Evolution of Angels

by Nathan Wall

  “My friend,” Austin said, pointing to Jarrod who was unconscious and bleeding profusely from several cuts along his body. “He needs help.”

  “What'll it be?” Hershiser asked Jackson.

  “Lian, we have a few more who need extraction,” Jackson said.

  * * *

  Three Years Ago

  “So, where did your parents go?” Claire sat cuddled in Jarrod's arms, sipping on a soda. Austin's phone kept buzzing in Jarrod’s pocket, shaking her ass. She dug an elbow into her boyfriend's stomach and whispered into his ear, “How long you gonna keep his phone?”

  “Until it’s not funny anymore.”

  “They went to Lebanon to document the ongoing fighting at the Syrian border.” Austin stood and made his way over to the DVD player. He removed the disc and turned the input signal back to the rabbit ears. He grabbed the remote and scanned the channels which got the best reception.

  The phone buzzed again and Claire drove her elbow even harder into Jarrod's ribs. He stood and motioned for her to calm down. He walked over to where Austin had used as the restroom earlier in the day and pulled the phone out of his pocket. He clicked on a side button, opening up the main screen on the phone and saw fifteen voicemails and twenty-three text messages left behind.

  “My God, his mom is crazy.” Jarrod scrolled through the messages, careful not to open any of the texts. “It's not like he's burning the house down, woman. Relax.”

  He set the phone under a bush and stretched his back. Briefly thinking about hiding the phone behind the pile of crap, he picked it up and headed back to the campfire, reserved to telling Austin he hid the phone in his pocket. As he walked back to his chair, Claire stood rigid and white as a ghost.

  “What's wrong?” Jarrod asked.

  “It's...” She shook her head before slowly burying her face into Jarrod's chest. He wrapped his arms around her and ran his fingers soothingly through her hair. She slid her palms up his back and gripped onto his shirt. “There's something going on... The fighting has spilled over into one of the cities... Austin thinks his parents may be there. Something about a consulate under siege.”

  Jarrod held Claire's hand tightly and walked with her toward the TV where Austin stood motionless.

  “I have to check their itinerary,” Austin said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “I think they moved to Beirut yesterday. So they're probably fine, right?”

  “Sweetie I'm sure they are.” Claire walked over and gave him a hug.

  “I, uh…” Jarrod looked to the ground and held Austin's phone out. “I think they've been trying to get in touch with you.”

  Austin slowly moved forward, taking the phone from his friend's hand. He scrolled through the messages with quivering thumbs. He dialed their number and patiently waited for it to ring. After a few minutes of being connected, it finally rang with long, drawn-out tones. After a minute of standing in silence, the connection cut out.

  “I can't get a hold of them.” Austin slumped onto the pile of bean bags and blankets to his left. His hands hung lifelessly between his legs. Claire sat next to him and rubbed his back, frowning at Jarrod.

  “Can I?” Jarrod pointed at the phone, shuffling slowly toward Austin and taking it from his grip. He scanned through the messages from Austin’s mom, Mrs. Hanigan. “Can we listen?”

  Austin nodded and Jarrod played the first clip.

  Austin, honey, it's Mom. I want you to know we're alright, but the fighting has picked up. I wanted you to know before it's all over the news, but we're ok. Your father is talking to—what's that, dear? Where?—Honey, I'll call you back. Love you.

  “See? It's nothing to worry about,” Claire softly whispered to Austin. Jarrod clicked through to the next voicemail.

  Austin, sweetheart, we'd really like you to pick up. There's been more explosions and the unit we're with has been cut off. Your father says some helicopters are inbound.

  An explosion on the recording rang off in the distance, cutting the message off mid-sentence. Austin's hands slowly balled up into a fist while Jarrod played each message. One after another, the messages chronicled the journey to a heavily guarded consulate in a town six miles away. Along their journey, Jarrod and his friends learned Mr. Hanigan had been shot, but he was being treated. Finally, they reached the last message.

  Stay down. Stay down, the distant yells on the phone rang out, peppered with random spurts of machine gun fire.

