Evolution of Angels

by Nathan Wall

  “Well, at least I didn’t cross the border.” He shook his head.

  He stuck close to the center of the road. Land mines were often planted along the sides in order to snare the misfortune of passing Humvees. Every now and then a broken-down truck or raggedy car would skim by him, nearly taking with it an arm or a leg. As he got close to the city border, large lights that pointed outwards scanned the darkness for signs of enemy life. Tall iron-barred fences with barbed wire on top filled in the gaps between the buildings that lined the city edges. Two sets of headlights scurried in his direction, quickly landing on him.

  “Stop in place.” The command was yelled out from the gunner position on the first Humvee in both Dari and Pashto, the two official languages for all of Afghanistan. Jarrod recognized the phrase as it was one of the many taught to him and Austin before they were deployed. “On knees. Hands behind head.”

  The statement wasn’t fully correct, but Jarrod understood what the soldier meant. He complied with the command and lowered down. A pair of men from each of the vehicles exited and spread out in two columns, approaching Jarrod with their guns pointed at him.

  “I’m an American citizen,” Jarrod said, his voice muffled through the folds of the blanket. “I need to make a phone call to my superior.”

  The soldiers stopped. The leader held his right fist in the air with his elbow at a ninety degree angle. His fingers spread out and the men stepped sideways, forming a concave wall. Jarrod’s body tingled. The hair on his arms and neck stood as the aurascales wanted to take shape. He grimaced, shaking his head, holding the suit at bay. His eyes were drawn to the soldier at his far left as he stepped unwittingly toward an explosive device implanted in the sandy dirt next to the cracked asphalt.

  Jarrod sprung forward, wrapped the man up in his arms and spun him around, slinging him along the road and out of harm’s way. The other three men opened fire. Jarrod ducked between each burst before being nicked in his right shin.

  “Stop. He was going to step on an explosive,” Jarrod screamed as the pain triggered a rush of adrenaline, which brought with it the lust for death. Jarrod’s fingers curled. He rolled to his side and into the fetal position. He pulled the blanket from his face. “I’m American, damn it.”

  “Stand down,” one of the soldiers called out in English. He slowly walked over to Jarrod and moved the rest of the blanket away from his face with the barrel of the rifle. “What are you doing here?”

  “I went out for a stroll and time got away from me,” Jarrod grunted through his tight jaw. He pushed himself off the ground and stood with his hands up. The wrist pad on his left arm beeped and put the soldiers on edge. “Don’t mind that, it’s my GPS.”

  “What is it?” the gunner from the second the Humvee called out.

  “It looks like an explosive device,” another solider yelled in reply.

  “It’s not an explosive device.” Jarrod shook his head, laughing. He held his arm out to show the tablet. “See? It’s a computer.”

  “He’s a suicide bomber,” the lead soldier yelled, opening fire.

  Jarrod turned to evade the gunshots and successfully navigated through the first barrage, before two random bullets tore through his left shoulder and right hip. He tumbled to the ground and his chin slammed into the asphalt.

  He rolled to his back and lunged himself into the air. Flying more than twenty feet, his left knee slammed into the chest of one soldier. He grabbed the man around the arm and snapped it in half before slamming his face into the side of the first Humvee.

  Jarrod dug his shoulder into the back corner of the vehicle and pushed it around to run perpendicular to the other Humvee. He tore the door from its hinges, ran up the side of the vehicle, and swiped it against the gunner, knocking him out.

  He lunged forward and charged at the other soldiers, using the door as a shield to deflect their shots. When close enough, he discarded the door and spun to drive an elbow into one soldier, knocking him out. He flowed into a crescent kick to the head of the next soldier, also rendering him unconscious.

  Jarrod moved swiftly, tearing the rifle from the grasp of the last solider, bending the barrel into a curve. He threw the gun deep into the darkness and an explosion erupted when it landed on a scattered mine. Before the sound of the blast subsided, Jarrod was three quick strikes into his final assault. The last soldier was bloody and motionless.

