Kill All Angels

by Robert Brockway

  I felt my bladder spasm, and it was only thanks to years of training with massive quantities of beer that I managed to not piss myself right there and then.

  “Isn’t he wonderful?” Zang said, smiling at me in the dark.

  “That’s not the word I was thinking of.”

  “You can take him,” Zang said. “I’ll take Jie.”

  “Like fuck am I fighting the axe-wielding grizzly bear. I’ll take the skinny Chinese girl, thanks.”

  “Wow,” Zang said, gently clapping me on the shoulder. “That’s really brave. Thanks, man.”

  Oh. Shit.

  “Wait, why is Alvar easier than—” I started to ask, but Zang cut me off.

  “Well,” Zang said, eagerness in his voice. “Nobody lives forever.”

  He hopped atop the rock we’d been hiding behind and yelled: “Curfew call, assholes! Time to go home to mommy.”

  The crowd of faceless kids turned to look at us as one. Surveying their shifting, featureless faces, I immediately felt the telltale migraine building behind my eyes. I focused instead on my target, Jie, who had responded to the surprise with only the slightest inclination of her head in our direction.

  “Butcher them,” she said.

  The Unnoticeables whooped and hollered as they ran for us, like an Indian war party out of an old Western. Alvar, the mountain of beef and terror, said nothing. He quietly hefted his gargantuan double-headed axe over one shoulder, and began moseying toward us.

  Zang leapt from his perch atop the small boulder and clotheslined the closest Unnoticeable—a skinny kid in black jeans and a Kiss T-shirt, the rest of his features lost to the supernatural blur. Zang was up in an instant, moving nearly faster than my eyes could track. He grabbed the downed buttrocker by the ankles and whipped him around in a huge circle, leaning backward to use his own body as a counterweight. At the peak of his arc, he let the kid go, sending him flying into two more Unnoticeables. They caught him right across their necks. All three went down like a Three Stooges routine.

  The other Unnoticeables witnessed Zang’s inhuman speed and strength and stalled out. They looked to each other, then back up at Jie.

  I don’t know much about the Unnoticeables. They’re like cleaner fish to the sharks that are the Empty Ones. Just there to provide a brief service and occasional snack. But I know that the Unnoticeables worship the Empty Ones like gods. They set out toward us thinking they were attacking humans, and now found one of the things they revered the most turning on them. It must be like Jesus Christ descending from his cross to throat-punch a bunch of devout Christians.

  Jie made an irritated hand motion, shooing them back to the fight, but the Unnoticeables were still torn. How do you choose sides in a war between gods?

  That question, like all philosophy, was irrelevant bullshit.

  Zang took advantage of the distraction and was among the Unnoticeables like a fox in a chicken coop. He snapped, tore, gouged, and maimed without hesitation. He pulled one of the Unnoticeables’ jawbone off and used it to wail on the one next to her. He headbutted another so hard its nose exploded, blood rocketing out in every direction like a firework. The last he just brutally and ceaselessly crotch-stomped until it stopped moving. In the span of a few breaths, all of the Unnoticeables had been not just beaten, but fucking dismantled.

  Alvar didn’t seem to be impressed by the display. He didn’t even speed his stride, just kept loping toward Zang at an unhurried saunter.

  Zang looked back at me.

  “Eyes on Jie,” he said, then turned and broke into a dead run at Alvar.

  I couldn’t have registered less with Jie. She only had eyes for Zang. Not that she looked at him with anything resembling affection. When Zang first saw her sitting above the abandoned auditorium, there was plain and unmistakable hatred on his face. But as Jie watched Zang slide between Alvar’s legs and jump up onto his back—snatching and clawing like a furious housecat thrown atop a passive bear—there was nothing on her face. Not hate, or love, or even faint irritation. Just little bird-like twitches of the head as she observed the struggle. I took advantage of being in her blind spot, grabbed the nearest solid object, and chucked it right at her head.

  Too late, I realized “hurl stuff at the invincible monster’s head and hope it works out” was a shitty plan.

