol and fired. The gun leapt from her fingers as she took a blow to the chest, Lightgate’s shot coming at the same time, strong as a train driving her back, back into the wall. She hit brick with a crack, the engine of her artificial wing shattering and all her air gone. She dropped and hit the pavement hard, taking the brunt of it on her knee. Once, twice she rolled, then flopped still. She wheezed, trying to breathe, but each breath came shallower. Warmth spreading across her chest.

  She rolled her head to the side, searching the sky through the blurry tears of pain. Lightgate’s shape was still up there, bobbing a little erratically. Her voice came down, almost annoyed. “Better than most. I’ll give you that. Fuck.” The final curse as she folded over herself. Clutching an injury.

  Letty’s head dropped back onto the hard floor.

  Please let it be fatal, she thought, looking past the buildings to the blue of the sky.

  Please let it be fatal.

  17

  When the Ministry car pulled up, Casaria swore and turned away. “This fuck-up?”

  Pax gave him a warning look, but she wasn’t impressed either, seeing Landon behind the wheel. He looked even worse than before, with a few added scratches on his rosy face, and he looked about as happy to see them as they were him. He leant over to push the passenger door open, squeezed by the seatbelt he’d neglected to undo.

  “Anyone but you,” Casaria said.

  Pax opened a rear door to invite Rufaizu in, and went round to the other side. She lingered just long enough to make sure Casaria was joining them. He rolled his eyes before getting into the passenger seat. Rufaizu was already playing with an over-large white shirt in the rear seat, exploring his way into it. It must’ve been one of Landon’s spares, but the big driver wasn’t stopping him.

  “Fasten up, all of you,” Landon said, by way of introduction.

  “She’s scraping the bottom of the barrel, isn’t she?” Casaria said. Landon ignored him, pulling the car into traffic.

  “There’s been a serious development,” Landon said. Casaria was about to reply when their driver punched the accelerator and threw everyone back into their seats. As a method of silencing complaints, it worked. Landon said, “I’m not sure this is a good idea any more.”

  “No surprises there,” Casaria said.

  “I would’ve been there by now if I hadn’t had to pick you up,” Landon reminded him. “And I would’ve been better off, wouldn’t have to think about watching my back.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know.” Landon turned away from Casaria to focus on a sharp right turn that made them all tumble. Pax pushed against Rufaizu to straighten herself up. He put his hands up with a smile, showing off the cuffs of his enormous shirt.

  “What’s this development?” Pax asked Landon.

  Landon negotiated another gap in traffic before answering. “The orders came in as Ward was directing me your way, calling off the FTC attack. London got through to the FTC Council directly or something – I don’t know – there’s calls for a ceasefire from both sides. Except” – Landon looked for Pax in the rear-view mirror – “the situation already got out of hand.”

  “Out of hand?” Casaria said. “Tell me we’ve done some damage, at least. How many of ours are out there?”

  “Eight,” Landon said.

  “Eight? Everyone?”

  “Everyone but me, you and Vinton. He’s on leave.”

  “Enough to do some serious damage.” Casaria looked at Pax, too. “Whatever your feelings, we still ought to wipe that place out, one way or another.”

  “We already did some damage,” Landon said, with aggravated patience. “The Fae agreed to talk, and the Council gave permission for our men to walk away, despite the initial attack, but it seems they weren’t all on board with that. We’ve lost cont
act with half the team.”

  “Double-crossing little shits,” Casaria hissed. “Forget this Blue Angel, we ought to head there ourselves.”

  “That’s what it’d want,” Pax said, shaking her head. No way were they getting in the middle of a shoot-out, not when they were this close. “The Blue Angel doesn’t want to be found, what better way to stay hidden than cause more fighting amongst ourselves? Where we’re going, that’s the answer.”

  Landon gave her another look in the mirror. He didn’t want to be at a shoot-out either, did he? He addressed Casaria rather than her. “This all could’ve been done much neater. You’ve got a lot to answer for.”

  “Yeah, neater,” Casaria countered. “Neat and ineffective, same as ever.”

  Landon gave him an unhappy look.

  “Cheer up,” Casaria said. “We’re doing good work now.”

