Between Heaven and Hell

by Jeff Kirvin

  Gabriel took a step forward. “I’m afraid you don’t understand. The rules have changed.”

  Before even his demonic reflexes could react, the four angels each grabbed one of Beelzebub’s limbs. Gabriel half-turned to face the crowd of humans, and more importantly, the television cameras. “Let this be an example to the demons of the world!” his amplified voice rang. “Your reign of terror is over!”

  Without another word, the four angels extended their wings, ignited the wing-mounted rockets, and took off. Daniel and the others watched at they flew hundreds of feet into the air, Beelzebub flailing helplessly between them. On Gabriel’s cue, they all flew away in different directions, ripping the demon apart. Before any of the pieces could fall back to earth, they were incinerated by the angels’ arm-mounted flame-throwers. Without any further statements, the four angels turned and flew away to the northwest.

  By nightfall, the National Guard had dispersed most of the rioters. A few were detained for questioning, but most simply went home. The president was wrong. The fighting never got as far as the White House. Small miracles, he thought as he again stared out the Oval Office window. But this has to stop.

  Someone knocked on his door. Jenny Miller, his press secretary, poked her head in. “Mister President, they’re waiting.”

  “Thank you, Jenny.”

  Walter Thomas straightened his jacket and hurriedly gathered together the speech he’d spent all evening writing. This foolishness had gone on long enough.

  When he walked into the White House Press Room, the gathered mass of reporters quieted at once. Personally, he was amazed at the turnout. It’d been a heavy news day.

  “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” he said into the microphone. A few reporters laughed good-naturedly.

  “Eight months ago, we learned that humans weren’t the only sentient creatures on this planet, and that the creatures we knew only in myth and religion as angels and demons were real, flesh and blood creatures. We also learned that the demons had been hounding and tormenting mankind for centuries.

  “That knowledge, like all knowledge, could have become either a blessing or a curse, depending on what we did with it. Today in the nation’s capitol, we found out which it would be.

  “As much as I might agree with Senator Phillips in ideology, I must condemn his means. While our laws in this country only cover human rights, his call for individual citizens to hunt down demons on their own is irresponsible and dangerous. A man’s right to swing his fist ends at another man’s nose, and thousands of individual demon hunts are going to get a lot of noses broken. We have laws regarding vigilantism in this country, and I expect our citizens to obey them.

  “The UN’s Demon Task Force is doing the best it can to erase the demonic threat, but while those brave men and women do their jobs, we need to get out of the way.

  “In that light, I’m declaring a national State of Emergency, the duration of which being until the demons are wiped out. During this time, any demon hunts conducted by private citizens will be considered a federal crime, and will be prosecuted as such.

  “It’s important, ladies and gentlemen, to remain calm. The situation is being handled, and despite what some may tell you, it’s being handled well. You are in no danger other than fear and hysteria. We’ll get through this thing, together, as a nation.”

  Most of the reporters began asking questions, but one voice quieted them all. “Mister President, may I join you?”

  Nearly all the reporters recognized the voice from the footage they’d seen of Beelzebub’s destruction. The crowd parted to allow Gabriel, who’d been standing quietly at the back of the room, to approach the podium. The angel stepped up and stood next to the president. Gabriel towered over the human. Though not as tall as Beelzebub, he stood at least six foot six. The armor was gone and he was dressed in an impeccable Italian suit.

  “Mister President, it’s an honor. I am the archangel Gabriel.” The man and angel shook hands.

  “Pleased to meet you, Gabriel. You did quite a job on Beelzebub out there today.”

  “Yes sir. That’s rather what I wanted to discuss.” Gabriel turned to face the press, the president seemingly forgotten.

  “My people have made a mistake. When the news of our and the demons’ existence broke, we thought that our involvement would only complicate things. If the demons were faced with having to fight both humans and angels, we were afraid they would fight more fiercely and the battle would cost too many irreplaceable human lives. We counted on their arrogance, and your skill, to wipe them out before they realized they needed to strike.

  “Unfortunately, we were wrong. The demons have proven far more difficult to remove than we hoped, and now we realize our need to step in and help you end this madness. Today was our first test.

  “I would like to announce that from this point on, the angels are willing and active partners with humans in the struggle against the demons. Together, with our strength and your flexibility, we can wipe their evil from the Earth for all time!”

  The crowd erupted into applause, and the angel stepped down from the podium to answer each reporter’s questions individually. No one noticed when the president left the room.

  The Oracle

  Uriel crouched behind a cluster of tumbleweeds in the hot Nevada desert, taking one picture after another.

  It had taken countless hours of non-stop investigative work, exhausting all of his usual sources, but he finally thought he had the location of Hell. He’d tracked several demons to this area just north of Las Vegas, where he’d discovered an abandoned missile silo. It didn’t look like much from the outside, more a shack than anything else, and if he didn’t know what he was looking for he probably would have missed it. But the longer he stayed and took pictures, the more sure he was that he was right. This was the place.

