Mercury Falls

by Robert Kroese

  Thus it was not really all that surprising that precisely as Izbazel and Gamaliel sat fuming at Mercury in the Charlie’s Grill on the outskirts of Lodi, another fallen angel was just finishing up a grilled cheese sandwich in a Charlie’s Grill just north of Los Angeles. The angel’s name was Nisroc.

  Nisroc, as I believe I’ve established, had a habit of eating grilled cheese sandwiches when he was nervous. He was in the process of developing another bad habit, that of rebelling against the Divine Plan – although to be fair, this was at present more of a vague inclination that was in danger of gelling into habit than a full-blown habit per se.

  Nisroc pulled out of the parking lot in his green 1987 Chevrolet El Camino, sipping an extra large Diet Dr Pepper. He had no particular reason for choosing diet soda, but drinking unpalatable low calorie beverages eased his guilt somewhat at indulging gustatory cravings that had no basis in his angelic biology. He turned north on I-5, traveled for 6.2 miles and then, slavishly following the GPS unit he had been given, made an abrupt right turn into the middle of nowhere.

  He drove due east – or as close to due east as the terrain would let him – for another 1.8 miles, kicking up so much dust that, even with his superhuman vision, he could hardly see to avoid the rocks and occasional specimen of brillo-pad-like vegetation. Meanwhile, the GPS was imploring him to please make a U-turn at the earliest opportunity, because it did not at all like where this was going. Nisroc didn’t particularly like where it was going either, but he was pretty sure he no longer had much of a choice. At last the El Camino coasted to a stop as near as he could get to the coordinates he had been given. Taking a deep breath, Nisroc grabbed a silvery briefcase from the passenger seat and got out.

  Spying the horizon, he saw that he was not alone. A big white refrigerated truck – the sort used to deliver frozen fish to restaurants – sat perched on a plateau about two hundred yards away. Next to it stood a lone figure. Nisroc walked toward him.

  They met atop the plateau, Nisroc and another angel, who introduced himself as Ramiel. Nisroc knew the name – Ramiel had recently been classified as Fallen. Nisroc wondered how long it would take for his own paperwork to go through. His superiors had undoubtedly noticed his disappearance by now.

  “So this is it,” said Ramiel, taking the case from Nisroc. The case was plain except for a small insignia of a skull.

  “The one and only,” said Nisroc, feeling less certain than ever of his decision.

  “Do they know it’s missing?” Ramiel asked.

  Nisroc shrugged. “I’ve been out of contact for a few days. They’ve probably classified me as AWOL by now. I imagine finding the case is going to be a fairly high priority.”

  Ramiel smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll put this baby to good use.”

  Ramiel carried the case to a flat area of ground that had been marked with orange spray paint and set it down. He dialed the combination 6, 6, 6 and popped open the case. The device’s screen came to life, displaying an hourglass while it readied itself.

  Nisroc considered leaving, but suspected that this course of action would be taken as cowardice. No, now that he had come this far, he would have to see it through.

  “Let’s see what this baby can do,” said Ramiel. Nisroc got the feeling that Ramiel was the sort who used the word ‘baby’ to refer to inanimate objects a lot. He sighed.

  Nisroc was at this moment supposed to be on the other side of the globe, in southern Asia. He was supposed to have delivered the Attaché Case of Death to an Australian relief agency working in Kashmir, but he didn’t understand the reasoning behind this decision, and his requests for justification went unanswered.

  When an agent of Lucifer approached him, offering him anything he wanted in exchange for the case, he had initially said no. He was not one to be swayed by material things – although the eternal membership in Lucifer’s exclusive golf club and resort on the Infernal Plane was sorely tempting. What finally pushed him to Lucifer’s side was that while Heaven only offered unsatisfactory bureaucratic answers to Nisroc’s questions, Hell had at least explained to him what they planned on doing with the case. He would have preferred that their plan was something other than reducing Earth to an uninhabitable ash-heap, but at least they were up front about their motivations. One had to respect that.

