Infernal Angel

by Edward Lee

  “They’re coming up,”Angelese said, looking down more intently now.

  “What?”

  “The Oubliettes.”

  “The—” Over the next curve in the lane, the facility’s structure changed. Now all the infernal spectators, instead of looking up into the cages at either side, were looking down.

  Into pits.

  They were like cement cells forged into the ground, each covered by a locked frame of iron bars. And in each cell, cowering in a corner, or looking up in rage or horror, was an “exhibition.” Most were fugitives of one species or another—many Human. This place wasn’t as much a zoo as it was a display emporium for political heretics and convicts. Some had been torsoed, some skinned or mutilated, some infected with diseases specifically designed to increase the shock-value of their appearance. But not all of those condemned here were criminals. It was a business, after all, and visual outrage was the market. Other of the cell’s occupants were accidents from the Teratology Institutes and experiments gone awry from the Academy of Transfiguration: hexological mutations and transplantees. It’s like a circus freak show, Cassie realized, getting sick just looking, only they’re manufacturing their own turo-headed cows ... Spectators openly spat and urinated into the cells below, an encouraged debasement (she caught a glimpse of a sign: DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS, BUT FEEL FREE TO EXCRETE ON THEM). She also caught half-second glimpses of what seemed to be pipe-exits on either side of each cell ...

  “Are those pipes?” Cassie inquired, a bend in her voice.

  “Twice a day, they open the domestic sewer lines from the district—through every cell in the Oubliette Reservation,” Angelese informed. “Keeps the cells neck-deep in waste during off hours. It’s for the city’s most exclusive prisoners. Instead of putting them on the Gacy Detention Archipelago, or locking them away forever in the City Prison or one of the Emaciation Camps—they put them here. They put them on display to the public. For money, of course. In Hell, everything is for money, just like in your world.”

  It was mortifying. Cassie looked away, she couldn’t witness any more of this, but that’s when the pertinent question finally struck her:

  “Angelese? Why did you bring me here?”

  The question gave her so much focus that she hadn’t noticed the Nectoport had stopped, its one-dimensional aperture hovering at the end of the Oubliette section.

  “We don’t have much time,” the angel said.

  “Answer the question!”

  “Look. Look down.”

  “I’m not looking at that place anymore!”

  Angelese’s voice softened. “Look down, Cassie ...”

  Cassie did, preparing herself for some new vision of disgust and degradation, but what she actually saw was worse than she ever could’ve imagined.

  “Cassie?” a voice shrieked upward. “Cassie, is that you?”

  Cassie screamed. Looking up at her from the demented, sewage-smeared cell, was her twin sister, Lissa.

  “Cassie, for the love of God help me!” The plea shot up through the bars like arrows. “Get me out of here!”

  Cassie trembled, choking. She tried to speak, tried to say something assuring to her dead sister but all that croaked out was: “Lissa ...”

  “We have to go,” Angelese said. “We’ll be spotted.”

  “No!” Cassie shot back, and all the emotion behind the response shoved the angel back. “We’re going down there and getting her!”

  “We can’t. We’re channeling. We’re not corporeal. If we got her out, we couldn’t take her with us. She’d be recaptured immediately.” The Nectoport was sailing away fast as a missile.

  “Cassie! No!” Lissa screamed. “Please don’t leave me here! How can you leave me here?”

  Cassie was on her knees, sobbing. “Why? Why did you do that?”

  “I promised you you’d see your sister again.”

  “Yeah, great! She’s in a hole in the ground in a fuckin’ zoo! You show me that but won’t do anything about it? What kind of a damn angel are you?”

  “A smart one. We’ll go back and get her, Cassie, but we have to be incurare to do it—we have to be in the flesh. I just wanted to prove to you that I knew where she was. We’ll rescue her when we go back.”

  “I want to get her out of there now!”

  “That would ruin everything. If a sentinel or even a spectator saw us, they’d report it to the Constabs. Then Lucifer would know we’ve discovered Lissa’s location, and he’d move her. He’d put her someplace where we’d never find her.”

