by J. R. Mabry
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Richard said. “We…” He looked around. Toby was nowhere to be seen. Good dog, Richard thought. “I mean, I thought I might see what was going on from up there.” He pointed at the walkway. “Why don’t we check it out before going back?”
“Because you’re tricky and I don’t trust you. Come on, move it. We’ll see what the Goat King wants to do with you.” He brandished the ax menacingly.
Richard sighed. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The Viking scowled and gave a jerk of his head. Richard obeyed, turning back toward the camp.
His limbs felt heavy at first, but as they got closer to the camp, it was clear that something was indeed amiss. People were still running in every direction, alarms were still clanging, but people were beginning to assemble into what looked like platoons.
“It looks like war,” the Viking said, as if to himself.
“War?” Richard asked. “Against whom?”
“Oakland, I think. I heard there was an army gathered at the foot of the bridge last night to repel an attack from San Francisco.”
“An attack? Who was attacking? Who—” then Richard remembered the lights he’d seen last night. “I think that was a vigil, not an attack. People holding candles don’t usually hold weapons.”
“It was a slaughter from what I hear,” the Viking let a smile escape. Richard shuddered. “I think maybe the Oaklanders are coming for the Goat King’s spoils,” the Viking said. The troops were facing in the direction of Emeryville, toward the foot of the Bay Bridge.
“Are you saying that the Marina is about to burst out into full-scale medieval battle?” Richard asked. The Viking didn’t answer but merely swung his ax as if in gleeful anticipation of the bloodlust that would soon be upon him.
“What did you do before…before everything broke down and you began to serve the Goat King?” Richard asked.
The Viking blinked and looked at Richard as if just waking up from a nap. “Huh? Oh, I was…uh…” he looked down and stroked his beard.
“Can’t you remember?” Richard asked.
The Viking held his hand up. “Wait…oh, I got it. I was a home care attendant.”
“A home care attendant. Like a nurse?”
“I don’t have my RN. I just take care of people.”
“With an ax?”
“I didn’t used to…no, not with an ax.”
“Who did you take care of?”
“Old Mr. Schell, over off San Pablo. Albany. Lovely little house. Little Schnauzer named Teacup. They were great. We would just hang, smoke out, and play cards and video games. It was like free money.”
“What happened to old Mr. Schell?” Richard asked.
A dark look passed over the Viking’s face. “I…don’t want to talk about Mr. Schell.”
“What’s your name, soldier?” Richard asked.
“Cal.”
“Cal the Viking,” Richard smiled.
“Don’t you forget it.”
“Not likely. I’m Richard.”
“You seem all right—for a priest, I mean. But that don’t make us friends. You’re my prisoner.”
“Of course. What happens when the fighting begins? Will someone give me a weapon?”
Cal stroked his beard. “I don’t know that.”
“Who do we ask? I think the Goat King is probably busy.”
Cal looked concerned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You can’t just put me in a troop without a weapon. Do you have a jail, or a—” Richard stopped. Marching up the frontage road from Emeryville he saw the vanguard of the Oakland army. And emerging from the midmorning fog were the hordes on their heels. Thousands upon thousands of people emerged from the mist, the ground rumbling as they came.
Richard squinted, trying to see them better. They seemed to be of all ages. He saw children and old people and everything in between. Men and women of every race were well represented and there were people of every conceivable ethnicity. There were people in jeans and hoodies and people in tattered business suits, their sleeves dangling from their elbows like vestigial organs. In their hands they held rifles, crowbars, baseball bats, broken bottles, scraps of wood with nails driven into their tips, and anything and everything else that might prove injurious to human flesh. They waved them in the air and shouted, filling the air with ululations and shrieks and terrible roars.
“There are too many of them…” Cal said, his ax slipping to the ground.
It was true. Already those marching toward them outnumbered the Goat King’s army, and every second more were emerging from the fog. And more. And more. Richard watched as the troops in the Marina transformed from fierce to fearful. At first, he saw a few weapons drop from their hands to the dirt, then there was an all-out stampede, heading north toward Albany.