  He still had mixed feelings about the whole business, but he supposed it was too late to ask Heaven for a do-over at this point. He had heard that the Almighty was infinitely merciful, but the bureaucracy was eternally unforgiving – and it was the latter that signed his paychecks.

  “Mind helping me with the corpses?” said Ramiel.

  Nisroc grunted assent. He imagined that as one of the Fallen, he would be subjected to questions like that more often.

  They walked to the refrigerated truck and opened the back. The truck was parked facing up a slope, and as the doors swung open, a pile of corpses tumbled out onto the dusty ground. There must have been a baker’s dozen of them, in an assortment of shapes and colors.

  “Robbed the city morgue last night,” said Ramiel. “You’d be amazed how many people L.A. goes through in a day.”

  Having been to L.A., Nisroc was not at all amazed. He nodded, feeling a bit squeamish. “I don’t suppose we could just –”

  “No miracles,” said Ramiel. “Can’t take a chance on somebody picking up our signature. We’ve got to move them by hand.”

  “Won’t Heaven pick up the signature of the case anyway, when we use it?”

  “They might,” said Ramiel. “Although I understand these cases have a surprisingly small energy footprint. But yeah, we’ve got to do this fast. Five minutes and we’re out of here.”

  “Okay,” said Nisroc. “Which one first?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Ramiel. “Let’s drag them all over and line them up. Hopefully we’ve got enough.”

  They dragged the corpses to a spot near the case, lining them up side-by-side.

  Ramiel opened a panel inside the Attaché Case of Death, pulling out a pair of what looked like defibrillation paddles. They were connected to the case by thick coils of wire.

  “Ready to see this baby in action?” asked Ramiel.

  Nisroc smiled weakly.

  “Grab that shovel,” Ramiel commanded.

  “What do I need a shovel for?”

  “What do you think? These guys are going to be popping up like gophers. I need you to whack them as soon as they wake up.”

  “What? We’re going to kill them again?”

  “Kill, stun, whatever. I just don’t want them wandering around and asking stupid questions while I’m trying to work. We don’t have time for that.”

  “It seems unsportsmanlike,” said Nisroc, observing the row of corpses piteously. “Cruel, even.”

  “Look, they’re already dead, okay? They’re supposed to be dead. You can’t do anything to them that’s worse than what’s already happened.”

  “But doesn’t bringing someone back to life give you some responsibility for them? It’s like adopting a puppy. You can’t just whack the puppy with a shovel when you’re done with it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you can’t! It’s just not done!”

  “Whatever,” said Ramiel. “Just grab the shovel.”

  “Fine,” grunted Nisroc. He had to admit that having the undead wandering around was not going to make things any easier. This was no time to be developing scruples. If they were going to do this, it had to be done right.

  Ramiel flipped a switch on the case, took hold of the paddles and knelt over the first corpse, a bloated drowning victim in her late twenties. The case hummed ominously.

  “Clear!” yelled Ramiel, pressing the paddles onto the woman’s chest. A surge of interplanar energy surged through her body, causing it to jerk wildly. As the case channeled mysterious energies, its inner workings moved on a logic of their own, dictated by the numerical constant zero point six six six….

  The Attaché C
ase of Death is so named because it allows the user to exercise power over death itself. A device that can cause death is, of course, hardly revolutionary. Humankind has been perfecting such devices – from the flint-tipped spear to the triple bacon sausage burger that had briefly graced the menu of Charlie’s Grill – for thousands of years. The remarkable thing about the Attaché Case of Death is that by channeling supernatural energies in a precise way, it can actually reverse death.

  The power of the case is nearly unlimited, but like its brothers the Attaché Case of Death was built with an intentional design flaw. Every use of the case is a roll of the dice. Two thirds of the time it will work exactly as hoped, bringing the subject back to life. There is always a thirty-three point three repeating percent chance, however, there will be what can mildly be described as “side effects.” Sometimes these side effects include freak lightning storms or flash floods. Sometimes they include spontaneous combustion. And sometimes they are something altogether unexpected.

  The Attaché Case of Death is not without logic, however, and it tends to take advantage of naturally occurring phenomena to maximize damage while minimizing the amount of energy it uses. If used in a wooded area, it might cause a forest fire. If used on a boat, it might cause a hurricane. If used at a precisely determined spot directly on top of the San Andreas Fault, it might cause an earthquake.