  His smile was back, Pax noticed. That white, unnatural grin, ready for certain danger. Except she appreciated, now, that it also meant he was scared. And she knew he was right to be.

  They’d slipped into silence long before they crossed into the industrial plain of the Net. Rufaizu kept picking at the car door and the buttons of his newfound shirt. From the way they looked at the road and each other, Casaria and Landon were torn between meditative thoughts about their destination and their mutual dislike. Pax left them all to it, focusing on the feeling that was building inside her, the odd pull, the tingling, burning. Was it really her sensing what Rufaizu had called the Bright Veins?

  The further north they travelled, the stronger it got. Could she feel the Blue Angel itself? Or its diverted, hoarded energy, at least?

  She closed her eyes, trying to feel it more clearly, to picture whatever this odd sensation was. It didn’t help. She knew something wasn’t quite right, and she knew in what direction. Beyond that, it wasn’t clear. But whatever it was, it was getting stronger.

  They passed between wide, low-lying commercial buildings, built for storage or the kind of work that required big, empty spaces, like furniture manufacture or industrial laundry. Pax had been up this far once for a game hosted by a man who printed banners for small companies. It had grown uncomfortable when he started threatening anyone who beat him in a hand. That’s the sort of place the Net was: an area providing little-wanted or little-understood services, slightly disconnected from reality.

  Since they’d left the ring road, they’d barely passed another car. There was no movement in any of the windows. Landon cleared his throat, apparently hoping to break the tension with small talk. “They’re converting some of this into apartments. Maybe putting up some new builds. Might be a good investment, before everyone moves here.”

  “Please,” Casaria said. “No one wants to live here.”

  “I saw it,” Landon continued. “I read up on some plans for a development. We went past the site back there.”

  “You see any building works?”

  “Maybe they haven’t started yet.”

  “They never will.”

  Landon went quiet again. His efforts had failed.

  They stopped at the corner of two wide roads, opposite their target building. A free-standing red brick church, with a slanted roof and a large white cross on one wall. It was otherwise unadorned, with no sign announcing sermons and no name, only two massive wooden doors.

  Pax felt her pulse racing, maybe from adrenaline, maybe the draw of the Bright Veins. She didn’t dare look at her own flesh in case she saw something moving underneath. Unlikely, but why risk it.

  “You two should stay in the car until we check it out,” Landon said. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t take off.”

  Rufaizu looked to Pax for guidance, and she said, “You wait here. I need to see it.”

  “Me too,” Rufaizu said. “My mission, barfly – I’ve been here for this.”

  “No,” Pax said. With all the authority of a young mum. “Sit this out. If things go wrong, or it’s not what we’re looking for, I need you to be safe.”

  Rufaizu held her gaze unhappily, but didn’t argue. Pax got out of the car and the sound of the door closing shook the neighbourhood. She started across the road, and Landon called out, “Wait, we’ve got scanners.”

  “They won’t help,” Pax said, sure of it.

  “We’ve no idea what we’re going to find in there,” Casaria said, briskly following as he drew his pistol. Landon appeared at Pax’s other side, giving Casaria a disapproving look, though his hand moved closer to the lump of his own pistol under his jacket.

  “I can feel it. I can...” As Pax moved towards the building, the sensation grew. The tips of her fingers tingled stronger than ever, and the electric throb pulsed from her heart to every inch of her body. It wasn’t like the pained pulses of the surges or the unfocused pulls of being near the blue screens, earlier. It was a dominating warmth, a sense that she was near something big. Stopping at the double doors, she hoped it wouldn’t cause a heart attack or a stroke.

  “You’ve got the keys?” Pax said. “Open it already.”

  Landon looked to Casaria, malice trumped by a need to defer responsibility.

  “Pax...” Casaria said, sounding oddly nervous.

  “You feel it too, don’t you? The energy coming from this place.”

  Neither man answered, but it was clear in their pallid faces.

  Pax said, “Let’s pull the rug out.”

  Casaria hesitated a moment longer, then strained to restore his wicked grin. It looked more unconvincing than ever, but he said, “I’ll go first.” He nodded to Landon, who fumbled a ring of keys from a pocket.

