Giving the filthy foot a wide berth, they headed farther into the tunnel.
Typical survival instincts would have encouraged the fight-or-flight reaction in most people, anything to avoid the possibility of impending death. But Verchiel was of the host Powers, and such instincts were not part of his makeup. All he knew was that he had to confront the danger and eliminate it. He glanced at the girl accompanying him, and could tell that she was struggling with her own survival instincts. He could practically feel the fear radiating from her.
“What?” she asked, catching his stare.
“You’re afraid,” Verchiel said, amused. These are the powerful angelic warriors who are supposed to save humanity from harm? What was the Lord God thinking?
“Yeah, so?” Melissa said. “Hasn’t stopped me, though, has it?”
She did have a point.
“No, it hasn’t,” Verchiel agreed, momentarily considering the Nephilim’s courage.
“Then you shouldn’t worry about it,” she added, continuing on.
The passage opened up into a much larger area, and Melissa stopped to take it all in. She turned slightly as Verchiel joined her.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Obviously what they had been rooting around to find in the dirt and sand,” Verchiel said, knowing exactly what they were looking at.
He remembered the place as if he’d seen it only days prior, not thousands of years before. It was the marketplace where he and the Powers had meted out punishment for the lies of a supposed prophet.
“They’ve uncovered a section of the market,” Verchiel said.
Melissa stepped farther into the room. “It was buried,” she said, squatting down to brush at a section of floor, revealing the broken pieces of a clay pot sticking up from the ground. “Swallowed up by the desert and the passage of time.”
Verchiel remembered his rage, and how he’d called the power of Heaven’s warriors upon the settlement and those who had provided that damnable prophet a safe haven.
The Powers had left no one alive, and had reduced the city to rubble. He was surprised to see even this much left intact.
“Removed from the eyes of God,” Verchiel said softly.
“What? You’re saying that all this destruction happened for a reason?” she asked, slowly rising.
“I’m saying that this place offended the Creator, and it was erased from His sight.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about this place,” Melissa observed.
“Yes, I do,” Verchiel agreed, finding it strange that a Fear Engine was here, of all places.
Before the female could prod him further, he began his search in earnest, extending his senses outward, searching for a sign of the infernal machine and what fate might have befallen this excavation.
There was another passage leading away from the marketplace dig, and Verchiel ducked into it, following a line of black electrical cables toward the growing sound of a roaring generator. This passage opened into a larger chamber that held the generator. Large spotlights had been erected around the circular cavern to illuminate a complex mural—a painting depicting the prophecy of the Nephilim.
Verchiel froze, remembering the strange dreamlike memory he’d had back at the school, when he’d seen this very painting, and how it had seemed to go on and on.
“What is this?” Melissa asked over the rumble of the generator. She moved closer to examine the simple figures of angel and mortal woman joined together to form what Verchiel and the Powers had seen as abominations in the eyes of God.
It was all there, the birth of the Nephilim and the coming of a Chosen One, a savoir for them all.
Aaron Corbet.
“This is about us,” Melissa said excitedly.
But there was more here, more than what Verchiel remembered seeing or hearing. Images depicting the Nephilim in the midst of combat against a demonic foe, a world surrounded by darkness.
Verchiel found himself drawn to the crude paintings, finding images that had yet to be cleaned of a millennia of dirt.
“This is about the Nephilim,” Melissa said again, looking at him, waiting for a response, but he could not respond—for he could not take his eyes from the area of the mural that was still obscured.
What might lie beneath it?
A story that went on and on…
Willing his hand full of divine fire, Verchiel slowly brought the flame closer in an attempt to see what was hidden. He could hear the female chattering on, but he chose to ignore her, his curiosity piqued beyond measure. And as the light shone through the dust, Verchiel suddenly realized that the girl had fallen silent. He glanced from the mural to her and saw a most curious thing.
The walls and the floor of the underground chamber had come alive. The surfaces of both churned and swirled like ocean water. Melissa had been washed against a nearby wall, her body nearly immersed in the now liquid rock and sand.
As the once solid surfaces continued to ebb and flow, he saw other bodies—those of the missing archeological team—floating too. Then the floor before him surged into the guise of a king cobra, and Verchiel caught sight of something else amongst the ancient layers.
A device of both metal and flesh.
An infernal machine… collecting the fear of the world.
* * *
Vilma appeared in an alley between two old brick buildings, her senses immediately tuning in to her surroundings.
Cameron materialized just to her right, his brown wings parting to reveal his burning sword in hand. He was tensed, ready to fight.
“You might want to put that out,” Vilma said, pulling back her wings. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves if it isn’t necessary.”
Cameron hesitated for a moment, but seeing no immediate threat, he did away with his blade and wings.
The air was cool, and thick with the smell of pine. It made Vilma think of Christmas, an alien thought for her of late. She strolled casually to the mouth of the alley and looked out at the street beyond.
“Seems pretty quiet,” she said as Cameron joined her.
“Smalltown, USA,” he said. “I wouldn’t consider this the best place for a Fear Engine.”