  Which is exactly what Ramiel, minion of Lucifer, was hoping for when he reanimated the late Isabella Gonzalez, age twenty-eight, of Venice Beach.

  “Dios Mio!” screamed Isabella, sitting bolt upright. She was wearing a lacey white dress.

  “I’m really very sorry about this,” pleaded Nisroc, and smacked Isabella on the head with the shovel. She fell limply back to the ground.

  Ramiel sat quietly for a moment, his ears straining for any sound.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Next!”

  They moved to the next corpse, a heavyset older gentleman.

  “Clear!” yelled Ramiel.

  “Where.… Is this heaven?” gasped the old man, his eyes blinking in the desert sun.

  “I’m sorry,” said Nisroc, and smacked him with the shovel.

  Still nothing happened. They moved to the next corpse, a middle-aged woman.

  “Clear!” yelled Ramiel.

  The woman let out a terrified scream.

  “Really, I’m very sorry,” said Nisroc, and smacked her with the shovel.

  Still nothing.

  “Clear!” yelled Ramiel.

  “Oh my god what—”

  “Sorry!”

  Twang!

  This went on three more times before the El Camino spontaneously exploded, showering them with bits of trim and pieces of its engine.

  “I’ll be needing a ride,” said Nisroc.

  Ramiel nodded. “We’re running out of time,” he said. “They may already have pinpointed our location. We’ve got to get out of here. Clear!”

  “Holy sh—”

  Twang!

  “Sorry,” said Nisroc. Then, to Ramiel: “I don’t think this is going to…”

  The earth began to shake.

  “Thank God,” said Ramiel, forgetting himself.

  Nisroc grunted agreement. He was glad to be done with the shovel-smacking business.

  “Let’s just hope that does it,” said Ramiel. “Otherwise we’ll have to come back with more corpses in a few hours and fire this baby up again.”

  “So we’re not going to load these back into the truck?” said Nisroc, motioning to the corpses. He couldn’t fully hide his relief.

  “No time. We gotta split.”

  They hopped in the truck and sped off through the desert.

  Not long after, Isabella Gonzalez awoke in the desert north of Los Angeles with seaweed in her mouth and one hell of a headache, surrounded by corpses. This was not how she had expected her honeymoon to end.

  On the other hand, having just married the second Sedgwick in the personal injury law firm of Sedgwick, Sedgwick and Golaska, it probably couldn’t have been expected to have ended much better. The best that could have been expected was a long and uneventful marriage with a second-tier Sedgwick, a prospect that she now realized – thanks to her brush with death and a smack on the head with a shovel – did not interest her in the least.

  Isabella was a paralegal in the firm of Sedgwick, Sedgwick and Golaska, having been hired for her intimate knowledge of personal injury law, her attention to detail and her fantastic breasts. Isabella was used to her breasts factoring into all of her interpersonal relationships; she was, in fact, thrilled when she learned that they were only two of four qualifications taken into account by the hiring committee at Sedgwick, Sedgwick and Golaska. Sadly, she could not be so certain about the motivations behind the marriage proposal of the second Sedgwick.

  She had accepted the proposal, she realized now, mainly at the urging of her family, who were concerned for her long-term financial prospects, very much enjoyed the use of the second Sedgwick’s pool and hot tub, and wanted her to marry while her breasts could still command top dollar. There was no denying that breasts like hers were a ticking time bomb; the effects of age and gravity could only be deferred for so long. So she had married the second Sedgwick to get them to get them off her back (her family, not the breasts, which remained firmly attached to her front) but now that she was miles away from him, she felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  The weight returned when she sat upright, but it was a good kind of weight – the kind of weight that meant that she was finally on her own, finally responsible for her own fate. For the first time in her life, she was free.

  Getting to her feet, she regarded her surroundings. Where was she? Somewhere in the desert outside of Los Angeles, she guessed. Tire tracks led down to what looked like a highway in the distance. Lying on either side of her were half a dozen corpses.