  “When, then?” Cassie insisted. “I want to get my sister out of that place!”

  “Soon, Cassie.” Angelese was standing at the Port’s rim, looking out at the macabre sky. She picked up the Ophitte Viewer and trained its living demonic eyes toward something in the distance. “Yeah. Real soon. Maybe tonight, if we’re lucky.”

  Cassie was still gulping back sobs in the aftermath. “What are you ... looking at?”

  The deranged binoculars were handed to her. “Look there, back at the Panzuzu District.”

  Cassie wiped the tears off with her hands and looked. Four bright hyacinth-colored bolts of light, each the size of a tornado, seemed to be pulsing up into the night sky from a distance. When Cassie edged the binoculars down, she saw their source: The Atrocidome....

  “We have to wake up now, Cassie,” Angelese said. “They’re getting ready to begin the Spatial Merge ...”

  Chapter Ten

  (I)

  Sarajevo, 1993

  The snipers were both clinical sociopaths; many of Milosevic’s special operations and paramilitary soldiers were, in fact. It was brilliant. They’d checked in wearing business suits, not battle dress, with meticulous credentials that identified them as ethnic Albanian textile merchants. The “spotter” set up his observation post in the old hotel across the street from the target perimeter. First thing he did was measure the room’s current air temperature. Why? Variations in propellant temperature affected projectile trajectory. These two men knew their job. Ironically, the weapons that had been hidden for them by Serb undercover agents were both American-made—an M-40A1 long-range sniper rifle and an M-79 grenade launcher—traded to the Serbian Materials Command for Russian ACRID air-to-air missile blueprints as hand-me-downs from the Afghan War in the early ’80s. Some of the managers of this trade would later become members of a political group known as the Taliban.

  Sniper One loaded the rifle’s integral magazine with five special 7.62 X 51 millimeter rounds that were filled with a lower-than-standard amount of propellent, this to reduce initial muzzle velocity to something slightly lower than the speed of sound and resultantly produce a soundless report through the chambered M11-SD sound-suppressor, which was screwed onto the end of the barrel. The Unertl lOx scope had already been calibrated specifically to Sniper One’s eye at a military range in the Vogvodina Flats west of Belgrade.

  “I’m ready,” he said very softly.

  “I’m not,” Sniper Two replied. He unwrapped four 40mm projectiles for the M-79. Two were incendiary, full of white phosphorous, the other two were APERS, which stood for anti-personnel. In parlance, the latter were referred to as “flechette”; it was a cannister packed with metal barbs that were deliberately rusted and infected with exotoxins.

  “You won’t have time to fire all four,” Sniper One instructed. “Just two.”

  “I know. I’m not sure which to choose but I like willy-pete,” Sniper Two replied, hefting a white phosphorous round. “They’ve been burning our children for five hundred years. I like to burn theirs.”

  “Amen.”

  Sniper Two would only be firing two rounds, and One five. They had to engage their targets and be out in fifteen seconds. They’d done this five times before, together, and had succeeded spectacularly.

  And six is their lucky number. The imperfect number, Lucifer thought. The Morning Star and an Oni stood behind them, both unseen on this latest Astral Retrogation. The Oni held a Han
d of Glory, each fingertip flittering with flame, like candle ends. Freshly severed and properly incantated, the Hand of Glory would provide them with total invisibility, while an Utterance Spell would render Lucifer’s voice soundless; anything he said would be osmosed into the snipers’ minds as thoughts of their own.

  “Christ, I hope we survive,” Sniper Two chatted, raising the grenade launcher’s pop-up deflection sight. “I want to go back to the Love City.”

  “Oh, we’ll get there. I feel it. I had ten last time, in two days, young things, too, lookers.”

  Satan smiled at the axiom. In Dachau and Belsen the SS had coined them Joy Divisions, here they called them Love Cities. Rape camps. Rape was a component field protocol for all of Milosevic’s Security troops and SOG personnel. Fenced compounds with tents for barracks housed abducted girls and women, some even children—through which troops were cycled for sexual release. Once impregnated, the women were often released back into their provinces where they became social outcasts. Muslim women pregnant by non-Muslim men became instant anathema. Just one woman in such a camp could be raped by a hundred soldiers in one day. Sometimes the exploits were videotaped and sold to European and American underground pornography markets.