  I want to stay with my husband. Let me stay, Mrs. Hanigan cried out. Her voice grew fainter until you couldn't hear it over the sound of bullets and crashing glass.

  Son, Mr. Hanigan’s shallow voice made its first appearance. Interrupted by frequent coughing, it labored on. Your mom is gonna be fine. They're... taking her somewhere safe. I've got several people around me, but I can't walk. I didn't want to tell your mom this—

  Get down, another man yelled. A loud explosion temporarily impaired the speaker on Austin's phone. It picked back up mid-sentence.

  —And they'll carry me out. I've seen wounds like this before. The stuttering breath of Mr. Hanigan was like that of a little boy caught in the cold without a jacket. You know what I'm trying to say. You've always been smart. Your mom was right; I shouldn't have taken this assignment. Don't ever tell her that because she'll lecture you about it for the rest of your life.

  Austin ran his hand through the back of his hair, walked over to Jarrod, and grabbed at the phone. Austin looked his friend in the eyes; a small tear ran down the side of his face. Jarrod released his grip on the phone, his nostrils widening as he slowly breathed in, and nodded back. Mr. Hanigan coughed louder as the machine gun fire was replaced by quickly approaching foreign screams.

  They're going to get to me. The masses are in the building. I hear them. I can smell the smoke. The important part is your mom is safe...

  Men shouting in Arabic entered the room and Austin's dad stopped talking. They could hear him sliding the phone underneath what sounded like clothes while the other men continued to shout. Mr. Hanigan replied to them in Arabic, saying what Jarrod, Claire, and Austin later found out to be “I'm just a reporter. I'm here to record your struggles as a neutral observer.”

  The other men in the room didn't care. They barked orders back. The three friends heard them grab Mr. Hanigan and throw him to the floor as the click of a gun being cocked sent them silent.

  I love you, Austin, Mr. Hanigan yelled before a single shot rang out. A large thump quickly followed. Frantic footsteps raced throughout the room, tossing things around before leaving the phone to record silence.

  “Austin, let's turn it off.” Jarrod reached for the phone, but Austin pushed him forcefully into the side of the truck, rocking the vehicle back and forth.

  “I want to listen,” he yelled, his face and eyes red. A slow runnel of snot ran down the right side of his lips as he stood, listening for three minutes until his phone cut off.

  Claire looked at the TV. The talking heads on the news station were bantering back and forth about a military response to a U.S. consulate under attack. In the background, cell phone footage showed the American flag being burned while thousands danced outside a smoking building with toppled gates. Austin dropped the phone and walked toward the creek bed in the distance. Claire attempted to follow, but Jarrod grabbed her.

  “Let him be.” Jarrod pulled her in close, hugging her. “Let him be.”

  * * *

  The helicopter jetted over the desert while the setting sun reflected off the pure white sand, creating a sea of orange, red, and brown. The roar from the twin jet engines on the back of the helicopter synergized with the rotating blades, forming a constant flux of tidal sounds that were oddly soothing to Austin.

  He peeked out the side of the aircraft and noticed a shining bulb protruding from the ground not too far in the distance. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a map of the area his company was hiking. Scanning it over, he noticed that this base wasn’t marked.

  “Where
are we going?” Christian asked him, leaning over Austin’s left shoulder and speaking quietly into his ear.

  Austin shrugged and looked down at Jarrod who lay unconscious on a stretcher with an IV running into his right arm. The bruises on his face were beginning to settle in with a distinct swirl on his left cheek.

  The armor on Jackson’s face retreated, revealing his blue eyes, heavy eyebrows, and high cheekbones. His nose was flat and crooked to the left with a dark red clot crusting between his nose and upper lip. He moved his left arm closer to his face, squinting just a bit, attempting to make out the writing from the smashed visual screen on his wrist. He tried typing on it, but gave up.

  “What happened out there?” Hershiser moved next to Jackson, stepping over a large figure that was wrapped in a black tarp. “You slowed down.”

  “I need another dose.” Jackson looked out to the horizon, trying not to make eye contact with Hershiser. “Just got drained by the end of it.”

