seven
The world is an entirely different place after dark. Hauntingly silent doesn’t even begin to describe it.
I haven’t been outside after six o’clock in two years. I walk down our street, clutching the barrel of my shotgun tightly and clinging tightly to the buildings. The streetlamps glow a dull yellow, dimly illuminating the road. The moon shines brightly and highlights the vehicles that must’ve been abandoned when it came too close to sundown.
The trees that line the path cast crooked shadows along the road. They twist and turn into changing nightmares the deeper into them I sink. It’s hard not to flinch at every sign of movement, not to jump whenever the wind blows and the silhouette of the trees reach towards me.
I pull my focus onto scanning the area, watching for signs of life, finding none. Both relief and anxiety wash over me. Relief for those who made it home safe before dark; anxiety knowing that I’m now the number one prey.
I scan the steel shutters that lock the windows on the apartment buildings, wondering if those inside are happy. I wonder if they feel comfort within those walls, or if the threat of what lies outdoors looms over their heads.
They would have no idea that I’m out here. That played a large part in the design of the shutter system. The AIA believed that installing the steel doors and windows not only stopped daemons from getting in, but also prevented people from getting out. If people couldn’t run outdoors to save someone who didn’t make it home in time, the number of those missing would decrease dramatically. I scoff at the thought. The point was to stop people from doing exactly what I’m doing.
It’d be slightly less moronic if I had any semblance of a plan, but I didn’t exactly have time to pull out the map and plot out my best move before the clock struck six. I’ve never been on the other side of this search, and I never had to do a field op before the teams were pulled.
Instincts tell me that my first move should be to go to work. To follow Jeremy’s steps like I would any name that comes across my desk, search through footage, look for crumbs of the man I love. Though in this case, there’s still a chance. It’s been less than an hour rather than twelve. It’ll only make a difference if I can make it to the agency alive.
I know that if I take my car I’ll attract attention, so travelling by foot it is. It only causes my stomach to clench more with each step. If I were a hungry daemon, this is where I’d be searching for my next snack. Though that’s not what makes my stomach churn. Daemons are not the enemy I fear.
At the start of the war, my commanding officer mapped out the tunnels below the city as a means of a sneak attack. Our team not only hid weapons and supplies down there, but ensured that we all learnt the ins and outs off by heart.
The tunnels may be shrouded in darkness, but at least they’re safe from the creatures of the sky. I can stay out of sight of my biggest threat: the blade-winged angel who’s disrupted the peace.
The nearest entry to the tunnels is via the train station two blocks over.
Two blocks. I can make it two blocks.
I hug the buildings as I move through the streets, trying to narrow down how many angles an assault could come from. The only one that really concerns me is from above. Wings used to be a symbol of angelic grace, but they now serve as the drums of war. An angel from afar is magnificent, but the sound of wings is a death sentence.
I’ve only ever seen an angel on television or from a great distance, but it’s easier to admire their beauty that way, when the fear of a violent death isn’t paralysing you. They are hauntingly beautiful, and if they weren’t sadistic murderers, I might even envy them. The strength they carry and the power they have to help people is palpable. That power is wasted on them.
An image of the sharp-winged angel flashes through my mind and I try to shove it away. I switch my brain into soldier mode. Logic and strategy take precedence; emotions will be dealt with after the mission is complete.
Worlds, I sound like Captain Moore.
Across the block, the station’s entrance comes into view, and I almost release the breath that I’ve been holding. I almost think I might actually have a chance at surviving this.
That’s when I hear it. The sound that makes my spine curl and my heart thrum in my chest.
The sound of wings.
I flatten my back against the wall as tight as I can, eyes glued to the sky. The shop awning hangs less than two feet out, providing little shadow to hide in. Clouds scatter the night sky, the moon shining brightly through the fog. I don’t move an inch as I focus all my energy on controlling my breathing.
Perhaps the angel was high enough in the sky that it didn’t notice me. Maybe it flew right by without a second glance.
My heart pounds and I fight to keep my breathing slow and steady. My instincts scream at me not to move, that it’s a trap and the celestial being is hovering above, waiting to hunt its prey.
I know I can’t stay here forever. I could run – it’s only half a block to the train station. If the angel is high enough, perhaps I can run faster than it can descend.
I wait five minutes before I move at all. It would have to be patient to still be hovering around, waiting for the likes of me. I scan the darkness first, making sure there are no hidden enemies there. Then I look up. I stare at the sky for a long time, waiting for the sound of wings to send a wave of fear through my veins. I see nothing but stars scattered between the clouds, and I hear nothing but the wind.
I take a weary step out of the shadows, and then I run.
