Everyone grabbed their bags and followed the girl, throwing Noland sideways glances.
“How did you do it?” Olivier asked.
“I told her that Emile had a deadly disease and the only doctor who could save his life was in Moscow, and he didn’t have much time left.” Olivier laughed.
“Oh yeah? And what ails me?” Emile smiled coming up next to him.
“Oh my friend you are dying from Consecotaleophobia.” Noland smirked.
“Dude, that’s the fear of chopsticks!” Emile whispered trying not to laugh.
“I know… It was the first thing that came to mind.” Noland whispered.
Achaia giggled behind him. It was the brightest sound he’d heard in a week.
“That’s great.” Achaia said trying to keep her giggles under control. The combination of being tired and stressed had apparently resulted in an uncontrollable burst of laughter.
Achaia tried hard to stop laughing but she couldn’t. When they reached the plane and the girl turned around Achaia buried her face in her hands. It looked as if she were sobbing. To convince the girl that this was the case, Noland put his arm around her. “Shh, he’s going to be okay. We’re going to get there.” He whispered loudly in Achaia’s ear. “Thank you so much again for all your help,” he said to the girl, as they passed her to load the plane.
“No problem. I hope he gets the help he needs.” She said looking at Achaia with great concern, then to Emile.
“Oh he needs so much,” Olivier laughed under his breath ahead of them.
Achaia followed Noland onto the plane. “You could have toned it down a little. She felt awful!” Emile whispered.
When they had all boarded, and the doors were closed, they all burst out into laughter. Even Amelia.
So she does know how to smile. Achaia thought, stopping her own laughter in mild surprise.
Amelia was pretty when she smiled, really pretty. Achaia wondered why she was so angry all the time.
They were all buckled and still smiling with the occasional giggle as the plane took off into the clear sky. Achaia leaned, once again, into the cushioned chair, shut her eyes, and fell asleep.
Achaia was in the city again, only this time her and her dad’s apartment was red. Everything in it was white. She looked in all of the rooms for her dad, but couldn’t find him. When she opened the front door to go outside, there was no floor. There was nothing. It was empty, not black, not blue, not white, but nothing. There was a searing pain in her back and the apartment began to shake. No, not the apartment… the plane.
Achaia opened her eyes. Everyone was quiet, the turbulence was the worst Achaia had ever experienced.
Noland’s face was serious, and white. Emile had his eyes shut tight, Amelia looked horrified. Yellaina was crying silently, and Olivier was praying.
Achaia looked around again and noticed that in their different ways, they were all praying. Achaia’s stomach dropped and Yellaina screamed, as the plane fell hundreds of feet. The turbulence rattling them all in their seats. Achaia’s seat belt was cutting into her hip bones as she jostled.
Then the plane shot downward again. This time it didn’t stop.
Everyone was screaming; instructions, exclamations, each other’s names and wails of fear. There was a series of loud crashes, abrupt stopping, being jerked around, and pain… lots of pain.
Then there was nothing.
“You can think of this as an initiation ceremony.” Luc explained. He had led Shael down a tunnel and into a darker room with a cage in the center, and rows upon rows of demons in stands. “The blood games establish your rank here in Hell.” He opened up the door to the cage, and gestured for Shael to enter. “You’ll be fighting Ragnar tonight. If you win, you can work your way up and challenge from there.” Luc smiled encouragingly.
Shael looked at his demonic opponent. He was a huge lump of a beast, with hulking muscular shoulders. His skin was dry and gray, lending him a look of stone. In fact, if you didn’t look at his face, you might think he was just a boulder. On the plus side, he looked rather dim witted, and Shael hoped his bulk would mean he was slow. On the down side, Shael still hadn’t fully healed from his alley brawl with the five demon stooges. He felt the adrenaline course through him, waking up his muscles.
Shael shook out his arms as he entered the ring. Chaos rose in the stands as demons stood, and hissed, and cheered. Ragnar looked a little confused as he looked at Shael. He looked to Luc, as a dog looked to its owner for permission, when told to do something it knew was wrong. Luc nodded at him, then rolled his eyes as he locked the door of the cage.