Richard wasn’t sure where to go. He heard Toby bark behind him. The dog ran a few feet then stopped, waiting for Richard to follow. Richard reached out and caught Cal’s sleeve. “This way,” he said.
“But the Goat King—” Cal pointed.
Richard followed his finger and saw that the Goat King had assembled his courtiers outside his tent, arranging their chairs for a prime view of the battle. But his officers were fleeing now along with everyone else, leaving the pitiful king alone and exposed.
“There’s nothing we can do, Cal,” Richard said. Toby was barking wildly behind him, but Cal couldn’t turn away. For that matter, neither could Richard. It was then that he realized that the rumbling he felt beneath his feet was not from the approaching army. It was too sporadic, too lumbering and intermittent.
“Oh my God,” Richard said aloud. Cal sank to his knees as the fog parted and a great beast was revealed. Surrounded on every side by the Oakland army, the creature stood at least three stories high, his terrible nose raised to the sky, a shrieking scream emitting from its throat. Step after lumbering step, its feet, each the size of cars, crashed onto the gravel road sending booming shudders through the earth, nearly knocking Richard from his feet. A part of his mind heard Tobias continuing to bark behind him, even felt the dog tugging on his cassock, but he could not look away.
The great beast had the shape of a tyrannosaurus rex, but it was a shoddy and malformed excuse for a dinosaur. As it grew closer, Richard could see that its skin was not uniform but composed of what looked like patches, all stitched together at sloppy angles. Richard felt his skin crawl and his spine turn to ice water as he realized that the patches were…people…people and animals.
Someone among the Oakland army had sewn and stapled and bolted together a mountain of the dead, stitched together in the rough shape of a giant murderous lizard, animated by demonic power. “Oh my God,” Richard whispered again. The beast strode forward in unnatural, jerky motions, crushing everything in its path.
Unable to tear his eyes away, Richard remembered the spectacles in his pocket. He pulled them out and put them on, his eyes instantly stinging and blinking back against the ferocious light.
As his eyes adjusted, he saw the hordes of the Oakland army, as he had expected. He saw the shambling, patchwork dinosaur. But he saw more. He saw the glory of God pervading and animating all things—without which the entire earth would curl up into a wisp of ash and blow away like a burning sigil. He saw with his own, aching eyes the grace and love that supported every living thing, no matter how small or powerful, no matter how wicked or fearful. All breathed it in like air, for it was in the air—or more accurately, the air was in it. All fed on it without knowing it, for it was identical with the very moisture that composed all beings. It was the electricity that sparked their neurons. It was the well of emotion that fed their passions. It was inseparable from their flesh, inseparable from their thoughts or feelings or actions. It upheld all that Richard could see, and in it all things lived and moved and had their being.
And in spite of the overwhelming, unstoppable goodness with which the army was surrounded and upheld,
the Glory suffered them to continue along their murderous path, undeterred in their intentions as the manifestation of their corruption lumbered toward the Marina, crushing cars and buildings and people beneath the heavy meat of its great patchwork feet.
And astride the great beast, balancing upon its shoulders, Richard clearly saw a duke of Hell, clothed in crimson, a great crown upon its terrible head. Its beak extended at a cruel angle, and its long, sharp claws held the reins that guided the dinosaur. Its beak opened and emitted a high-pitched scream of glee as it guided the beast toward the fleeing army—and directly toward Richard.
105
Mikael woke up to a tickling on his cheek. He opened one eye and saw Kat hovering over him, trailing the corner of a handkerchief across his face. He wriggled his nose and raised his head, squinting at her. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She blushed. “My ego is pretty bruised, and I’ve got a story to tell…but I’m physically unharmed.”