  “No, that's not it.” Hershiser shook his head. “Doses are good for two months. You just had one a little over a week ago. Something's up.”

  “Shut it.” Jackson turned, glaring at Hershiser. He looked at Austin with a gaze that told him to mind his own business.

  “Who are you?” Austin prodded, putting the map back into his backpack. Jackson gave a quick glance and then stared back out to the horizon.

  “All will be explained in due time,” Hershiser replied.

  “Hey man, look at this.” Travis lifted the tarp, nodding at Christian and Austin. They looked under the black sheet to see the large face of a one-eyed man snoring.

  “What the hell...?” Christian shook his head.

  “That isn't of your concern.” Jackson leaned forward and wrapped the large man back up.

  The helicopter made a quick plunge, landing like a feather on the ground. Two dozen armed soldiers ran to the helicopter, retrieving the unconscious Cyclops. A short, bearded Indian man sprinted toward Jackson. His lab coat blew in the wind, slowing his progress. His large, thick glasses kept the dust from blinding him. His name tag read: Dr. Raahi Shah.

  “How is he?” Shah cast a beaming smile, removing the blanket from over the beast’s face. “I can’t believe we’ve actually got one.”

  “I had to gouge the beast’s eye out,” Jackson said, grabbing Oreios by the arm. “I need to escort this one to the interrogation cell. All my notes on the Cyclops can be found uploaded onto the server.”

  “Damn. How unfortunate about his eye.” Shah shook his head in disappointment. “You've had a busy day.”

  Jackson leaned in close to Shah's ear and whispered, “I need to talk to you about the dosage.”

  “In due course, once we run it by Sanderson and Elliot,” Shah replied.

  “No. This needs to be kept quiet.”

  “My friend needs help,” Austin interrupted, pulling at Shah and pointing at Jarrod. “And I’d like to know what’s going on.”

  “Of course,” Shah said, nodding. He looked back to Jackson. “Lian knew you would need the healers.”

  “The what?” Austin leaned forward, turning his right ear toward Shah. “It sounded like you said—”

  “—We’ll let you know what’s going on when we feel it’s appropriate.” Jackson shoved Austin back a few feet.

  Austin furrowed his brow, looking at Christian and Travis as the Cyclops was carted away. The helicopter stopped running and the dome enclosed over them. From the inside, the dome looked like thin gray film, helping wash out the sun's punishing glare.

  “Do any of you need medical help?” Shah placed his hand on Austin’s shoulder, turning him around.

  Austin nodded. “But my friend needs help first.”

  * * *

  Jackson stormed through the concrete halls of the underground base, dragging Oreios. The prisoner wore a large grin, as if he weren’t captive. They stopped at a checkpoint. Two men with keycards walked up to computers on opposite ends of the hallway. They inserted the cards, unlocking a large steel door. Jackson pushed Oreios through, entering into another locked chamber with just a chair and a table at the center.

  “Sit.” Jackson pointed to the chair.

  “I know the routine. I've watched Law and Order before,” Oreios laughed, sitting at the table. “Don't I get a phone call?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Oh yes. I forgot how the rights of suspected terrorists are stripped away, all for the good of national security.” Oreios whipped his long hair out of his face with the quick motion of his head. “You guys are the protectors, right? But who is gonna protect us from the protectors?”

  “You're a long way from home.” Jackson sat at the table. “Care to tell us why you've ventured this far?”

  “You guys have been here, what, going on ten, twelve, fifteen years and you've yet to completely eliminate the Taliban?” Oreios laughed, tilting his head. “Or have you already and you're just looking for something else?”

  “You wouldn't have been sent here if we weren't close. You guys are worried.”

  “I'm a free agent now, in case you forgot.” Oreios' nostrils flared up. He grinded his teeth together and leaned forward. “I have you to thank for that.”

  “Unfortunately, you don't have me to thank for that.” Jackson pointed at Oreios' half of an arm. “Can you still feel it?”

