Order of Dust

by Nicholas J. Evans

  “Ah,” said the cheerful devil. “Knew we’d be meeting again,” he said to Carter who put up his hand and greeted him with a dance of his fingers instead of a traditional wave. Then Azazel placed his stare on Cassiel, “Hey, baby doll.”

  She stayed stoic, ignoring his comment.

  “Oh, come now,” he said as he approached them slowly with long steps, “you didn’t forget little old Azazel so quickly, did ya?”

  Jackson now stood behind the remaining humans who banged and shoved at the red door. Just beyond the red, metal barrier they could all hear the laughter of a child and the shouting of an older man. Jackson watched the people scratch, and scream, and cry to leave. It reminded him of when he was a child and the other students in his class would whine during gym class. Only these were not children, or students, and they certainly were not innocent.

  To Jackson, these humans were lower than the Un-Ascended. While the others purchased these fresh, young bodies so they could continue living on, these normal humans bid on them for other reasons. The thought of a grown man purchasing a child sickened him, and caused him to let out a grunt in frustration. He lifted the pistol high, read the etchings carved into the side, and he flicked off the safety on For Humans.

  Then, it spoke.

  In only a moment, a moment that consisted of gunfire, the screaming had ended. Just outside of the door Aldrich stood with his smile, and Coldin stood frightened as a small pool of blood formed under the door and oozed out beneath him, reminding him of what he had witnessed from Sandy. Inside, Jackson turned his back to the huddle of lifeless bodies and headed towards the stage once more.

  “Bite your tongue, asshole,” Cassiel said to Azazel who stood before her and brushed her face with the tip of his cold finger.

  “Oh, come on, baby,” he replied. “You’re in my world now, best start actin’ like it.”

  Cassiel was bubbling over with rage and pushed her arm out in fury to knock Azazel back. She knew of this being’s presence but it was still much to her surprise, although not to Carter’s, when she hit him it felt like she slammed into a cement truck. She knew that this must be the reason none of the Order of Ascendance dare oppose him. The grinning man in the suit did not move an inch, and it was as if he did not even notice it. A dog would recognize a single flea more than he registered the blow. Now, with her arm straight, her palm against his cold and heartbeat-less chest, he wrapped his long fingers around her elbow. With a single squeeze the sound of snapping bones filled the room, followed by a shriek.

  “N-no...” Cassiel said as she fell to one knee and clutched her arm tightly, dropping her blade. “You bastard…”

  “Oh, quiet down,” Azazel said as he shoved her to the side and stood face-to-face with Carter. “You know you’ll heal up, only one way to kill an angel, after all. But let me give you, and Carter here a little piece of advice.” He looked at Carter, this time with no teeth showing and without his lips even so much as bent in a smirk. “If you touch me, well, I get to touch you.”

  A deep, rich, black smoke appeared on the stage and then quickly dissipated. Azazel, along with all of the Dusts, had vanished. Now all that remained were Cassiel, who stood up as her arm began to reassemble the shattered bone, Carter, who stood quietly and adjusted his tie, Jackson, standing at the edge of the stage with one leg up and his Arm raised toward Carter, and of course the silent Ayres in the back doorway. She blocked their exit, and she would not allow his escape again or even her own kind’s; she was ready to draw blood. Her eyes were set upon him, visions of Sydney flashed in her mind and she gripped her blade tightly.

  “Come now, sweet Jackson,” Carter said as he walked toward Ayres. “We both know I shouldn’t pass on tonight. We are two sides of the same coin, you see.”

  Jackson fired.

  Cassiel leapt in front of the glowing round and swatted it away with the broadside of her blade as if it were a tennis ball. Her arm now as good as new, and her menacing stare focused on Jackson. He watched the small beam of light reflect off her weapon and fade into the wall beside them. Behind her, Carter smiled happily with the protection of his companion.

  “Like he said, Order,” Cassiel muttered. “He shouldn’t pass on tonight. And he won’t.” She trembled again for a moment in a spasm and her eyes rolled backward into her skull before refocusing.

  Jackson stepped on to the stage, “We’ll see.”

  10

  Leech

  Jackson could smell the blood, and the rain.