  Even worse: As soon as it left my hand, I realized that the object I’d thrown was an inexplicably full beer can. I mean, it was a Coors, and it was probably old, certainly room temperature, and undoubtedly peed on at some point—but still, an abandoned soldier on this battlefield was a damn miracle.

  At least my aim was true, and the can nailed Jie straight in the forehead. It wasn’t enough to hurt her, but it was enough to throw her off balance. She windmilled her arms, trying to stay atop the concrete slab, but it was too little, too late. She went tumbling backward into the dark. To either side of the auditorium, the concrete walls stretched out, high and unbroken. Whatever it was she’d fallen into, it would take her a bit to get back around to me.

  The Unnoticeables were in pieces around me, Jie was indisposed, and Alvar was currently occupied—if not the least bit bothered—by Zang’s attack. Nobody was watching the chubby kid, who had once been the center of this fucked-up stage show. I ran to him, hauled him to his feet, and started him running. I had no point of reference for the nearest exit, aside from back the way we came. So that’s where we went, blindly crunching empty beer cans and stumbling over broken appliances.

  The kid didn’t say a word as we ran. Whatever had happened tonight had broken something in him, and I sure as shit didn’t have time to fix it. He moved his feet in the general direction that I dragged him, and that was good enough for now. We crouched beside the entryway, our breath coming in stuttering gasps.

  I strained my eyes, peering into the darkened interior of the zoo, but caught no sign of Zang.

  How long is considered a polite length of time to wait for a sociopathic hollow monster before leaving him for dead?

  About five seconds, I decided.

  “We can’t stop here,” I told the kid. “Keep running.”

  The kid was on the heavy side. He was afflicted with one of those bowl cuts that looks like Mom just upturned a mixing bowl on his head and went to town with the clippers. He was wearing a bright blue windbreaker and cargo shorts. Socks with sandals. Not exactly a champion for the ages, but god damn if he uttered a single word of complaint, despite clearly being in worse shape than even I was.

  He just nodded once, resolutely.

  Tears streamed down the kid’s face. He breathed only between hiccups. But he was ready.

  I slapped him on the arm by way of encouragement, and we both set out at a fast jog, back down the path toward civilization. We’d barely made it to the first bend when a shadow stepped out from between the bushes to our left. I grabbed a fistful of the kid’s windbreaker and we skidded to a halt. The shadow was short and skinny and it moved with a lethal grace.

  I had an awful feeling I knew who it was, and she wasn’t going to be too happy to see me.

  But Zang stepped into the half-light from the distant streetlamps instead, his face cleaved nearly in two by a massive, gaping axe wound. Still, he smiled at us when he said: “You got the candidate out! Good job, man. How the hell did you take out Jie?”

  “I threw a can of Coors straight into her face,” I said.

  “Haha,” Zang said. “Holy shit. She’s going to eat your fucking eyeballs for that.”

  “Thanks, man,” I answered. “That’s really comforting.”

  The fat kid’s eyes had gone wide at the sight of Zang. His breathing, already labored, only quickened. He couldn’t yet speak, but I got the gist.

  “Hey,” I said to him. “Don’t worry. I know it’s weird, but this one’s on our side. You’re safe now.”

  The kid looked at me like I was trying to sell him a time-share, but finally he nodded again and smiled at me.

  “We’ll take care of you,�
�� I said to him.

  “We sure will,” Zang added.

  He moved in the space between blinks. His fist crashed into the fat kid’s face so hard it got stuck inside what was left of his skull. Blood and brain matter splattered across my shoes. The kid’s shattered facehole made a noise like when you try to shake cranberry sauce out of the can. Zang wriggled his fist, trying to free it from the ruins of the kid’s skull. Finally, it came free with a moist pop, and the kid’s twitching carcass hit the ground. His sandaled feet tapping out a dead man’s soft-shoe on the asphalt path.

  “What the fuck did you do?” I screamed. “What the fuck did you just do?!”

  “What?” Zang looked at me, innocent confusion on his face.

  “You killed him!”

