World Without Angels

by Campbell, Jamie

  He flew across town and out into the green pastures. He knew there were dozens of farms in the area with plentiful vegetable gardens. He tried to find one he hadn’t stolen from before. A person might not notice a few missing vegetables, but they might not be able to explain it away so easily if it happened again.

  Jerome needed to go further than usual to find a new food bank. He didn’t mind, it gave him some more flying time. He spotted a farm nestled into the side of the mountain, a lonely light on in the house. He landed directly in the fields, quickly looking around to see what he could take. His search yielded some carrots and peas. Tomatoes were also plentiful. It would give some Leila some variety again. He gathered enough for a few days and tucked them into a satchel bag he had brought just for that purpose. He zipped it closed, making sure nothing would fall out during the flight home.

  As Jerome was about to take off and return to Leila, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Before he could realize what was going on, it was too late. He was surrounded by a dozen men, all holding guns that were pointed directly at him.

  CHAPTER 11

  Jerome didn’t know what to do. His eyes darted between the men surrounding him, there was no way he could break free of the circle they had formed. There wasn’t enough room to run into flight and the pain in his shoulder was preventing a stationary takeoff, even if he thought it would be possible.

  “What are you?” One of the older men of the group yelled at him, holding his gun directly pointed at Jerome’s head. He didn’t waver at all, holding it firm and steady – focused on his target.

  The last thing Jerome wanted was to engage the men in a conversation about angels and their current tribulations. He decided to go with intimidation instead, playing on their fears. “Get away from me. I will leave you peacefully if you all step back.”

  Nobody moved. A man wearing a straw hat and holding a very large knife spoke next. “You’re stealing. You’re a thieving, lying, demon. Why shouldn’t we shoot you right where you stand?”

  “I’m not a demon and I’m only taking the food I need. You have plenty, you won’t even miss it.”

  “He’s lying,” said another of the men, one holding nothing but a Stanley knife. “I say we cut him real good.”

  Jerome didn’t reply, he wasn’t convincing them of anything. Yet he didn’t know how to convince them to leave him alone. He wasn’t prepared to fight, he couldn’t, they were humans after all. He would rather they just let him go and they part ways amicably.

  But it wasn’t going to happen. “Get him!” The older man yelled. Everyone sprung into action, quickly closing the gap between them and Jerome. The angel stood there, unable to act with nothing but fear in his mind.

  The men charged, reaching Jerome quickly. Hands, weapons, and feet started flying – all in Jerome’s direction. He pushed them away as they came, trying to make a gap which he could escape through. But there were so many of them, it was twelve to one, the odds were stacked high against him.

  The blows from bare fists were nothing compared to the damage the knives were doing. They sliced through his flesh, sending blood pouring down his skin and soaking his clothes. He fought back, using all his strength to push them aside. He couldn’t inflict pain on them, he just couldn’t. Jerome showed a restraint that his attackers didn’t. They didn’t stop their assault for even a moment to consider the pain they were causing.

  Jerome fell to the ground, pushed by too many hands to count. He crashed against the dirt, feeling the shock run through his body. The men cheered with the triumph, they were winning.

  He closed his eyes, feeling every blow as it hit against his skin. He thought about nothing but Leila, she would be worried about him if he didn’t come home. She would also be hungry, left to fend for herself and having to brave the streets to find something to eat.

  He couldn’t do it to her. Leaving Leila by herself in a world consumed by a raging war was like a nightmare. He had to fight back, even if they were humans. He had to remind himself that the demons were influencing them, they were the ones creating the evil on Earth and using the humans like puppets. He would be forgiven for defending himself, right?

  Jerome pushed away the men closest to him, thumping them with every muscle he had in his arm. His sudden fight back came as a surprise, the men were not expecting it. He sat up, jumping to his feet as the men started to retreat. As he looked at their faces, he saw the shock and fear in their eyes. He hated the fact he had put it there. Jerome didn’t want anyone to be scared of him, he was a creature of protection not harm.

  “Get away and let me go,” Jerome boomed, trying to use his voice instead of his hands. Better they hate him because of his words than any injuries.

  The men stared at him, suddenly unsure what they should do. Jerome used the time to gather his thoughts, regain his breath again. He looked terrible, a bruised, bloody, and battered mess. He probably did look like a demon to them, yet his appearance was only because of their treatment of him.

  “Move to the side so I can leave,” he ordered again, this time gesturing with his arm so they could see exactly what he meant.

  The men exchanged glances, looking at the oldest amongst them for some guidance. Finally, with a nod of the head, they started to move. They lined up closer to the house, watching Jerome with alert eyes. Their injuries were few and far between, probably holding more dents to their egos than their bodies.

  Jerome waited a whole ten seconds before taking off. He ran as fast as he could towards the fields, fastening up when he had put some significant distance between them. He flapped his wings, trying to get some air underneath them but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t take off, his body felt like a thousand tonne lead weight.