  He stared down the wrath of an angel. Cassiel had the strength and speed to match Ayres, but with a much different intention. Jackson did not know how to kill an angel, despite wanting to pry the information out. Whether it was for her own protection, or for his, Ayres would not inform him directly. Instead, she asked that he not engage any of her kind and that she would handle it.

  He had no choice.

  It was like every traditional standoff Jackson had seen on the television growing up. The cowboy stood tall, his jacket lay still, his arm raised with the weapon pointed out. His opponent stood his equal, with a wide blade like a giant cleaver, and armor dressed over her skin. This was not his equal, and Jackson was no cowboy. He was no hero, no detective solving cases. Deep down, as he stared into the eyes of someone who may be the second person to end his life, he knew he was just a man with a gun and a dream of revenge. It would have to be enough, he thought. It was all he could do.

  Outside, the other two stood at their post regardless of the blood under them. Aldrich didn’t seem to mind all that much, and part of him wondered if he should jump in it to splash it on his new associate. Luckily for Coldin, he did not. Coldin was not used to this lifestyle, and Aldrich could see his panic. As the leaking blood slowly began to come to an end, like a small stream of water entering a lake, Aldrich took the moment to explain their situation and the history along with it.

  Aldrich had been around longer than most, and in doing so he had more time with Azazel, and even Usra, than most who are still among the living. “The Order,” he began, “is a job title. And, it is treated as thus by those who employ said position.”

  “Yea, but why? Every job has a purpose, kid. From a fucking cashier to the guy slinging dope downtown. And, those jobs got titles.”

  “I suppose you are correct but the title of Order implies a group, not a singular. You see, Jackson is a part of a group and I believe our dear gunman is slowly realizing this. He is part of a long line, and each one was born of revenge, pure and simple. Let us be completely honest in the fact that these, and I quote, Higher Beings have little to no care for their pesky revenge plots. Certainly, had no use in my own aspirations,” Aldrich said as he looked down at the ground around them. His eyes fell upon the man Jackson gunned down in the street, and he made his way to the corpse, rummaged through his jacket pockets, and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. The boy pressed the gold filter to his lips and pulled in the rich smoke.

  “He is a pawn, for lack of a better term,” and he pushed out the gray cloud that swirled under the stars. “A pawn with a gun, aimed at the ones who evaded their passing.”

  “But, why?” Coldin queried with a single raised brow.

  Aldrich looked down at the cigarette between his fingers, “Honestly, just an old habit I suppose. Although today’s product is nothing but horrid chemicals and over processed tobacco–”

  “No, not that. Why use a pawn? Ain’t they the all-powerful ones or some shit?”

  “Oh,” Aldrich replied with a chuckle. “Now that I do not know, my big friend. But, having a grunt to handle one’s dirty work does not sound all that bad.”

  “So, we’re talking like good and evil then? That is what they do? And Jackson is trained to be the middleman?”

  “Ah, I suppose so,” and he took another pull between his smiling lips, “but, good and evil are nothing more than ideals I am afraid. Man-made, and as cheap as this cigarette. I, personally, enjoy the thought that one is just the beginning and o
ne is just the end. Their roles imply that one would be the light and other the dark, but there is a splash of both within one another. And, the Order? Well, they are just the gray in the equation.”

  “Makes sense,” Coldin responded and shook his head. “So, do you just tell every stranger this stuff?”

  “Dear Coldin, I believe that since you are now, for better or for worse, stuck with us, then you may as well know a bit of the party to which you are now a part of.” Aldrich popped out his tiny hand toward the large man, “Also, it was terribly rude of me but I ignored your right to a proper introduction, even if it is late to our meeting.”

  Coldin shook the tiny, pale hand with his bear-like one. “Said a lot of stuff in a funny accent right there, little man, but I think I got it.” He was still shaken up deep inside, mainly due to Sandy but also for his current situation, yet something about just having the knowledge now gave him some relief. “Thanks for the info, kid.”

  “Please do not call me kid or little man, I dare say I am old enough to be your grandfather's grandfather,” he retorted. “Being an officer of the law, a bobbie as we used to say, you must feel some part of justice being served?”