  “Yes.”

  He still didn’t see the problem. I had forgotten, for just one second, the kind of creature I was dealing with. I fell for the goofy mannerisms and the human shell, like everybody else. Like an asshole.

  “But why?” I dropped my volume, remembering that we literally weren’t out of the woods yet.

  “He was a candidate,” Zang said, his voice gone flat. “What we interrupted back there was the ritual to create a new angel. Sooner or later, the other players would have arrived, he would make the choice required of him, and a new angel would be born.”

  “But we got him out of there,” I said, my tone like I was trying to explain shoplifting to a toddler. “He was safe.”

  “Yes,” Zang said. “But for how long? He was fat, and running was difficult for him.”

  “Holy shit,” I said, putting my arms behind my head. “You killed him because he was kinda chubby?”

  “Yes,” Zang answered. “He may have slowed us down. He may have gotten himself caught again, at which point Jie would have resumed the ritual. The only safe way to deal with that candidate was to eliminate him. That ensured that no new angels could ever be made from him. That harms the angels. I want to harm the angels.”

  “But I was a candi—” I caught myself, too late.

  Zang’s posture grew stiff. He turned his blank eyes on me.

  “I did not know that,” he said. “Did they complete the ritual?”

  Oh, shit. What was the right answer here? The one that doesn’t get my skull punched inside out?

  “Yes?” I said, opting for honesty—mostly ’cause I couldn’t think of any decent lies right then.

  Zang relaxed, lapsing back into the façade of humanity.

  “Well, all right!” he said. “Damage done! They can’t use you again for a long time, and we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “And uh…” I gestured toward the kid’s corpse, now still. “Is this what you mean by ‘crossing that bridge’?”

  Zang winked.

  It was fucking hideous.

  “Now we gotta go, man,” Zang said. “Unless you wanna wait around for a hot date with Alvar and his axe.”

  “I do not,” I said.

  My heart was hammering and my guts were clenched so tight I was probably turning yesterday’s tacos into diamonds, but I feigned a smile. Probably the worst acting in history, but the guy didn’t know a genuine human reaction from his own asshole, so he bought it. I would have to play it cool for a while, until I could spot an opening and get away from him without getting my own face pulverized.

  Zang turned and jogged down the darkened path, cutting through the squat pines with their skeletal arms and needles like dried straw. I followed a few steps behind, trying not to puke.

  * * *

  I figured Zang would take off again once we got back in town. When it became apparent that he wasn’t, I tried a few awkward good-byes, but he didn’t get the hint. He walked with me all the way to my crash spot in Koreatown.

  Well, shit. Now I have to find a new crash spot, unless I want to wake up to a skinny Asian guy stomping me to death for kicks some night.

  We ducked into the short alley I called home. I leaned back against the exposed brick of the butcher shop wall. It was cool against my back, even through my leather jacket. The strength went out of my legs. I’d been running or walking all night, fueled on nothing but fear, adrenaline, and some stale bread I’d snagged from the Vietnamese bakery down the street. I slid down onto my butt. Zang squatted against the wall opposite me. He didn’t say anything. His face was slack and his arms dangled by his sides, like somebody had pulled the plug on a human being.

  “I’ve got a question,” I said.

  “Shoot,” he said.

  “Back at the zoo, when I said I’d take Jie and you should take the giant with the axe, you said I was brave.…”

  “Yes.”

  “Why was Jie the brave option there? That guy was like a Buick with a beard.”

  “The Empty Ones’ strength doesn’t come from size. When the angels gift us with the void, we cease to be disgusting meat machines. We do not eat, drink, or breathe, unless we choose to. We are not human. Alvar was just a shell, as I am a shell. The size of the shell does not matter; the power within is the same.”

  Zang tilted his head a little, considering something.

  “Or very nearly the same. Perhaps Alvar is a bit stronger than I am,” he continued. “But not in a way that is meaningful. The thing you have to fear most in an Empty One is not their strength, but their viciousness. Alvar is a simple thing. He lives for battle. He likes to kill. He does not like to torture. One swing from that axe, and Alvar would be done with you.