Luc went up to a throne-like seat in the stands. From there, his voice echoed throughout the room when he spoke, as it would if he used a microphone. “Let the fight commence!”
Demons cheered. Shael blocked out the noise, focusing on his opponent. He saw Ragnar’s left foot step, just before he jabbed. Shael ducked, missing the blow by an inch. Ragnar was slower than Shael, but not as slow as Shael had hoped. However, Ragnar was easy to read. His strikes were foretold by tells and were obvious. He wasn’t a particularly skilled fighter, just a heavy one.
Shael lunged forward, sliding on his knees, slicing out with his dagger at Ragnar’s hamstrings. Ragnar stumbled forward, tripping, but his skin was thick and tough. Shael checked his blade, there wasn’t even any blood on it. “Damn,” Shael said looking up at the massive figure that was Ragnar, shaking his head.
Shael ran forward. Springing up from a kick to Ragnar’s hip, Shael launched himself onto the demon’s shoulders reaching around to slit his throat. The spectating demons all hissed. Yet again, his blade came away clean. Ragnar reached up, and grabbed Shael by the leg, dangling him upside down. The demons laughed with mirth.
Shael sat up as Ragnar swung with his opposite hand and missed. Shael rolled his eyes. This fight was becoming tedious. Shael stared up at the hand holding him, and to the caged roof above it. If he could just…
Shael swung himself back and forth, Ragnar looked at him confused. In frustration, he shook Shael violently. However, this afforded Shael an opportunity to grab at the caged ceiling. He held tight, and as Ragnar’s hand shook downward, Shael did not go with it. He swung himself as if on monkey bars above Ragnar’s head. The demons were in uproar, some laughed at him, some jeered, and some stared on in confusion. Shael swung as Ragnar advanced, releasing himself into a summersault. He came down with his full force, jamming his feet unto the top of Ragnar’s head. The demon swayed for a moment, and collapsed unconscious.
The demons all hissed. Lucifer smiled, though Shael was sure he had seen a frown of disappointment, just before he beamed his congratulations. “We have a winner!” Luc strutted down the steps and into the ring, thrusting Shael’s arm into the air. “Shael ben Yahweh advances!” The demons moaned their disapproval, but fell silent at a reproving glare from Lucifer. Some of them cheered halfheartedly. But most of them just stared on in disbelief, unable to comprehend that they were to accept a fallen angel amongst their ranks.
The smoke that rose up from the ground where the plane had crashed didn’t get far before it was swept away by the wind. The small fire that had started had already been put out by the snow.
The blizzard was so thick that Noland could hardly see the plane, though he could see the nose had been obliterated. The pilot couldn’t have made it. The fire of guilt lit in his stomach, he pushed it down, smothering it with priority.
Noland looked down checking himself over, he felt fine, nothing was hurt, but he knew why…
Emile standing next to him was wide eyed and alert, though he was tired, and drained. “Amelia!” He tried to yell, but it came out as a hoarse cry, drowned in his throat before it ever even reached the howling wind.
Noland felt bad for him, but felt worse for Amelia. Looking around, he could see Yellaina on the ground, Olivier helping her to her feet. Amelia lay unconscious a few yards away, Emile rushed toward her. But where was Achaia?
“Achaia!” Noland called out.
Once he checked Amelia for a pulse, Emile joined Noland in the search. Finding nothing in his proximity, Emile joined Noland in searching the surrounding area.
Olivier rubbed Yellaina’s arm and began searching as well. Yellaina made her way over to tend to Amelia.
Each of the guys took off in different directions searching around the plane, calling Achaia’s name.
Where is she? Noland thought, nearing panic. “Achaia!” Noland could hear his voice growing angrier, but he wasn’t mad, he was scared. Where is she? Tell me I haven’t lost her, he pleaded.
“Over here!” Emile called from the other side of the plane. “She’s still inside!” Emile was pulling at a section of wall. Through the window Noland could see Achaia laying inside.
“Is she…?” Noland started, his whole body going still and numb. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question. “Watch out,” Noland said, searching for a place for his hands to hold onto the fuselage.