  Without prompt, a wrist blade emerged from its holder and stopped centimeters from slicing into the soldier’s head. Jarrod’s arm shook as he struggled to not kill his opponent.

  “I’m sorry,” Jarrod panted, gently laying the man down on the ground. “I’m not going to kill you... I-I don’t want to.” He flexed, trying hard to retract the blade. Finally, it listened.

  “Thank you…” the man sniffled, closing his eyes and resting his head.

  Jarrod stood, examining his bloody wounds. Each step he took burned and was rife with pain. Then, something drew him to the man on the ground. Jarrod turned, standing over the last soldier, staring intently. His left hand hovered over the soldier’s chest with fingers spread.

  “You killed a boy,” Jarrod said, closing his eyes and jerking his head sideways. “I can hear him... cry.”

  “I—that was a long time ago.” The man’s breathing stuttered as he tried to crawl backwards. Jarrod stomped his heel into the soldier’s sternum, pinning him down. “It was an accident.”

  “I can smell the charred flesh.” A shiver shot up and down Jarrod’s spine as he opened his eyes. The shining blue gaze which beamed from them was not his own. “The innocent life called to pasture before its time.”

  “It was a raid on a weapons supplier to Jihadist rebels in Fallujah. It was a long time ago. I’ve undergone therapy for it. I’ve been cleared,” the man cried. Jarrod snatched him up and twirled him around, slamming him onto the hood of the Humvee. Snot ran down the sides of the soldier’s face as his cheeks swelled red and his eyes watered. His body shook. “There weren’t supposed to be any women or kids. But they knew we were coming... they used them as shields.”

  “Death sees no forgiveness when innocence is taken.” Jarrod’s fingers dug into the man’s jaw, draining his life essence. The man’s skin turned a sickly pale yellow as his thoughts and memories were absorbed by Jarrod’s mind.

  As the atrocities of that day in Fallujah were absorbed by Jarrod, so too were the following months and years the man spent tormented by the mistake he committed. Jarrod could see, feel, hear, and smell the man’s memories as he experienced the joy and birth of his first child. He saw the debt pile up on his family as the soldier, Ben, was unable to find work while the scars of his past haunted him. He could smell the hair of Ben’s wife when she hugged him goodbye after he took another commission, this time in Afghanistan, leaving his two young kids behind in order to pay for their better life. Jarrod knew this man didn’t deserve to die, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  Every single strand of hair on Ben’s head withered into a frail white mesh. Ben’s skin shriveled as the adrenaline kept yearning for more... for righteousness to be washed over the sinner. Balance was going to be restored and justice served.

  “No,” Jarrod yelled, pulling back and dropping Ben to the ground. The injured soldier was comatose, but alive. The veins in Jarrod’s arms and neck shimmered with blue light.

  Jarrod’s body quivered, struggling to stand. The explosion in the distance had attracted the attention of an even larger convoy of trucks, Humvees, and helicopters. As the swarm surrounded him, Jarrod placed his hands behind his head and leaned over, pressing his forehead into the ground.

  * * *

  “This can go on for as many times as you would like.” Charon’s soothing voice felt as though it was singing Austin to sleep. Charon knelt beside him to take in the scent of sweat running down Austin’s neck and chin. “Shall we make it an even two hundred?”

  “Sir.” A man dressed in bulky armor walked into the room, prompting Charon to scowl a
t him. “I know you said to not bother you, but Maya wanted to know—”

  “—To know what?” Charon stood. The man shielded his face from any strike he thought he might incur.

  “The progress of your interrogation with the prisoner, sir,” he stuttered.

  “You should probably just give up now.” Austin laughed, coughing in the process. “I don’t know the answers to any of the questions you’re asking. I’m just a peon; a nobody in the grand scheme of things. You really think my death matters?”

  “You think you have done well to hide all your secrets, but I have seen plenty.” Charon swiveled around, touching his fingers to Austin’s face. “I know about the ones that are important to you. You may have put yourself in the line of fire, but the others sure did not.”

  “Leave them...”