  Coldin laughed. “You know, I didn’t want to work at that prison. After a few years in there you feel like one of them, a convict. They lock the doors behind you every morning the same as them, only difference is that sometimes you get to go home,” he said between his chuckles and smiles, shaking his head. His arms were still crossed, and he continued to lean against the solid door even while standing in the blood. “But, your mind... Well that shit never leaves.”

  “I may be a bit out of line with my work experience, seeing as how most of my professions came with the body, so to speak, but why choose that life if it was not one that suited you?”

  “Don’t know,” he murmured. “Right thing to do? Needed a job? Thought it’d be fun to rough up some tough guys?” They shared a small chuckle. “Truth is, just had to do it. Mom had medical bills at the time, and after that I found out I was going to be a daddy–”

  “Coldin!” Remarked Aldrich, “You’re a father? And you did not share this with us?”

  “It’s... It’s complicated,” he stated back.

  “Officer Kent,” Aldrich started, as he walked in front of him to look him in the eyes. It was as if he were trying to stare up at a tall tree. “I am well over one hundred years old. Children, who watched their father murder their naked mother. A son who never heard me say goodbye, a daughter whose last image of me was not as myself, waving her off into the afterlife. Family I will never know, never see, and a life that is not my own to end. That, sir,” he said emphatically, “is complicated.

  “Hmph...” Coldin sounded. “You’re right… I’m sorry. It seemed so impossible, ya know? I was working all the time... We had grown apart, her mother and me. She started seeing someone else, and when I found out... Well, I lost it. Beat the man into someone unrecognizable, Aldrich. Judge took one look at me. One look at her and the kids, him with his broken face and beaten body... Took away my visitation. Threatened my badge, too. They moved after that, somewhere in the countryside.” He was a little choked up, but he hid it well. “We write each other letters, my daughter and I. Sent her a stuffed animal and some money for her birthday last year, she sent me back a photo of her holding it that I kept in a frame by my bed. Then… Sandy happened... And all I can think of is all of those weeks... And months... That my daughter hasn’t heard from me.”

  It was silent outside, with the gentle splash of falling rain drops. Even the thunder had grown so far off in the distance that it was nothing more than a dull roar. The nearby sound of cars driving, splashing through puddles added to the ambience of a cold, rainy night in the city. Aldrich watched the star’s twinkle over his head, the moon shone bright over the tops of tall buildings, and he would later even claim he saw a shooting star, although he did not. He took in his surroundings for one of the only times during his trap of endless life and appreciated small nuances that he may have missed if his life ended now and he woke up in the future again. The smell of rain was soothing, the smell of blood was familiar, and the general smell of the city clung to every molecule of the air. It was something indescribable, like gasoline and cigarettes, mixed with sweat and garbage, yet with hints of pizza and fast food, maybe even a splash of beer and a gallon of desperation. These are all things he would have missed and has missed in his other lives.

  “Tonight,” Aldrich said while looking at the stars. “Together, you and I, will write your daughter. A long letter, a harrowing tale of bravery, explaining your absence. And I, the man you were so gravely injured in an attempt to save, am now your companion and together we are cleaning up this big city so that she may one day return safely. Does that sound like a plan?”

  Coldin smiled, a genuine smile that felt relieving despite the wetness below him that soaked his shoes. “I’d like that a lot. Thank you.”

  Then, there was more gunfire just beyond the door.

  Jackson and Cassiel were in a never-ending standoff. Though it had only been moments, perhaps even seconds, it felt like an eternity. He knew to best her would be difficult, especially witnessing her healing firsthand. Killing an angel never came up during his stay in Paragon, and clearly his amethyst god-like weapon would be useless against her. As he wondered his next move, she began to move backwards, closer to Carter with her eyes still on the long-coated gunman.

  Ayres took a step from her post at the doorway, with her blade held outward, pointing towards the eerie, suited smiling man. Her eyes flashed at him, and inside all she could see was Sydney, and the last smile this same man gave all of those years ago through the church flames. Now, she felt those flames deep within her gut, and her grip only tightened more on the handle of her blade. Cassiel may have been her target, but Ayres could not help but target both. Ayres jaw clenched, her muscles perched, and her teeth ground within her cheeks. She stepped to where she was just a few feet from the door, and closer to the hostages.