  It was getting worse. Like the bass of an immense speaker, the pulse shook Pax in waves. There was something incredible inside, something otherworldly.

  “Just a moment,” Landon said, testing one key, then another. Casaria tutted impatience. Pax stared at the doors, trying to see through them. The lock clicked. “Got it. Ready?”

  Casaria’s legs were spread, two hands on his pistol. He nodded.

  Landon took out his own gun, less gracefully, and held it at his side as his other hand rested on the door handle. He gave Pax a nod, then turned the handle and stepped back, heaving the door open.

  Blue, bright blazing blue. They all raised their hands to protect their eyes from the light, as it flooded out from the far side of the room. At the sound of the creaking door, or the sense of the air rushing in from outside, the light broke and scattered, like massive fireflies dispersing in fear. Shards of blue raced to the corners of the room and faded into the shadows, plunging the room into darkness.

  Pax lowered her arm, eyes adjusting to the sudden dark, and tried to make out what was there, way at the back, where the light had been most intense. The feeling inside her faded, the pulse rapidly weakening, diluting, as the force she’d felt moved away. The faintest echo remained.

  But their goal was standing near the altar, beyond a scattering of old pews, even as Pax’s senses returned to normal. It was staring at them, waiting for them to enter.

  Casaria asked the question: “What the hell is that thing?”

  18

  “Grug...u...lochs.”

  It spoke through thick saliva with a gargle. The orb-like eyes with tiny irises traced an unfocused circle, their dullness adding to the impression of a lack of intelligence. Its mouth hung vaguely open, a foot wide and lined by thick, lumpy lips, glistening with dripping liquid. The hideous face, with its porcine nose, sat in a domed head sunk into a gelatinous torso. Its folds of fat were the sluglike texture of the creature in the Ripton chapel. Two arms drooped all the way to the floor, coated in the same grotesquely rolling flesh, almost molten in its excess. The hands, if that’s what they were, spread across the floor in bin-lid diameters of tubular fingers. One finger tapped up and down, a hollowed suction cup on its end.

  The torso rocked slightly to the side, revealing the rest of the body, a curve of pulsing flesh, marked all over by ancient scars and knotty warts. All flowing into
an amorphous base, where the thing appeared to melt into the floor, surrounded by thick slime.

  “Grug...u...lochs!” it repeated, louder, as a toddler might request food. One of its great arms rose and the trio in the door tensed, Casaria training his gun on it. The hand slapped down with a squelch, snapping the wooden flooring. Its fingers twisted and planted themselves between the cracks, and a blue light appeared around them. A blue screen, forming on the floor. It pulsed, and the creature’s flesh pulsed with it, something bulging up the arm and into the torso like a snake swallowing prey.

  “I think,” Pax said, quietly, “I’m going to be sick.”

  But she felt warmth, that pull, returning. This was it. Where the energy was going, where that feeling was leading her.

  The creature’s head rolled, as though lacking support, from one side to the other. Finally it rested, pivoted on a slanted shoulder, eyes looking their way. Another pulse came up its arm and it exhaled with deep satisfaction. Pax coughed, lifting a hand to her mouth, the smell noxious, even at this distance.

  Landon took out his phone, gun still at his side.

  “Get ready, for fuck’s sake!” Casaria hissed. “Are we culling this shit or not?”

  “Wait,” Landon mumbled, hurrying to make a call.

  In their distraction, Pax stepped between the men, closer to the creature. This was the source of the Blue Angel they’d been hunting? It moved impossibly slowly, sliding its hand to the side. Rounding a pew, she got a better look at its base, where its hard flesh seemed to fuse with the floor. How long had it been here, gestating like this? Feeding by proxy through blue screen emissaries?

  The light around its hand faded again, and it deflated slightly, done.

  “What are you?” Pax uttered.

  Its eyes focused on her. Listening. Understanding.

  “Grug...ulochs,” it answered, then gave a series of sharp hisses, like air squeezed through a balloon, its whole body convulsing. “Grugulochs’...lair. You...people...”

  “It talks?” Casaria said. He was stunned enough to slightly lower his weapon.