He propped himself up on one elbow. He was back in the spare bedroom at Chava and Elsa’s. For some reason, he was on the floor. He had only the vaguest memory of having come there in the wee hours of the night. He reached out and scooped Kat’s waist, pulling her toward him. “You could say the same for me.”
“Oh, good. We can compare our level of shame.” She smirked.
“I…found Larch. But I couldn’t stop him. And—I didn’t know this before, but I do now—I couldn’t kill him.”
“I’m relieved,” she said. “That doesn’t sound like anything to be ashamed of.”
He sighed. “Part of me agrees with you. And part of me…well—”
“Wishes you could be more like Richard?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank God you aren’t more like Richard. You wouldn’t be half as sexy.” She bumped noses with him.
“You don’t think Richard is sexy?”
“Ew…” she said. “Richard is old.”
“How are you?” Mikael asked.
She looked away. “I’m so sorry, babe. I don’t know what got into me yesterday. It started out with the lying, and then… Look, I lie every day—”
“You do?” he said, his eyes growing wide.
“Shut up, fuckhead,” she punched him in the arm. “This is hard enough, you know.”
“Sorry. Do go on.”
“It’s that I got so defensive, so angry, so…combative. I mean I want to be—”
“Like Susan?” Mikael offered.
She met his eyes. “Uh…yeah. More like Susan. But I was so…belligerent. It isn’t me. It’s just…it was just wrong. I don’t know what got into me, and I’m sorry I took it out on you.”
He kissed her. “It’s okay. It wasn’t you. It was,” he said, waving his hand toward heaven, “it was all that stuff going on up there.”
“You sound like an astrologer I had as a housemate once.”
“I mean sephirot stuff.”
“I know what you mean.” She kissed him back. “I’m still sorry.”
“You are forgiven.”
“So are you.”
“What? What did I do?”
“Don’t push it, buster.” She pushed him back onto the floor, straddled his body, and kissed him deeply.
When she came up for air, Mikael said, “And I’m glad you’re not Susan.”
“Why not?” Kat asked.
“For one thing, you’d be crushing my rib cage right now.”
“That’s mean,” she said.
“Not any less true, though.”
“And then there’s the bridge,” Kat said, her smile fading quickly.
“What? The march?”
“Yeah. I almost got everyone killed. I think.” She briefly relayed what happened.
“Sounds like they were going to march into a trap no matter what you did,” Mikael said. “It sounds to me like you saved them. That doesn’t sound like anything to be ashamed of either.” He kissed her.
“It was too close,” she said. “It scared the piss out of me.”
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “It sounds like you and the Angel of the Air are getting to be buds.”
“Yeah, sure, let’s have him over for barbecue.” She rolled off of him and helped him sit up.
Mikael rose the rest of the way himself. “I have an idea. Let’s see what they call ‘breakfast’ around here.”
“I’m guessing bacon is out,” Kat said.
“Good bet,” Mikael said. They opened the door and walked into the living room. Brian was still comatose on the sofa. Chava was sitting near him, reading from an enormous book that looked very old indeed. She marked her place in the book and closed it, smiling. “You two certainly got in late. Did you get any sleep at all?”
Mikael heard a chopping sound coming from the kitchen and surmised that Elsa must be there. He smelled the intoxicating odor of coffee and had to catch himself before his knees buckled from the sheer wonderfulness of it. “I definitely have some catching up to do,” he said, letting a well-timed yawn escape.
“Me too,” Kat agreed. She sat down on the edge of the sofa next to Brian. “How’s our champion?”
Chava shrugged. “Who can tell? He hasn’t emerged for ages. I’m getting seriously worried about his bladder. I’m thinking it might be catheter time.”
Mikael shuddered. Just then Elsa came out of the kitchen with a tray full of mugs and a glass of water.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Yes, God, please,” Kat answered, snatching one up and gulping at it without bothering with her usual cream and sugar.
“That’s hot,” Elsa warned.
“I’ll heal,” Kat said, taking a breath.
“She always this impulsive?” Elsa asked Mikael.