  “You should have died in that fire, Carter,” she said remorselessly.

  Carter did not care for her words, or for much around him as long as Cassiel was by his side for protection. He approached Ayres, hands in his pockets, leisurely strolling until he was just out of her reach but close enough to make her nearly take the killshot. Beside them were the row of bound hostages, and the boy from earlier had crawled his way back to them. Carter greeted them with a jester’s grin and snake-like eyes, which ran their blood cold and caused one to urinate. Then, he moved back with his view returned on Ayres.

  “Sweet girl, you really should let me pass,” Carter said in a hiss. “It would not be wise to detain me. You would not only put your own lives, but their lives at risk as well. Great risk.” He pointed at the people tied up beside them.

  “You are nothing but a Scarab, an insect. You do not scare me, Demon,” Ayres said, and his eyes flashed a quick wrath with that stinging word spoken. “A weak insect.”

  Ayres took a step forward, and as she did so Carter took a step back. Her blade was forward, and the muscles in her legs twitched as she felt herself prepare to leap at him. There was a burning in her thigh, the faint singe of a distant memory, where Carter’s bullet had once landed. It was the defining moment where Sydney had met her end defending Ayres. Her lip quivered in rage.

  “Ah, how wrong you are, sweet girl,” Carter replied. “I am not a Scarab. I am the Scarab. All else are merely cattle. Cattle on my ranch, to milk dry and slaughter as I please.” Carter took a low bow, and then cocked his head back up towards Ayres. “Welcome, to my ranch.”

  Cassiel moved as a bullet, dashing around Carter and crashing her blade down toward Ayres. Luckily, she had expected the attack as she quickly raised her matching weapon, and they both clashed in a loud ring of metal against metal. Ayres seemed a bit stronger as she pushed Cassiel back with the force of her blade, causing her to slide across to glossed, wooden floor of the stage. She leap
t back, away from Ayres to regain her stance. In a quick effort, Cassiel threw the blade at Ayres and it spun, making its way to her with incredible speed but was smashed away once again. Cassiel caught it while running towards her and wailed down with another big swing of the cleaver while Ayres took a quick step back. The blade swung past her by only inches and then smashed into the wood beneath them.

  “Time’s up,” Jackson grumbled with his weapon pointed against Carter’s head. He had been so excited by the battle that he did not hear Jackson arrive beside him.

  He squeezed the trigger until he felt the click against his finger, then felt the burst of his weapon shake his hand until the light exited the barrel. But something was wrong, and Carter was no longer there.

  Cassiel had fled from Ayres and was now holding Carter beside her; seeming to have moved with incredible speed and pushing him out of the gun’s way only a split-second before the firing. Jackson moved fast and fired again at Carter, but they moved in a blur, and the light from the Arm had not hit him again. Jackson’s eyes grew angry at this game of whack-a-mole.

  “I told you, Order, you will not harm hi–” Cassiel started to say but was quickly interrupted by the flash of silver smashing the ground beside her. Cassiel barely had enough time to dodge as the wood chipped and splintered only inches from her flesh.

  Ayres had realized Jackson’s attempts were proving futile, and jumped at the opportunity only missing by the shred of a hair. “I was told to only come for you.” She swung her blade upward from the ground as Cassiel ducked just out of its way. “But I see now how low you have sunk, Cassiel. You protect him, of all the Un-Ascended for you to use for a fix. Carter is scum.”

  Another pop from Jackson’s weapon, with another beam of light sparked right past Carter, who had been tugged just enough to miss it. Cassiel looked distressed, even while Carter remained calm and composed. The two of them were rising back to their feet on the stage floor, her arm wrapped around Carter, clutching his suit jacket in her fist. Beside her stood an angry Ayres, poised for another strike. And, just in front of them stood Jackson who was aimed for another shot. Both pairs knew it was coming to an end, and only Carter seemed to know which end that would be. Little did anyone know he had a reason for his comfort. A last trick up his sleeve.