Emile stepped back out of the way. Noland grasped the side and pulled it out and up, tearing it away from the rest of the plane. The metal screamed under the abuse. He pushed it away from himself, throwing it to the side, and climbed into the plane.
Achaia heard a great tearing sound and flinched away from it. She tried to call out for help, but all she could muster was a moan. Her head hurt and she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. It had all happened so fast. She wondered, in amazement, how she was alive.
“Kaya? Oh thank God!” She could hear a voice. She felt a hand run down her face, wiping the hair away, rubbing her cheek. “Thank God.” The voice said again.
Her head was lifted up and tucked into something hard and warm, a chest. Achaia struggled to make her eyes open. Through squinted, bruised feeling eyes, she could see blue, a shirt. There was a hand under her head supporting it, she was grateful. She didn’t think she could hold it up herself.
As the blue pulled away from her she looked up to find a face.
Noland?
His dirty blond hair was drenched, blood running through it onto his forehead, and into his eyes. His green eyes, were blood shot, wet, and searching hers. His arms were hard and strong and gave her a safe feeling. Her head throbbed. She couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. She closed them and let the dark take her.
Emile stood shivering outside the plane. He could feel Noland’s fear, relief, and worry.
Noland emerged from the plane with Achaia in his arms. “We need to grab as much as we can and take it with us. There has to be shelter around here somewhere.” Noland juggled Achaia up to his chest and held her close against the wind, turning her face into him, like a child.
They walked around to the other side of the plane where Olivier and Yellaina sat next to Amelia trying to wake her up.
Their bags were scattered across the area. Emile walked around throwing straps over his shoulders, collecting them all. Amongst the rubble he found a box of plane crackers. He grabbed it and tucked it into Achaia’s book bag which was only half-full.
When he rejoined the group, Noland took some of the bags from Emile and had him pack them on his back. Achaia stirred in his arms.
“Olivier why don’t you go have a look around and see if you can’t find shelter.” Emile suggested. He felt Olivier’s sense of purpose and urgency as he took off into the snow running.
Emile bent down and lifted Amelia into his own arms.
Noland picked a direction and started walking. Olivier met them a few minutes later. “There is an old cabin about a couple miles ahead, that way.” He told them, pointing left, not even out of breath.
“I can’t carry her that long.” Emile said struggling to keep Amelia from falling out of his numb arms to the ground.
“Here, we’ll take turns.” Olivier reached out his arms, and took his sister from her twin.
Emile shook out his arms and looked around. How were they going to make sure they were going in the right direction? Everywhere he looked all he could see was snow, swirling around them. This blizzard was strong, there was no sign of it letting up anytime soon. He could feel everyone else’s hopelessness. It was times like this that Emile was grateful for Noland’s stubborn endurance and refusal to give up. It was refreshing in the midst of everyone else’s distress.
“Olivier you lead the way.” Noland commanded in a low steady voice. Emile envied him sometimes for his spiritual gifts. Not only did he get two, but they were two that Emile wouldn’t mind having himself.
Emile’s jaw chattered and he tried to grab the book bag straps sliding down his shoulder with his cold, wet, hands. Even as his fingers grasped the strap, he couldn’t feel it in his hand. That couldn’t be a good sign.
Olivier did as he was told and walked ahead of the group. They walked for what felt like an hour, but since they were headed against the wind now, they hadn’t gone far.
“It’s your turn” Olivier said falling back and passing Amelia off to Emile.
Emile struggled to hold her up, he had lost all feeling in his legs and arms. They went on though. Emile now had to breathe through his mouth, his nose had started running and now was covered with tiny icicles.
He looked over to Noland, who was wet, but still looked as he did on the plane, no icicles, nothing. Same for Achaia, she was warm and safe against his chest. Warmed by the heat radiating from within him.
They carried on for what seemed like forever, until time stood still. Emile had no feeling of time coming or going, or even of its existing at all. He had begun to walk with his eyes shut tight, against the wind, and because he was simply exhausted.