  “Not so with Jie. Jie likes to take her time. Jie is very creative. Fifty years ago in Santa Barbara, a woman spilled her drink on Jie and did not apologize profusely enough. Jie took her to our home at the time, whose occupants we had butchered and replaced. She slit the woman’s belly open and hooked her intestines up to a very large antique music box the previous owners had acquired. Jie forced the woman to crank the mechanism of the music box herself. Jie sat and listened to the song of a woman disemboweling herself for three hours until the woman, at last, collapsed into death.”

  Holy. Shit.

  “And I just hit her in the face with a beer can,” I said.

  “You did indeed,” Zang said. “Very brave. Or very stupid. I do not fully understand the difference between the two, so I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “It was probably the second one,” I conceded.

  “Yes,” he said. “That seems right.”

  We stared at each in other silence for what felt like hours, until the exhaustion finally caught up with me and I passed out in my clothes, sitting atop my own sleeping bag. I had terrible dreams. Pretty Chinese girls clawing into my stomach, grabbing the ends of my intestines in their mouths and slurping them out like spaghetti. Giants with bloody, multi-edged axes—each head the face of somebody I’d gotten killed—swinging them into me, splitting me in two. Dead, black dolls’ eyes inches from my own. Just staring, wide, unblinking, unseeing.…

  “Gah!” I yelped, and reflexively slapped Zang away.

  That last one wasn’t a dream, I guess. When I awoke, Zang was laying down beside me, his own face inches from my own, silently staring into my eyes.

  “What!” I exclaimed, not asked. Then asked: “What?!”

  “You were sleeping,” Zang said.

  “Yeah, what the fuck were you doing?”

  “Pretending to sleep, so as not to arouse suspicion in passersby.” He gestured out at the sidewalk beyond the short alley, already bustling with the early risers of Koreatown. Shop owners, mostly, just opening up their doors.

  “Why the hell were you doing it right next to me?” I asked.

  “People sleep on beds,” Zang said. “You only have the one blanket. It would be strange if I did not appear to be sleeping on a bed.”

  “It is way stranger that you snuggle right up to me on a single sleeping bag and fucking stare at me all night,” I said.

  “To you, it is,” he answered. “Not to them. You know what I am; they do not.”

  “Okay, fine!
Fuck!” I shoved him back and sat upright, rubbing the sleep off my face. “Just shut up for a minute while I wake up.”

  So, what? Now I have an evil sidekick? How the hell am I going to get out of this?

  “Don’t you have any plans today?” I asked, when I’d finally scraped the last of a shitty night’s rest away.

  “We do,” he said.

  “We?” I asked. “What are we, a couple now?”

  “Yes.”

  Just … yes?

  “I, uh, I was joking,” I said. “Look, man, it was great working with you and all, but I’ve got my own life.”

  “No, you don’t,” Zang said. I blinked, and he was standing. I didn’t even see him move. “You have no life. You are useless. You are trash. At least as far as society is concerned. You are doing nothing. You have no purpose. But you have skills and knowledge which are useful to me. You will help me.”

  My first instinct was to defend myself, but I looked around at my stained bedroll and my stolen JanSport full of hobo treasures, and I couldn’t muster a good counterargument. Instead I simply said:

  “Do what?”

  Zang smiled. A big, goofy grin.

  “Fuck shit up, of course!”

  FIFTEEN

  }}}Carey. 1982. Los Angeles, California. Westlake.}}}}}}}}}

  I’d been with Zang a week, and so far his mission consisted of a lot of standing quietly outside people’s houses, watching them through the windows.

  It was pretty creepy, even by my standards.

  He explained that he was watching other potential candidates, trying to tell which one the Empty Ones would pull next, since we’d cost them one angel already. The procreation cycle was thirty-six years, he said, but that was per angel. The one we’d cock-blocked, for lack of a better term, wouldn’t be able to try again for a few decades, but there were plenty of other angels, and the Empty Ones don’t take days off.