  “I can still feel her squirm as I stuck her in her sleep.” Oreios leaned back. “I believe in ‘an eye for an eye,’ but when you took three of them, well, that just went too far. Then again, I have six other friends and you don't have another love quite like that one, so I guess I am still ahead.”

  Jackson stood from the table and walked to the door. He opened it, but stopped to glare back at Oreios. He balled up a fist, his arms shaking with rage.

  “You can't hang like you used to,” Oreios laughed. “Even with one arm, I still think I've got your number.”

  Jackson exited the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  * * *

  Three Years Ago

  The night rolled in. Even though the loss of life was great thousands of miles away, things back home seemed the same. Jarrod lay on the roof of his duplex, staring at the remaining stars in the sky that weren't faded out by the lights from the large city an hour to the north.

  The consulate attacks were all over the news and the few people in the know made their way over to Austin's house to bother him, but he wasn't there. Jarrod's Aunt Liv insisted he stay with them. It wouldn't be long before the swarm of media was at Jarrod's front door, hounding them for interviews as well. You don't kill an international correspondent and have people not notice.

  “How long you going to let him sit alone?” Claire ran the tip of her fingers over Jarrod's chest, resting her head on his shoulder, and snuggled up in his grasp.

  “As long as he needs.”

  “I remember the first time I met his dad that day on the lake,” she said, looking up into the sky. “He is—was such a great guy. He was none too pleased with you two that day.”

  “I don't really remember the first time I met him.” Jarrod tilted his chin and kissed Claire on the forehead. “Everything, when I try to think about it, is always a blur.”

  “Too much drinking?”

  “Probably.” Jarrod looked at Austin's phone, his thumb moving over the numbers. It started to ring.

  “Who is it?” Claire sat up, looking at the phone which read “Unknown Number.” “It's probably a reporter. They were bound to get his number sooner or later. Don't answer it.”

  Jarrod's thumb moved to the ignore button when something inside him disagreed with Claire. His thumb slowly moved back to the answer button.

  She grabbed his hand. “Just let it go to voicemail.”

  “Someone needs to tell these assholes to get bent.” Jarrod clicked answer. “Listen here, you douche—”

  “—Austin, baby, is that you?” Mrs. Hanigan cried, sniffling.

  “No Ma'am. It's Jarrod.” He
sat up and looked at Claire, turning it on speaker phone. “I can go find him.”

  “Please do,” she replied.

  Jarrod stood up and jumped down onto the grass, rolling forward. He ran into the house and frantically looked around for Austin. He ran from room to room, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen.

  “Mrs. Hanigan, I can't find him.” Jarrod pressed his forehead onto the wall, closed his eyes, and thought hard about where his friend could be.

  “That's ok, Jarrod. I don't have much time.” The high pitched squeal in her voice barely carried through the speaker. “You've always been a good friend, Jarrod. I feel like I've gotten to know you more like a son or close nephew ever since the two of you started playing together.”

  “I can find Austin, just hang on...”

  “No. There's no time now. Just let me finish what I've got to say.” Her voice settled and the panic that washed over her tone was met with an eerie calm. “In a way, I'm actually glad it was you who answered. I don't think I would have been able to get the words out if he were on the phone.”

  Unintelligible muted yelling, as if the sound was traveling through a wall, caused her to pause.

  “I didn't get away. As we ran out of the consulate, a large mass of people swallowed us up. They carried the bodies of men and women from the consulate and hung them up on stakes. A family took me in, but there are people going door to door asking questions, trying to find me. I can hear them next door. The family here, they have a little girl. They will break.”

  “I'm listening.” Jarrod turned around and pressed his back to the wall, slowly sitting. His eyes moved up and connected with Claire's. “Go ahead.”

  “You're strong, Jarrod. I know Austin is in good hands,” she said, laughing halfheartedly. “You watch after him now, you hear me? Don't let him do something stupid.”

  “You got the wrong guy.” Jarrod smiled sadly, his lower lip quivering. “Usually it's the other way around.”

  “No, you're better than that...”

  The shouting could be heard from inside the house. A single shot rang out followed by the desperate screams of a woman.