I slide over the hood of a car and land on my feet, immediately falling back into a sprint. As I near the entrance to the train station, the faint glow that comes from the staircase grants me some sort of comfort, but it’s dissipating.
This is too easy.
There’s a reason we never find the people whose names show up on our desks. Most of them die within an hour of missing curfew.
With each stair that I take into darkness, a single thought echoes through my mind.
Trap.
Trap.
Trap.
The trains still run during the day, and hours ago the station would’ve been packed to the brim with people. Now, the eerie flickering lights and stationary train look like something out of a horror movie. If this was a horror movie, this is the part where the audience would be yelling at the stupid girl that she’s going to die. Why would you go down into the dark, abandoned train station? Why would you do that? Turn back, you moron!
Maybe I am missing a few brain cells from my incident in the simulator earlier, because I ignore every instinct that screams through my bones and take another step into the nightmare.
I aim my shotgun into the void ahead as I enter the station. I watch closely for any creatures lurking in darkness. At the back of the platform sits a small empty office. No monsters to be found. Only discarded files scattered on the floor, as if someone left in a hurry.
I thought the emptiness would give me a feeling of relief, but it only tightens the unease in my stomach. Why haven’t I come across a single daemon? I can’t be that lucky.
A thump from above has me twisting on my toes and aiming the shotgun towards the stairwell as I melt backward into the shadows of the small office.
Crouching behind the desk, I sink low enough that I can see through the window but still stay hidden. Then I wait in the silence.
Something rolls down the stairs and grunts when it hits the bottom. A body.
Two large wings crumple beneath him. The feathers are a fiery red dusted with orange. His hair is a matching hue, but his eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen: a striking silver.
Red wears armour fit for nothing less than an immortal war, silver metal that moulds to his body in a perfect picture. His arms are covered in black blood.
This is the closest I’ve ever been to one of the winged angels, and to say that he is strikingly beautiful is an understatement. Seeing them on television doesn’t do it justice. They really are otherworldly. Even with his features contorted and smeared with blood, he looks nothing short of a creature from heaven.
Though it’s not the heaven you’d want to spend your afterlife in.
A screech sounds from the top of the stairs, triggering Red to grab the sword that tumbled down next to him and move into a fighting stance.
I watch from the shadows, breathing as quietly as possible and trying to stay hidden in the hopes that they’ll take care of each other without even noticing me.
The screeching grows louder as a figure jumps down the stairs at the angel warrior. He swivels out of the way with ease and the creature stumbles forward.
Its bark-like skin is pumping with black veins, and sharp claws dripping with blood grow from its fingertips. It looks up at Red and smiles, a sadistic, venomous look. Its teeth are razor-sharp, as if they’ve been filed down to match those of a great white shark.
The daemon launches towards the red-haired angel, but Red is quicker. He swings his sword and, in one swift motion, takes off its head.
The severed daemon head rolls across the platform and stops at the door to the office, only a few feet away from me.
Shit.
I duck down out of sight and hold my gun tightly to my chest.
Soft footsteps grow louder as they near me. I fight the panic that creeps into my veins.
A lone daemon I can handle; we’re trained to fight daemons. An angel, however… They stopped training us to fight them years ago. I would be dead in an instant.
The footsteps halt just outside the office. The angel looms over me on the other side of the wall. I don’t even breathe for fear that he can hear me. I merely close my eyes and hope.
If I shoot him, maybe it will give me a chance to get onto the tracks, and then I can lose him in the tunnels. It won’t cause any damage, but it might cause a distraction.
“Afriel,”
a deep male voice sounds through the station just as I’m about to move from my position.
After a moment of hesitation, I hear footsteps retreat as the red-haired angel walks back towards the new male.
A slightly higher voice that I assume belongs to Red: “It’s dead.”
The other male lets out an exasperated breath. I don’t turn to look at him, deciding it’s safer to stay completely hidden now that there are two of the beasts.
“Did it lead you to anything useful?”
“Nothing. It seems Cain is covering his tracks well,”
Red responds.
“Return to the others. I will meet you back at the Luminary. I have business to attend to first.”
His tone is firm, commanding. If I were to take my best guess, I’d say that he holds a high rank in their army. Though I wonder if their army is even structured as ours is, with different ranks and leaders.
Red says nothing in response. I hear both sets of footsteps retreating up the stairs. I wait a few minutes before moving, making sure they aren’t planning on circling back.
A small sigh of relief escapes me when I turn from my hiding place. I stand slowly and step out of the office doorway, looking down to avoid the severed daemon head. Gross —
“What do we have here?”
Asks a deep voice.