  He ran into the woods on the side of the mountain, only going as far as to get some shelter. The minute he thought he was covered enough not to be followed, he stopped. He had run out of breath and his body was complaining with each movement. His shoulder was the worst. He looked down at it, seeing what all the pain was about. There was a bullet hole in his left shoulder, a matching one at the back. The old man had shot him, no wonder it had been so painful.

  Sitting on the ground in amongst the fallen leaves and twigs, Jerome did a quick inventory. He was covered in knife cuts and bruises, but only had the one gunshot. At least that was something.

  He realized he needed to clean his wounds but couldn’t make it a priority. It was too dark, Leila would be in a panic when he didn’t come home. He had to find a way to make it back to her, he couldn’t sit around feeling sorry for himself. The human’s needs came above his, they had to, it was the way of the world.

  The only good thing to come out of the darkness was that it provided him good cover. The thick trees didn’t even let the moonlight filter through to the ground. He was covered like a blanket in the forest. Jerome had to rely on his senses just to stop himself walking into things.

  Unfortunately, the coverage would only be temporary as he didn’t have to walk long before needing to return to suburbia. The forest went on for miles in the opposite direction, but he needed to return to the city. And that meant walking out into the open.

  Jerome reached the edge of the forest and stopped. The pain shooting through his shoulder was almost overwhelming, he couldn’t move his left arm at all. Without the movement in his shoulder, his wings could not function as they should. The shoulder blades were a pivotal part of the flapping motion. Jerome wasn’t going to be flying anywhere fast.

  He slumped against a tree, trying to catch his breath and willing the pain to go away. It wouldn’t be fatal, but it would take time to heal. And wandering around in the forest in the dark was only going to extend his healing time.

  Trying to picture the city’s layout in his mind, Jerome tried to remember the way back home. He could imagine roughly where he was and in which direction he needed to go, but it was impossible to know the most direct route. He hadn’t planned on walking home, flying would have been far easier.


  But the pain and the relentless feeling of being lost wasn’t the worse thing. It was being unable to let Leila know that he was alright and on his way back. He hated the thought of causing her distress. Just the thought of it made his shoulder throb harder and his thoughts all jumble in his head.

  The only way to stop the tearing at his heart was going to be to get back home. He had to keep going, he couldn’t slump against the tree for the rest of the night. Jerome willed himself to stand, to take the first step that would start his journey. As painful and wearing as it was, he didn’t have a choice.

  The logical part of his brain kept reminding him that it was good to walk home in the darkness. He would be able to walk through the streets, the oversized man covered in blood with wings that hung from his back, unseen. Or if anyone did happen to see him, they wouldn’t believe their own eyes. Nor would anyone else when they heard the outrageous story.

  With each step came another round of pain in Jerome’s shoulder. A few times when he had to negotiate through rubble or particularly dark places, he jarred his body so much that he would black out from the pain. After each time, he forced himself to go on. The alternative was to collapse in the middle of the street, to be found by a stranger in the morning. It was not a good outcome. As the day’s events had shown, people tended to shoot first and ask questions later.

  He continued on, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other. With each step, he grew closer to Leila and the bed they shared. He would be able to rest there, sleep in safety and comfort until he healed. The thought alone got him through the last hour of walking.

  Stumbling up to the now familiar home, he banged on the door. “Leila, it’s me. Please open the door.”

  He sounded weak, his voice merely a whisper. He leant against the doorframe as he waited. The sound of the locks turning was the sweetest sound he had heard in ages.

  “Jerome, I was so worried-” Leila gasped as he saw him, unable to finish her own sentence. “What happened to you?”

  “I was attacked.”

  She took his arm and placed it around her shoulder, letting his weight fall on her as she helped him inside. Slowly, they made their way through the living room and into the garage. She let him fall onto the bed.

  “Was it a demon? Have they fallen to Earth too?” Leila felt like crying, she hadn’t seen him in such a state since they had first met on that fateful day.

  “It wasn’t a demon, it was humans. Twelve of them. They were scared of me,” he managed to get out. “I’m sorry I didn’t come home when I said I would.”

  “Don’t worry about that now, I’m just glad you’re alright. I was so worried. What can I do to help you now?”

  “I need to clean the wounds.”

  “I’ll get some water and rags,” Leila left him, hurrying to get the supplies.

  He took off his shirt carefully, wincing as the dried blood tore at his wounds all over again. Blood started to trickle down his shoulder again, reopening any healing that had managed to take place.

  Leila quickly returned, a plastic bowl of water in her hands. She stopped in her tracks when she took Jerome in. She had known his injuries must have been bad because of all the blood, but she hadn’t realized he had been shot.

  “Did someone shoot you?” She hurried to the bed and sat next to him, placing the bowl on the coffee table and sliding it over.

  “Just once.”

  “Once is enough.” She poised the wet rag, ready to start cleaning the wound. “The water is going to be cold and it’s probably going to hurt. I’m apologizing in advance.”

  “I’ll be okay,” he tried a smile, trying to hide how much it stung when she touched his skin. He gritted through the pain, refusing to let his agony show. He had to be strong, he didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was.