  The angels had suspected for quite some time that Satan had moved his headquarters after the Revelation. Immediately after talking with Daniel in Washington, Uriel had caught a flight for the Middle East, and verified that all Satan’s previously known roosts were abandoned. He then tracked down one false lead after another on a trail that led him to Tibet, Australia, the Congo rain forest, and the Andes before he finally ended up in Las Vegas, Nevada.

  Inevitable, I suppose, he mused, a smirk on his sun-browned face.

  Once he had taken all the shots he could from his current vantage point, he stealthily moved on to more cover and started shooting from another angle. He needed all the proof he could muster.

  “He’s been out there for hours,” Belial said, sitting at the surveillance console and pointing at the monitors.

  Satan stood behind him, looking over the shoulder of his new second in command at the pictures being picked up by the surveillance cameras. Clear as day he saw the angel taking photographs, moving to a different location, and taking more. “Uriel, what are you up to?” he wondered aloud.

  “Should I have him brought in?” Belial asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m interested in why he’s here, and we’re not going to learn that by questioning him. Have him followed when he leaves. If he merely runs back to Michael, fine. If he talks to anyone else, I want to know who.”

  “My Lord, do you think it’s wise to let the angels learn where we are?”

  “I don’t see what harm it can do.”

  “With all due respect, my Lord, need I remind you what happened to Beelzebub two days ago?”

  Satan leaned against the console and stared intensely at his second. “Beelzebub was a good friend, and he’ll be missed. But Gabriel’s stunt in Washington was just that, a stunt. A carefully constructed gesture to lessen our chaotic effect on the humans.”

  “My Lord—”

  “Belial, relax. I can’t for a moment believe Michael would actually attack us directly. That goes against every rule of engagement both our sides have obeyed for over five thousand years. We knew the angels would learn our location eventually. I just want t
o know who they tell.”

  Satan stood and left the room, leaving Belial alone to frown over the cameras and carry out his orders.

  Susan had just stepped into her office when the phone rang. “Susan Richardson.”

  “I have a tip for you,” said the voice at the other end of the line. “About Senator Phillips.”

  “And?”

  “Not over the phone,” the voice said. Susan was pretty sure it was a man, and he sounded scared. “Meet me at the Francis Scott Key Park at noon.” He hung up.

  Susan stared at the receiver. She knew the park in question, a tiny little collection of bricks and plants where M Street intersected the north end of the Key Bridge. A public place, but small and far enough out of the way for a clandestine meeting.

  She was a little uneasy about this cloak and dagger sort of thing, but with everything that had been going on recently, a tip about Phillips could be important. She glanced at the clock. 9:07. Three hours to go.

  Susan arrived ten minutes early to find her contact already waiting for her. She wasn’t sure at first which of the handful of people was there to see her specifically, but any questions she might have had were quickly erased when a young, slim black man walked up and said, “Susan Richardson?”

  Though he didn’t introduce himself, she recognized him. She didn’t know his name, but she’d seen him often enough to know that the man was Phillips’ aide. This should be good, she thought.

  “I don’t have a lot of time,” the man said, nervously glancing over his shoulder. “Phillips is planning a coup. He’s going to publicly accuse the president tomorrow of demonic collaboration, hoping the very idea of it will get the president kicked out of office. You’ve been warned.”

  Before Susan could get a word out, the man ran away, got into his car parked off of M Street, and was gone.

  “We now lay to rest a hero, who served his world well.”

  Daniel and the surviving four members of his team stood in a San Antonio cemetery and watched as Roberto Ortiz’s body was lowered into the ground. It was in Roberto’s will that he be buried in San Antonio, the city he’d called home after leaving MIT. He’d often said the place reminded him simultaneously of the promise of America and the history of Mexico. Daniel thought the place suited Roberto. The people were friendly and the climate dry and sunny.

  The team had been very quiet since losing their most vocal member. They all knew that death was a constant risk and part of the job, and that many DTF teams hadn’t been nearly as lucky as they, but Roberto’s loss still came as quite a shock.

  Daniel had taken it the hardest. He was still trying to make the transition from loner to leader, but it seemed as if no matter how hard he tried, he kept losing people who counted on him. Jeff, his parents, now Roberto.

  As the priest wrapped up the ceremony, a hand fell on Daniel’s shoulder. He turned and saw Uriel’s deeply tanned face smiling at him. The angel nodded, then removed his hand and observed the conclusion of the ceremony. When it was over, he pulled Daniel aside.

  “I have some news,” he said.

  Daniel was at a loss what to feel. It took all the emotion he could muster to say, “What is it?”

  Uriel reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope of photographs. “Pictures of Hell,” he whispered.

  Daniel took the pictures and leafed through them. “It’s a shack in the desert,” he said.

  “Not everything is as it seems,” Uriel said. “Come.”

  Uriel walked towards a grove of mesquite near the edge of the cemetery, and Daniel followed. “Hell is under the shack,” Uriel said, “in the Underworld.” He chuckled softly, pulled out a candy bar, and started to munch on it.

  “Hey,” Daniel said, “I thought you guys didn’t eat.”

  “We don’t eat much,” Uriel corrected with a mouthful of chocolate. “We require nourishment as you do, but our metabolisms are far superior. Barring a significant injury that forces me to regenerate, this single snack bar can sustain me for more than a month.”