  Sniper One sighted his scope down the street, toward the market. “This is beautiful,” he whispered.

  “What is?”

  “How accurate the S-3’s are with their intelligence. An open street market less than fifty meters from a day care center.”

  “Yes.” Sniper Two closed and locked the receiver of the M-79. He was about to say Let’s do this, but then Lucifer leaned over and whispered into his ear. “You’re using the wrong ammunition. The incendiary grenades will kill the children. Use the APERS grenades. It will wound them all horribly. Make your enemy expend his medical supplies, exhaust his care personnel, and crowd his hospitals.”

  Sniper Two blinked. Then changed grenades.

  “I thought you were using willy-pete.”

  “Flechette’s better. Poison their blood, blind them.”

  Sniper One nodded. “Let’s acquire targets.” He opened the window and sighted the market again through the Unertl scope. In the scope, he saw a young woman in a green government services uniform. Perfect, he thought of his first target. The first one always had to be perfect. He put his crosshairs on the woman’s head.

  Lucifer frowned. “Drop your firing line, aim for the lower abdomen. Paralyze her and rupture her kidneys. Make it so she never walks again and spends the rest of her life on dialysis. You’ll expend far more of your enemy’s resources by doing this. Putting her in a grave costs them nothing. Plus she’s got a husband and three children. If you paralyze her, you’ll crush them all.”

  Sniper One lowered his sight-line to the woman’s lower abdomen. “On my mark,” he whispered, “after three.”

  “I’m green,” said Sniper Two. His target range was so close he’d be able to fire his flechette grenades straight through the day care center’s front glass.

  Sniper One took a deep breath, let half of it out, and counted to three. He squeezed his rifle’s trigger. The only sound the first report made was a light metallic pop! and then a clink! when he ejected the spent casing. The woman fell, face ballooned in agony. The next two shots dropped a young male construction worker and a nine-year-old boy holding a toy airplane while waiting for his mother to buy tomatoes.

  Then came the familiar ear-concussing PLUNK! when Sniper Two put his first APERS grenade into the day care center. The front glass crashed inward, then—

  BAM!

  Consternation ensued. A wave of screams rowed down the street. Several dozen children who were still ambulatory staggered out of the center, in shock, along with several teachers. Blood dripped from all their ears; the first grenade going off had ruptured their eardrums.

  BAM! came Sniper Two’s second discharge.

  Everyone immediately in front of the center fell down at once, mostly children. They squirmed, all hooked with flechettes. Most wouldn’t die but would instead drain local hospital resources for months. Sniper Two dropped his weapon and was heading for the motel room’s door along with Sniper One, whose last two shots paralyzed a utility foreman and a Bosnian soldier on leave. Total time of engagement: eleven and a half seconds.

  Lucifer stood back and watched, radiant eyes gleaming. Before the snipers could exit, the door was kicked open. Both men froze. No Love City tonight, boys, Lucifer chuckled.

  “Halt!” the voice banged into the room.

  Two uniformed Bosnian military police had barged in, 9mm CZ-75 pistols cocked and aimed at the snipers’ heads. One was a sergeant, one a corporal.

  Just before the sergeant would order “Kill them,” Lucifer whispered into his ear:

  “Don’t kill them. I know you want to, for what they’ve just done to your citizens but be practical. They have valuable intelligence information ...”

  “Which one do you want, Sarge?” the corporal asked.

  “Hold your fire,” the sergeant ordered calmly.

  “Bullshit! I’m killing these butchers!”

  “No ...”

  The sergeant stepped forward, strangely sedate. Both snipers stood, gritting their teeth, with their hands raised.

  “No, we won’t kill these two monsters ...”

  BAM! BAM!

  The sergeant shot both men in the hips. Then—

  BAM! BAM!