“There it is!” Olivier yelled from about twenty feet in front of him. His voice flew on the wind, but there was no use in responding, Emile knew Olivier wouldn’t be able to hear him. Somehow, with an end in sight, walking became ten times harder. He was walking but the cabin didn’t seem to be getting any closer. In every step he could feel the weight of his own body and Amelia’s.
“Olivier!” Emile tried to yell. But his voice came out as a harsh sounding moan.
Noland rushed over to him and adjusted Achaia over one of his shoulders and took Amelia out of Emile’s arms, laying her over his other shoulder.
Olivier and Yellaina reached the cabin and tried to get in. The snow was piling up on the steps and porch. Olivier, moving quickly cleared a path to the door in the time it would have taken most people to grab a shovel. Noland made it up to the porch ahead of Emile and handed Amelia over to Olivier. He let Achaia slide down his chest again into his arms, and held onto her tightly as he kicked open the door.
As they walked inside, Olivier hit the light switch but nothing happened. “It was worth a shot.” Olivier said juggling Amelia in his arms.
With everyone inside Emile turned around and shut the door. It was a small cabin for sure, even small for a one room cabin, and it was full of junk. To his right, there was a set of small bunk beds. To his left, a slightly larger bed, that Emile guessed was supposed to be big enough for two people. There was a fire place in the center of the side wall behind him, by the door.
Noland walked over to the larger bed and laid Achaia down gently. Emile had never seen Noland be that gentle with anyone before. He could feel Noland’s tenderness.
Achaia opened her eyes. Noland stood over her.
“Hey.” He spoke softly. She’d never heard him use that tone before.
Near death experiences really get to people, she thought to herself. “Hey.” She tried to smile but it hurt. Her lips split, she could taste the iron of her blood in her mouth.
“How do you feel?” He asked softly sitting down next to her.
“Cold.” She said attempting to sit up. The room started spinning like the tilt-a-whirl ride at the county fare.
“Whoa!” He said, taking her gently by the shoulders. “Slowly.” His hands were firm but gentle all at the same time; his eyes bright and warmhearted. He rubbed her arms and shoulders. “Yeah, I bet you�
��re cold. We’re all wet. We’re going to start a fire…”
“Amelia?” Achaia asked, noticing the body next to her own. Amelia lay unconscious, face pale in the cold.
“We’ll explain later. Right now we need to dry the clothes. Even the bags are soaked through. We had to walk over a mile in a blizzard to get here.”
“Over a mile in a blizzard? How—”
“I carried you,” he said simply. “We need to get out of these wet clothes and dry them before we all get hypothermia.”
Achaia blushed but nodded. “Hey,” she put a hand on his forearm to stop him as he stood. “Thank you.”
Noland smiled his welcome, and helped her to her feet slowly.
The others were all looking around the cabin. “I found some rope!” Olivier exclaimed. “We can use this to make a clothes line.”
“Good stuff,” Emile concurred. “Noland… Fire?”
“Yeah, I’m on it.” Noland walked over to the fireplace which was itself filling with snow. He took a few logs from the pile next to the door and stacked them inside. He then leaned down in front of the logs and worked for a second, and there was a fire.
“How did you do that?” Achaia asked. “That should have been impossible, those logs are wet and there’s snow in it.”
“I have my ways.” Noland smirked. “It’s one of my spiritual gifts.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot about those.” It felt weird being nice to him, but it felt good. He is cute, she thought to herself with surprise, taking in the warm glow of his skin. His eyebrow had a gash through it, but it gave him the look of an action hero— She concluded she had obviously hit her head.
“Get out of those wet clothes, all of you.” Emile ordered, himself taking off his dripping wet t-shirt. The room went quiet, save for the sound of wringing out wet t-shirts, and stumbling out of wet jeans.
Noland grabbed at the bottom seam of his t-shirt and pulled it up over his head revealing a perfectly sculpted stomach and chest. Achaia swallowed hard and looked away as he unbuttoned his pants. Her cheeks burned, as she turned her back on him. Behind her was Olivier. She turned around again and Emile was pulling his feet out of the legs of his pants.
Transgression Page 15