  Who were these people? She wondered. Other wedding reception attendees who had drunk too much and fallen over the side of the Aztec Princess? It seemed unlikely. She didn’t recognize any of them, and none of them was wearing formal attire. Also, three of them had bullet holes in their foreheads.

  She gave up trying to make sense of the situation. Whatever had happened to these people, it was clear that her life had been spared. It didn’t matter why or by whom. She had been given a second chance. That’s all that mattered.

  She would walk to the road, hitchhike into town… and then what? Change her name, get a job as a waitress? It didn’t matter. Things would work out. She was young and alive, and she still had a good three, maybe three and a half years to secure her future before her breasts gave out. She was free.

  Isabella Gonzalez took a deep breath and smiled, her head held high. She strode boldly toward the highway – toward her limitless future.

  She got three steps before she was engulfed in a pillar of fire.

  SEVENTEEN

  “You’ll be sorry you did this,” said Izbazel.

  Mercury shrugged. “I doubt it,” he replied. “You overestimate my capacity for introspection.”

  “You’ve had your fun,” Izbazel chided. “You’ve done your part to make sure this pointless war goes on as planned. We’ll never catch up to the Antichrist. Now hand over the case.”

  “I think I’ll hold on to it for a while,” said Mercury. “I like the pretty pictures it makes.”

  “I suppose you’re going to hand it over to Uzziel, like a good angel? Get back into Heaven’s good graces?”

  Mercury shrugged again.

  “You’re an angel,” Izbazel said. “You can’t just sit out the Apocalypse.”

  “I’m a contentious objector.”

  “You mean conscientious.”

  “No, there’s nothing conscientious about it. I’m just objecting, for the sake of objecting. I’m a highly contentious objector.”

  “You have to pick a side,” Gamaliel said.

  “Why?” asked Mercury. “You didn’t.”

  �
��Of course we did,” replied Gamaliel. “There really are only two sides: pro-Apocalypse and anti-Apocalypse. You know this whole thing is a charade. The two supposedly opposing sides have been hammering out the details of this ‘war’ for millennia. The real opposition – the only real choice, is to try to stop this senseless carnage.”

  “Senseless carnage, right,” Mercury repeated. “So who are you working for?”

  “Sorry?” said Gamaliel.

  “Come on, guys. You didn’t hatch this little revolt on your own.”

  Gamaliel said, “I assure you, we’re acting autonomously.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “How would you know?”

  “First of all,” Mercury said, “There are two of you.”

  “Right,” said Gamaliel. “We’re working autonomously together.”

  “And how many other autonomous angels are on the team?”

  Gamaliel started, “That’s none of your –”

  “Okay, Merc, listen,” said Izbazel. “There are a few others. You know I can’t give you names at this point. But we’ve got several high-placed angels….”

  “Higher than you, I take it?” said Mercury.

  Izbazel sat back and smiled. “If you really want to know, hand over the case. I might even put in a good word for you. Maybe find you a place on the team.”

  Mercury cocked his head thoughtfully. “A place on the team, eh? What positions are still open, now that you two have filled the moron and backup moron spots?”

  “Dammit, Mercury!” Izbazel growled. “You think you’re so high and mighty, staying above the fray and all. You know what you are? You’re a coward, not to mention a fool. You think your wisecracks are going to help you when all hell breaks loose on this plane? You’re going to be wishing you had picked a side. At least we’ll go down with a fight. You’re going to get rolled over like… an ant.”

  “An ant?” Mercury said, frowning. “You almost had me when I thought you were going to say ‘turtle.’ I wouldn’t want to get rolled over if I were a turtle. But an ant…”

  “Fine,” said Izbazel. “Let’s agree to disagree, and go our separate ways. But Mercury, you’re going to have a hard time claiming neutrality if they catch you holding onto that case. If the Apocalypse does happen and Heaven wins, like everybody expects, you’re going to be in some serious trouble. But if you hand the case over to us, then you can’t be charged with anything more serious than being AWOL. In fact, you could argue that you tried to do your part by saving the Antichrist from us. The case is no use to you. Just hand it over, and we’ll walk away.”