  “Alone? Not likely.” Charon knelt, whispering. “My kind has spent centuries in the shadows, fearing for our lives because we weren’t part of God’s design. But I know what it takes to crush men and leave them in ruin. You know more than you can comprehend, but what we need is some perspective that you cannot give.”

  “Oh, you’re so poetic,” Austin chuckled, his face turning red from laughter. “Just do us both a favor and leave me in hell the next time you drag me down there. I’m done.”

  “Where is the Princess?” Charon’s eyes moved back to the guard.

  “In the throne chamber—”

  Before the man could finish his sentence Charon vanished and reappeared in front of Maya. She sat on her throne, her legs crossed one over the other, with Argus in his human form standing at the base of the steps.

  “I have thrown him into the inferno more times than I can count and still he does not give me the answers you want.” Charon lumbered toward the steps up to her throne and knelt. “Either his will is hard to break or he is ignorant to what we seek. Either way, toying with him longer will do us no good.”

  “He cannot tell us of the blue remake?” Maya leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand and her elbow on the arm of the throne. “I am sure the other one can.”

  “Would you like me to start the process on her?” Charon looked up. Maya shook her head, staring off into the distance. “A wise decision. She has strong abilities and would be able to decipher the difference between what is reality and what is my illusion. Perhaps the same tactics which brought down Troy would be better served?”

  “How do you recommend we go behind enemy gates?” Maya looked down at Charon and motioned for him to stand.

  “The girl can offer insight into the memories I have seen from this Austin fellow.” Charon stood, grinning. “If she can tell us what created this new remake and confirm who he is, then the boy can tell us how to cripple him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Through his eyes and ears I have heard his leaders speak of a spell that can turn ordinary men into gods.” Charon walked down from the throne with his hands folded neatly behind his back. He turned, looking back up at Maya. “This Austin was to be one of them, but he chose a different path. His friend, I suspect, did not. I’ve a hunch that the brotherly bond Austin shares with this... Jarrod... is a bond also forged with our blue remake. But as I said, his mind cannot make the connection. This girl’s mind might be able to.”

  “If your powers cannot sway her, what makes you think mine can?” Maya stood, walking down the steps to stand shoulder to shoulder with Charon. “I appreciate the respect you have for my gift, but if her will is strong enough to withstand a trip to Hades, then surely it is strong enough to refuse temptation.”

  “Perhaps you are able to relate to her on another level,” Charon whispered. “A warm embrace and a sympathetic ear can bring you much further than the ball of a fist.”

  * * *

  “Take your time and collect yourself,” Elliot said, speaking into the microphone on the table in front of him. Looking to the other side of the dimly lit room, Hershiser sat scratching his arm raw. “If you feel you’re not ready for this, we can postpone it for another day.”

  “No. It’ll be fine,” Hershiser stuttered, his right leg continuously bouncing up and down. His voice was a soft, yet forceful whisper as he rubbed his cheek and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s already been two weeks they say. It’s hard to believe to be honest… It barely felt like a day.” His hand shook, reaching to his left and grabbing a glass of water. As he brought it back to his lips, little droplets fell over the rim of the glass and onto his lap. “I guess the digital timers on our suits wouldn’t lie...”

  “Try not to worry yourself with the explanation of time moving at different speeds. Just focus on what you remember,” Sanderson interrupted, holding a palm up and beckoning Hershiser to relax. “Start with the drop zone. To the best of your memory, what happened?”

  “Well,” Hershiser cleared his throat, “we landed and it was my goal to deploy the drones for recon and have my men establish a perimeter. We did that successfully, but it wasn’t long, maybe about five or seven minutes, until the readings I started to get back went haywire.”

  “This much we know and were able to observe,” Elliot sighed. “What we really want to know is what happened after the rift.”

  “Elliot. Come on.” Sanderson shot Elliot a deadly look. “A little patience for what he’s been through.”

  “No, it’s fine. Sure.” Hershiser nodded. His mind drew back to that day. The frigid, jagged shear of being ripped from one reality to another rattled his bones. “It was cold...and sharp. I could feel every piece of me being taken apart and reconstructed.”