“You get used to it,” he said, winking at Kat.
Elsa jumped when a pounding came at the door and spilled a little of the coffee. She hastened to set it down and then ran to the kitchen for a towel.
“Who could that be?” Chava asked.
Mikael’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you want me to get that?”
“No, I’ll get it,” Chava crossed to the door and looked through the security viewer. Then she stepped back.
“Chava, are you all right?” Kat asked. “You’re white as a sheet.”
“And you’re shaking,” Mikael said. He rushed to her side just as she collapsed to the floor. She didn’t lose consciousness, she just seemed rattled and a little disoriented. Elsa rushed to her from the kitchen. “Baby, what’s wrong?” she asked as she knelt beside her partner.
In answer, Chava only pointed at the door with a shaky finger.
Concerned, Mikael fitted his eye to the viewer and looked. “Oh, it’s just Maggie.” He threw open the door. “Maggie!” He gave her a bear hug, even picking her off her feet for a second.
“Hello, love,” she said. “Took you a bleedin’ long time, though.” She was dressed in stretch pants and a soccer jersey, with a winter coat and scarf over all.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, grinning.
“I’ve just come from Lake Tahoe, where I was running the craps tables—meaning I was winning, dear. But I stopped and came here, because he needs me,” she pointed at Brian. She waddled over to him, snatched up the glass of water, and emptied it over his head.
Brian started, sitting upright. “Maggie! Shit do I gotta piss!” He bolted for the bathroom.
Maggie turned toward them with a wide smile. Then she noticed Chava. “Hello, dear. Are you all right? You seem to have seen a ghost.”
“Serah…you’re S-S-Serah bat Asher,” Chava stuttered.
“Damn! So much for my secret identity.” Maggie placed her hands on her hips. “And just how do you know that?”
Elsa pointed toward the spare room. Maggie’s eyebrows lifted in curiosity, and she followed when Kat waved her over. Kat opened the door and flipped on the light. Maggie’s jaw dropped as she saw she was surrounded by pictures of herself, along with the excruciating minuti
ae of all her many lives.
Having seen enough, she waddled back into the living room, placing her gnarled fists once more on her hips. “My dear, are you a stalker? Because I have no time or patience for stalkers.”
Chava shook her head. “Are you really…an Episcopal priest?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course I’m an Episcopal priest. I’m the Canon for Clergy Formation in the Diocese of California. Why do you seem so…” Her face softened. “Oh. You think I’ve betrayed our people. No, my dear. I do us—I mean the big ‘Us,’ Israel—as much service as ever. I just serve gentiles, too. It’s all the same God, you know.” She leaned down. Mikael figured her knees were probably too arthritic to kneel. “But you…I can see you serve well. Don’t judge your gentile sisters and brothers so harshly, though. They have a place in tikkun olam as well. You should get out and mix a little.”
“What do you mean? I married a goy!” she said.
“Yes, and you insisted she convert to be like you,” Maggie said.
“I didn’t insist,” Chava objected.
“Yes, dear, you did.” Elsa put her arm around Chava’s bosom tenderly. “I said yes, and I embraced the People, but…you really did give me an ultimatum.”
Chava looked down.
“Don’t feel bad, dear. There’s nothing broken that HaShem can’t fix,” Maggie smiled.
Brian walked into the room, feeling at his back. “Pulled a muscle, I think.”
“Well, dear, you’ll just have to work it out. No rest for the wicked today.”
“Are we the wicked?” he asked. “I thought we were the good guys.”
“Sorry. There’s my inner Calvinist leaping out again. Get your shoes on, dear, and straighten your tallit. And your hair is screaming for a comb. Can’t set the world right with bed hair, can we?”
“No, Ma’am,” Brian adjusted his tallit under his vest and squatted, reaching for his oxfords.
“I should think not.”
“Maggie, are things okay,” Mikael pointed at the ceiling, “up there?”
“On the seventh floor, dear?”