  Leila dabbed as carefully as she could, knowing she would have to do the same for the back of his shoulder once she was done with the front. His skin was hot, warmer than it usually was. He might not be able to feel his own fever, but she could. She hoped the cold water from the rag would at least help to ease that too.

  As she cleaned each of his wounds in turn, sitting in silence because she couldn’t find the words to convey how terrible she felt about his ordeal, she couldn’t help but think how perfect Jerome’s body was. The skin left unharmed was as smooth as silk and so soft to the touch that she could stroke it like a kitten. His muscles were perfectly formed, his biceps strong and round. Then there was his six pack of a chest, cutting such a beautiful figure. Without his shirt, he was even hotter than she could ever imagine.

  “Is it that bad?” Jerome asked, noticing the way she stopped dabbing.

  Leila could feel herself blush, so glad he couldn’t read her thoughts. She made her hand move again, feeling horrible for even thinking such things. “I think the blood is making it look worse than it is. You’re going to heal too, right?”

  “I’ve never actually been shot before but I think the healing will work just the same,” he tried to joke, but it wasn’t working. “At least the bullet isn’t buried in my shoulder somewhere.”

  “I thought you went flying, what were you doing on the ground getting attacked anyway?”

  “I was picking up some food. Damn it, the food bag. It must have fallen off when we were fighting.”

  “That’s the least of our worries. I can find more food,” Leila scolded him, feeling even worse that he was only trying to help her when he got hurt. “But I can’t replace you. How did you get so cut up in the first place? Were you fighting with giants?”

  “No, humans, I told you.”

  “Didn’t you fight back?”

  Jerome shook his head sadly. “I didn’t want to. Angels aren’t supposed to hurt humans. It’s against our entire genetic code.”

  “Well, some humans are less human than they should be. You have every right to protect yourself. They haven’t shown you any mercy. Did you tell them you were a guardian angel?”

  “No.”

  Leila didn’t bother arguing, Jerome was complicated. He had his own set of rules for living, that was clear. She didn’t think she would ever fully understand them. But she was never going to stop trying to.

  “I think I’ve done all I can,” she finally declared. “It’s going to be morning soon, but you should get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

  “Thank you, Leila, I really appreciate it.”

  She moved from the bed so he could stretch out. She wished she had some bandages to cover his injuries but that was a luxury that had been stolen from her apartment.

  Jerome tried several positions before he found one that was comfortable enough to sleep. “You won’t leave me alone here, will you?” He asked before closing his eyes. He didn’t want to be by himself, he couldn’t explain why.

  “Of course I won’t, I’ll be here the entire time. You’ll see when you wake up.”

  He let his eyes fall close, giving in to the sleep that was overpowering. Leila watched him for a long time, letting her eyes memorize each and every part of him. His eyelids fluttered as he dreamt, she wondered what angels dreamed about. Would it be the same as her? Would he have nightmares about his attack? She hoped not. He was filled with nothing but goodness, he didn’t deserve to be hurt or afraid.

  At least he looked peaceful as he slept. His body may have been damaged but his mind could rest and help his wounds to heal. It was a start. The whole healing thing he seemed able to do was amazing to her. If she had suffered the same injuries, she would have died hours ago. There was definitely something magical about him, despite how human he looked. If you overlooked the wings, anyway.

  Hours later, she cooked herself some lunch and read through the prophecy for the hundredth time while he slept. She continued to check on him, running to the bed at his every move. She did anything she could to keep herself busy. The night before had been terrible without knowing what had become of Jerome. She could really have done with som
e more sleep herself but didn’t want to wake him by getting into the bed.

  When it was almost nightfall again, he finally stirred. Leila ran to the bed, making sure she was there when he opened his eyes. She didn’t know why, but it was important that she was the first thing he saw when he awoke.

  “How are you feeling?” She asked as he blinked his eyes several times to focus.

  He tried to sit up, pain reminding him he was still injured. “Better,” he tried to sound reassuring but she could see through it. “How long have I been asleep for?”

  “All day.”

  He looked down his arms and legs, ending with his shoulder. Most of the cuts were closed but they weren’t completely gone yet. The gunshot through his shoulder was still open. It was going to take it a while to heal, it was one of the worst injuries he had ever sustained. The demon’s claws were the only other things that could inflict such damage.

  “I’ve still got some healing to do yet.”

  “Be grateful that you heal.”

  Jerome nodded, knowing it would be much worse for humans. “Did I miss anything?”

  “I’ve been thinking about the prophecy,” Leila started, back to their usual topic of conversation. “I think we’re going about everything the wrong way. I don’t think our search should start with the chosen mortal.”

  “What do you mean?” It could have been the beating, but Jerome could honestly say he had no idea what she was talking about. He couldn’t understand a word of it.

  “I mean there is a paragraph in the prophecy that we’ve ignored. This one.” Leila handed him the paper and pointed to the lines in question:

  From Cadmus’s hand a weapon was taken,

  A sword forged from precious metal.

  Buried deep within Hallows Gallows,