  Hershiser clinched his fists and took a deep breath. It was hard for him to focus. The pictures in his memory were faded.

  “On the other side, there was a dark and heavily wooded area. At that moment I was completely cut off from over half the group and without any rally point to advance toward, I was lost. Luckily, Agent Reznor found me and we were able to reestablish connection with a few men.” Hershiser paused. The Minotaur’s hellish scream echoed in his mind. “That was when we saw a large beast-looking man-thing tear Agent Lewis’s arms apart. After that...” His mind shifted to him butchering Kirk’s face at the behest of Maya. He couldn’t help but feel she had raped his self control.

  The thought of Maya touching him caused his heart beat to spike. An erection prodded through his pants simply when thinking of her. Part of him wanted to go back; to bathe in blood and please her. The other part wanted to put a gun in his own mouth and pull the trigger. He leaned forward and dry heaved a few times before sitting back up and wiping the bile from his mouth.

  “You can take a break,” Jackson said, walking over to his friend. “What is it you’re seeing?”

  “I’m ok, I promise,” he said, pushing Jackson’s hand away. He sat up straight and continued. “It was nothing… just the sight of Lewis pleading for his life was playing in my head.” Hershiser took a deep breath and proceeded. “Most of us who survived the battle in the forest were later tortured and killed.” Hershiser nodded. “My men did good. All of them. I am very proud...”

  “They were never able to establish that you were the leader of the squad?” Elliot’s voice had a hint of skepticism in it. He grinned, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes in disbelief. He was willing to humor Hershiser’s lie. “Count yourself fortunate that they didn’t break your men and prod you for information. Our rescue attempts could have been thwarted, or worse, they’d get access to our codes and defenses and you’d be none the wiser.”

  “I held strong, sir.” Hershiser’s brows lowered as a scowl washed over his face. “My men and I did the best we could, but we walked into something we weren’t prepared for.”

  “No one is questioning your valor, Shawn,” Sanderson said.

  “Yet no one is telling me why the hell they keep sending me and my men into the crap to die.” Hershiser stood, pushing Jackson away as he marched toward Elliot and Sanderson. He slammed his fist on the table and leaned over them. “This is the
second time now in little under a month that you’ve sent me into something either ill-equipped or briefed with false information. I want to know why us regular soldiers, the ones you need in order to occupy shit, are of so little value to either of you.”

  “No one is saying—” Sanderson tried to defend himself, but Hershiser kept talking.

  “—Shut it, Bill. You’re more full of crap than anyone else around here,” Hershiser yelled.

  “Got that right,” Elliot said under his breath, smirking.

  “No one around here discards life at a higher rate than you,” Hershiser continued yelling at Sanderson. “How many good soldiers had to die until you reached perfection? Tell me.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Oh, that’s crap.” Hershiser slammed his palms into the side of the table and scooted it away from him. “I’ve seen your new pet. Quite amazingly, your new pet was found when I led some stupid suicide mission in the middle of nowhere to capture some asshole who has been doing nothing but sitting in a cell unquestioned. A little too convenient if I do say so myself.”

  “I don’t like what you’re insinuating.” Sanderson stood and leaned over the table, going nose to nose with Hershiser. “The reports I was handed said the forces in the town were minor. If anything, I sent you in there with more men than you needed for such a task.”

  “Well, you certainly missed the mark on that one, didn’t you?” Hershiser grunted. “Luckily, our soon-to-be knight in shiny black and blue armor arrived when he did, biding time for Jackson to arrive. How exactly did their company end up there? You ever think of that? Or maybe you planned it and had your little girl puppet wipe it all away. Funny how you sent her in to save us and she didn’t make it back. Covering up something, are we, Sanderson?”

  “That’s enough, Shawn.” Jackson sank his fingers into a nerve on Hershiser’s left shoulder and brought him to his knees. “All this infighting does no good. What’s done is done. We learn from it and move on.”