  Uriel looked over at Daniel’s team, then at his watch. “Getting back to business, Hell is a converted missile silo just north of Las Vegas. Perfect place for it. It probably extends down about twenty stories. Satan knew what he was doing when he picked it out. It’s shielded by the Earth itself, and while it’s far enough outside the Vegas city limits to be discrete, it’s too close to the city for you to use nuclear weapons on it. The only way to effectively attack it is by invasion, and there’s only one way in or out. So. Is this what you wanted?”

  Daniel started to allow himself a glimmer of hope. “Yes, Uriel. I think so. I owe you one.”

  Uriel turned and walked away. “You owe me several,” he laughed. “Be glad we’re on your side.”

  Smiling for the first time in days, Daniel rejoined his team.

  Chaos

  Timothy Phillips once again stood in front of the television cameras, this time from the comfort and safety of his own office. “My fellow Americans, we are living in the gravest period in our country’s existence.

  “A few days ago, as I spread the truth about demons on the Mall, a riot broke out. I’ve seen evidence that the instigators of the fighting may have had ties to some of the demons mentioned in Zagam’s files. During the riot, two people were killed and hundreds were injured.

  “After the riot, the President of the United States broke down his plan for us on what he planned to do about the demonic threat. He plans to do nothing. In fact, he went as far as barring law-abiding Americans from protecting themselves against the demons.

  “At first I thought this was merely the political act of a politician that was more consensus-taker than leader. Then I began to wonder. Could it be that he was so ambivalent about tracking down the demons because he didn’t want them found?”

  Phillips held a stack of papers in front of the camera. “I have here proof that the President Walter Thomas took campaign contributions from individuals later revealed to be demons. Proof that your president has ties to these monsters, and has been on their payroll since before he was elected. Proof of why he doesn’t want them destroyed.

  “In light of this information, I call for his impeachment. I also ask that every red-blooded American disobey his State of Emergency decree and do what you feel is right for yourselves, and for America.

  “Thank you, good night, and God bless you all.”

  The reaction to Phillips’ speech was swift and violent. Within the hour, a mob had gathered around the White House, and despite the Secret Service’s security measures, a few had already thrown Molotov cocktails on the White House lawn.

  An hour later still, a large group of protesters arrived in support of the president. After angry screams of “witch-hunter” and “demon-lover”, fighting inevitably broke out again.

  And not only in Washington.

  “This is Susan Richardson reporting for WNN.” Susan sat behind her newsdesk in Washington and tried to tune out the sounds of violence right outside the studio. On the screens of the world’s televisions, pictures of the rioting appeared behind her.

  “Shortly after Senator Phillips’ press conference this evening, rioting broke out again in Washington, New York, Los Angeles and Chicago. While half the country seems to be behind Phillips and calls for the immediate impeachment of the president, others are just as violently opposed to what they call ‘witch-hunting hysteria’ and ‘jack-booted thugs’, a catchphrase some use for the DTF.”

  Susan put down her copy and stared directly into the camera. “This has gone too far. When I broke my journalistic objectivity and publicly condemned Phillips, I never thought it would come to this. We’re tearing ourselves apart, and I can’t help but feel it’s my fault. I’d like to ask every person watching to stay in their homes. No matter how strongly you might feel about either side of this issue, this divisiveness and violence is exactly what the demons want. By fighting each other, we’re playing right into their hands!

  “Plea
se…” Reaching the end of her emotional endurance, Susan sat back heavily in her chair and began to sob. The stage manager gave the signal to cut, and the broadcast moved on without her.

  And the fighting continued.

  Walter Thomas wasn’t in the Oval Office. Moments after the mob arrived, the Secret Service had advised him to move to a backup office in the White House sub-basement. From where he sat now, a nuclear weapon would have trouble touching him.

  The isolation only made his decision harder to bear.

  “We’re ready when you are, Mister President.”

  Thomas looked up from his desk at the television cameras and crew crowding the tiny office. May as well get this over with, he thought.

  “Roll ‘em,” he said.

  As soon as the cameraman pointed to him, Walter Thomas looked into the cameras and made history.

  “My fellow Americans, good evening. It would seem that many of you have decided to ignore my advice from a few days ago. Not only does the fighting and strife continue, but it’s spread across the country. It’s become a tangible thing, and a legitimate threat to National Security. I can’t allow that.”

  Thomas took a deep breath, then continued. “Effective immediately, I’m declaring a nationwide State of Martial Law. Curfew is at eight PM local time, and any citizens found with weapons at any time of day will be arrested and prosecuted. The National Guard will be deployed and on patrol nationwide to help local police enforce this order.

  “I am also issuing an executive order for the arrest and detainment of Timothy Phillips, on the charge of treason and conspiracy to incite riot. While I value the freedom of speech in this country as much as anyone, Phillips has shouted ‘Fire’ in a very large, very crowded theater and I won’t let him get away with that.

  “I’m deeply saddened that it has to come to this, America, but you hired me to take care of you and that’s exactly what I’m going to do, even if it means protecting you from yourselves.