“But this is where the map said it would be,” Vilma said, checking out the street that was vacant of life. She closed her eyes briefly, breathing in the sweet smell but extending her senses outward, searching for a sign of anything out of the ordinary, for anything that did not feel right.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to search at all; it came looking for them instead.
The canine-like beasts appeared at the end of the street, beneath the traffic light that pulsed red like a heartbeat. There were quite a few of them, and at first Vilma thought they might have been a pack of stray dogs. But when they stood upon their back legs, snouts lifted to the night air, she knew otherwise.
“What the hell are those?” Cameron asked, a sword of fire reappearing in his hand.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Vilma answered, watching as the pack caught their scent on the wind and, one after another, began to howl, before slowly stalking down the center of the street directly for them. “Werewolves, maybe?”
“I suppose werewolves is as good a guess as any,” he said. “What do you want to do?”
She really wasn’t sure if throwing down with a pack of were-beasts was going to help them find the Fear Engine, but then again, maybe the wolves had some sort of connection. Who knew?
Vilma didn’t know what to do, and was about to suggest that they take to the relative safety of the air, when she heard a voice call out to them.
“Hey! Hey, you two!”
Both Cameron and Vilma turned. A girl in torn jeans and a faded red hoodie frantically waved at them, and a younger boy peered out from behind her.
“You don’t want to stay out here if you know what’s good for you,” the girl called through cupped hands, and then gestured for them to follow.
“What do you want
to do?” Cameron asked Vilma, his eyes glued to the cautiously advancing pack.
“I say we follow the kids,” Vilma replied. “They probably have a better idea than a pack of werewolves where this engine is.”
“I don’t know,” Cameron countered. “Monsters… Fear Engines… the two might go hand and hand.”
“Yeah, but we don’t even know if they can talk,” Vilma said, gesturing toward the pack.
“That’s a good point,” he said. “Do you want to kill a few?”
“Are you that desperate to kill something?” she asked him. “What’s it been, a few hours?”
He smiled at her, turning away from the wolves and extinguishing his sword. “You’re no fun.”
“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of fun pretty soon,” she reassured him as she ran to catch up with the two kids.
She and Cameron darted around the corner at the end of the main street, the unnatural sounds of the werewolves’ cries chasing them. The two kids scurried ahead, the boy pushing a shopping cart as the girl stopped and waved them all into a passage between an old-fashioned pharmacy and the Laundromat.
“C’mon, c’mon,” the girl urged.
Vilma ran to catch up, giving the boy a smile as she passed him. “Wait up,” she called to the girl, who stopped and turned when she was halfway down the alley.
“What are you doing out here?” Vilma asked. “Especially with things like that roaming the streets,” she said, motioning over her shoulder at the sounds of the pack in the distance.
“We needed some supplies,” the girl said. “I didn’t realize what time it was, and stupid Ryan wanted to look at the comic books.”
“I only looked at three,” Ryan said, coming up behind them with his cart.
Vilma could see some plastic bottles of water, canned goods, and candy bars in the basket of the cart.
“You can’t even read,” the girl retorted fiercely. “You just look at the pictures.”
“I can too read, Jinny,” the boy protested.
“Yeah, sure you can,” the girl said sarcastically before turning her attention back to Vilma. “So, what are you and your boyfriend doing here?” she asked. “I ain’t never seen you two around here before.”
“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Vilma said, not quite sure why she felt the need to respond to that so quickly. She thought of Aaron, then Jeremy. So frustrating. She wished she knew what it all meant.
“Uh-huh,” Jinny said with a devious smile.
Cameron laughed. “Seriously, I’m not,” he said.
“K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Ryan sang, and then started to giggle.
“Shut yer trap, Ryan,” Jinny ordered, and the boy went quiet, though he was still smirking.
“We’re looking for something,” Vilma explained. “It’s a kind of machine.” She realized that she hadn’t a clue as to what this Fear Engine even looked like, though she was certain she would know what it was when she saw it.
“A machine?” Jinny asked.
“Like a robot?” Ryan asked. “Are you looking for a robot?”
Vilma shook her head.
“It’s a machine that collects fear,” Cameron started to explain. “We heard that it’s somewhere around here, and we came to stop it.”
Jinny thought for a moment. “I don’t know about any fear machine,” she said. “But maybe Father Donnally at the church does.”
“Father Donnally?” Vilma asked.
“He’s been looking out for us since the nighttime started to get so long and those things started to show up,” she said, referencing the wolves. “We’ve been staying at the church.”
“With everybody who didn’t get eaten,” Ryan added.
“Shut up, Ryan,” Jinny ordered. “You’re not supposed to talk about the sad stuff.”
The boy looked away from her scathing glance.
“Do you think we could meet Father Donnally?” Vilma asked.
“Yeah, I think it’ll be all right,” Jinny replied.
“Excellent,” Vilma said. She looked at Cameron, who had turned back toward the mouth of the alley.
“We should really get moving,” he said.
“C’mon. The church is this way,” Jinny said, heading down the alley. Ryan started the shopping cart rolling again with a grunt, and they all followed.
Jinny stopped at the corner and peeked out, just in case. “Looks good,” she said, motioning for them to follow.
They emerged from the alley into a quaint common area. Vilma could see metal benches, picnic tables, and even a white gazebo off in the distance.