  —shot them each in a knee. Both snipers howled on the floor. Eventually one passed out from the pain, while the other, the grenadier, shuddered, his face puffed and almost purple.

  “The City Defense Corp will be very happy to have them. They’ll torture them in ways you could never imagine, and get every bit of information they have, and when there’s no more to give, they’ll torture them some more. For days. They’ll take snapshots of them being tortured and send them to their families ...”

  Good, good, Lucifer thought. There was a tear of joy in his eye. While the young corporal shot each sniper in the ankle and scrotum, then radioed for a military ambulance, the Light of the Morning looked out the window onto the street below. The blood and horror and heartbreak and terror all seemed to congeal there in a human tableau. So beautiful, so beautiful ...

  “Throw it up,” he ordered the Oni, holding out his perfect hand. The massive creature of stone leaned over at once and drily vomited the White Stone into Lucifer’s palm. Instantly the thing disappeared.

  “Revel in your hatred,” Lucifer silently told the men in the room. “Hold your hatred sweet to your heart. Believe me, love doesn’t work. It’s hatred that makes the world go round.”

  He put a few flecks of Enguerraud Dust on his tongue, winced, and vomited wet light into his hand. Amid the luminous slime sat the other White Stone, and next thing he knew he was standing before Sherman and a Warlock in the Scarlet Hall.

  “My lord. I can discern by your aura that you’re in better spirits than the last time you returned from a Retrogation.”

  Lucifer smiled at his thoughtful attendant. “Indeed I am, general. It was wonderful. And the Utterance Spell that the Hexologists prepared worked beautifully. I want them all elevated in grade and rewarded. Give them an all-day shopping spree at Baalzephon Mall and a night with the Succubi.”

  “Consider it done, my lord.”

  Off the great stone veranda, he looked out into the maroon sky of his kingdom. Sherman walked up from behind. “And they’re raising the Killing Plate as we speak, my lord. Can you see it?”

  The next Merge ... In his bliss, it had slipped his mind. Even from so many many miles away, his angelic eyes could see the immense plate incrementally rising over the lit Atrocidome.

  “We got one and a half million, this time, my lord. The charge of all that Deathforce will be the greatest ever attained. The Dean of the De Rais Academy predicts a Merge this time with a duration of more than twenty minutes in the Living World.”

  Twenty minutes, the thought seemed to sign in the Mor
ning Star’s mind. An infinity ... But a doubt soured his joy. “Any word from our Houngan engineers at the Department of Voudou Research? We still don’t even know if it’ll work.”

  Sherman was a man who never smiled, yet he did so now. “General, why are you smiling?” Lucifer asked without looking at the general. “That’s unlike you, and it unnerves me.”

  Sherman’s beard drew up as the smile grew more intense. “I cannot constrain my joy—”

  Lucifer spun around, his long silken hair drifting in fetid wind. “What is it?”

  “The engineers are ahead of schedule.”

  Lucifer began to shake minutely. It was his nature to always hope for good things, and by now, after all these thousands of years, he was used to disappointment.

  “It worked, my lord. It is my greatest honor to tell you that.”

  No, no, no, the Lord of Darkness droned in his head as he walked numbly back out to the shining atrium. Then he fell to his knees, clenched his fists about his perfect face. “Show me ...”

  Sherman glanced at the Warlock and said, “Bring it in.”

  (II)

  “Say you take a snapshot of this clinic, then you take a snapshot of a city block in the Mephistopolis, you get them made into color slides, then you put one slide on top of the other and hold them up to the light and look at it. That’s a Spatial Merge. Two pieces of two different worlds overlap,” Angelese was saying.

  When Cassie opened her eyes, back at the ward in her bed, the white-haired angel was the first thing she saw. She was leaning over the bed, talking. She seemed jittery, wired. Cassie felt thoroughly confused, but then her senses began to refit. They’d been Dream-Channeling in Hell. The Panzuzu District, she remembered. The Atrocidome... Angelese had taken her to some kind of zoo, in a Nectoport, and ...