“It’s across here,” Jinny told them, making her way across the overgrown grass, underneath a dark, cloud-filled sky.
Ryan was having some difficulty pushing his shopping cart over the grass, and Cameron hung back to help him drag it along.
“What are you doing?” the little boy asked suspiciously.
“I’m giving you a hand,” Cameron said, careful to watch where he was going as he pulled.
“Well, quit it.”
Cameron laughed, surprised at the outburst. “Seriously?” he asked.
“I ain’t foolin’ around,” the boy growled, giving the cart a violent shake for him to let go.
“Fine,” Cameron said, obviously a little hurt by the kid’s rejection of his aid. “Hope you pull a groin muscle or something.”
“You’re a groin muscle,” Ryan said, straining to push the cart past him.
Vilma caught Cameron’s eye and shrugged, giving him that Whata ya gonna do? look.
He saddled up alongside her as they followed their escorts across the common.
“I sure hope we’re not wasting our time,” Cameron said.
“We have to start somewhere,” Vilma answered. “I haven’t been able to pick up any unusual vibrations. If Father Donnally knows anything, it’ll be a help.”
“It’s right over there,” Jinny said, pointing out the old, white church across the street.
There were no cars on the road, so they were able to cross without any difficulty.
“We’ll take you in the back way,” Jinny said, walking up the path that split off and snaked around to a parking lot.
Vilma looked for a sign that gave the church’s name and denomination but could find none. Odd, she thought briefly.
“Father Donnally won’t get mad at you for bringing back strays, will he?” Vilma asked Jinny, only partially joking.
“Naw,” Jinny said. “I bet he’s gonna be pretty happy to see you.”
“So you and the others have been safe here?” Cameron asked, giving the church a once-over.
“The monsters leave the church alone,” Jinny said, opening up the back door.
Vilma guessed that made sense. Churches were holy places, and evil creatures weren’t necessarily known for their purity.
Ryan gathered up the things from his cart. He was having some difficulty carrying it all, but he managed.
“I’d offer to give you a hand,” Cameron said, holding the door open for the kid, “but I wouldn’t want you to get your panties in a bunch.”
“You’re a fart head and you smell,” Ryan said, struggling to keep from dropping any of his supplies.
Vilma waited for Cameron as he pulled the door shut behind them. They stood in a kitchen area.
“We’ll let Jinny go in first to let them know that we’re here,” Vilma said.
“Hopefully Father Donnally’s more pleasant than Ryan,” Cameron said.
“He is a charmer,” Vilma agreed. She could hear Jinny speaking with someone just beyond the doorway, but she couldn’t make out what was being said.
“You ready?” Vilma asked Cameron.
“Sure,” he replied. “Let’s hope your hunch is right and this Donnally guy can help us.”
They stepped into a short corridor. Just beyond it Vilma could see the inside of the church, where some of its parishioners sat.
She and Cameron walked through the doorway and into the church, feeling
everyone’s eyes upon them. The church was dark, the altar lit only by a few flickering candles. They slowly walked down the center isle as the parishioners watched them from the wooden pews.
“That’s them,” Jinny said to an older man dressed in the white robes of a priest at the altar.
Vilma’s eyes darted around the church. There was no religious iconography, which she found a little weird. Where were the crucifixes? The statues?
Father Donnally stepped down from the altar, all warmth and smiles. “Welcome, welcome,” he said as he walked closer.
He was a pleasant-looking man, with salt-and-pepper hair and red, flushed cheeks. Vilma immediately felt at ease.
“Jinny was certainly right. You two are special.” He stopped about four feet away and clasped his hands together, looking from Vilma to Cameron. “So special. So very, very special.”
Vilma was about to thank him for his kind words, when she was struck from behind. She fell to the floor, a sound like the buzzing of an alarm clock filling her head. She wanted to warn Cameron, but through a blur she saw that he was on the floor beside her.
Then Ryan came into view, holding a hammer in one hand and smacking it against the palm of the other. The boy smiled as he bent over Cameron and whacked him viciously across the side of his head, knocking him out cold.
Vilma tried to bring forth the power of the Nephilim as the boy headed to her, but she wasn’t fast enough.
“K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” she heard the little boy sing as the hammer struck her head.
And then she heard nothing.
* * *
Gabriel appeared, his legs wobbly.
Sure, he had traveled with Aaron before. Aaron had held him and wrapped his wings around them both.
But Gabriel had never done it on his own.… He hadn’t even realized that he could.
Until he did.
The knowledge came to him, a result of his new form. As he steadied himself from his journey, Gabriel wondered offhandedly what other new talents had yet to manifest.
The Labrador studied his surroundings, turning his nose to the air and sniffing. There was a stink, but not necessarily one caused by the supernatural. He stood on the outskirts of a forest, peering out through the meager foliage at what appeared to be some sort of factory.
He padded toward the chain-link fence surrounding the property and, closing his eyes, imagined himself on the other side. There was a crackle of energy, the sound of air collapsing in upon itself, followed by something akin to the rumble of thunder, and then he was standing in the empty parking lot on the other side of the fence.
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