Chapter 14 #2
Michael rode away on his horse, leaving the other archangels behind, heading for the land right across Babylon. His jaw was set. He thought of God. He thought of everything that he had to do.
The two demons laid in silence for a while before Baal removed himself, cleaned the devil, then fixed both their clothes.
After this, he finished driving him to town, mentioning all the gasoline tanks in the trunk again that he’d gotten from one of Satan’s other few spies on Earth, of which Gemory was a part of.
He mentioned, more tensely: “Asmodeus and Rosier are still missing.”
“I know. Go fetch them,” said Satan, quieter, curled up against the window and tired.
“Have Asmodeus punished for it. And I will return to Hell, soon. Soon. Once I finish here.” The devil’s children missed him, needed him.
He’d never been absent without so much as a visit for this long, but he could feel his phone buzzing in his pants, one of many phones.
Many lives; it was difficult to remember the most important one.
Before arriving at the rectory, Satan finally hid his blonde hair, and he applied the correct brown eye contacts and adjusted his makeup to appear like an honest young man.
Baal tried to help with the dozen gasoline tanks, but Satan ordered him to stay hidden in the car.
And so the devil priest brought all the tanks into the rectory’s garden on his own, ignoring the sounds of the migrant shelter nearby.
It was already morning, after all. “I’ll,” the devil began once he realized he needed to hurry along this farewell, “be home, soon.”
“Please,” Baal replied. “Hell needs you.” Satan smiled at that, blew him a kiss, then slammed the door shut so that he could head to bed.
The next morning, Satan, the beautiful priest, was awakened by the good priest, Father Tono, shaking him.
“ángel!” he shouted. “ángel! You’re okay— Oh Father in Heaven, you’re alive.
” He was trembling, lowering himself onto the mattress, hands refusing to leave the devil’s shoulders for even a second.
“You don’t know how afraid I was. I called you a thousand times, ángel.
Are you crazy? Don’t ever do that again, brother.
Please, don’t ever do that to me. Where were you?
” Staring with eyes slightly widened, Satan said it was just two, three days, that he’d been in the larger city down south to speak to the prior bishop he worked under.
Father Tono, however, sighed, finally loosened his grip but still didn’t let go.
“I never told you, but the priest that was here before you — disappeared. He was kidnapped after he tried to protect some of the migrants against the criminals. They took him. I pray every night, ángel, that he isn’t really gone, but until God tells me otherwise, there is just my memory of him, a good man.
A great man. And there’s you. Please. Answer my calls if this happens again. ”
“I will,” said ángel, the devil, and smiled a little. “You don’t have to worry about me, Tono. Even less with that boy, Tadeo.” Father Tono flinched, as if in shame. “Come with me. Let me show you the gasoline tanks that I brought from the city.”
“Oh? So you know about the gas?” Father Tono pulled back as Satan slid away from him.
“That’s good. There are some migrants that need to be driven to the border today.
I wanted to do it myself, and there were some soldiers I was speaking to for gasoline, but this works out better. Thank you, ángel.”
ángel rose from the bed, heading for his window, peeling back the curtain, staring at the sky.
“Mm, God whispered to me about the gas. I’m glad He did.
” He felt Father Tono tense again and smirked.
“I’ll join you on the drive.” Satan always enjoyed the role of priest; a few centuries ago, he’d managed to reach the papal bed and gotten fucked on it.
Priests and pastors and religious men hadn’t changed at all since then, no matter how much the world beneath their feet did.
After this, they both went about the morning, had service, ate, then went to the shelter, the larger hall next door, where families and some lone individuals, totaling two hundred, ate the meals that the few nuns and some volunteers had prepared.
Walking between all the plastic tables and chairs, the two priests began gathering those due for the immigration office.
It was half a dozen people only, four adults, two children.
Gently, the priests urged them to follow to a large van.
Michael the angel arrived over the border and hesitated.
He guided his blood-colored horse toward the bridge out of Babylon and gripped the reins tightly, listening to the excessive honking of the cars heading up north and those heading south.
In between the vehicles, he landed, then rode steadily, careful to avoid touching anyone.
A few humans were selling across the southern part of the bridge — particularly women in long skirts, as well as children.
They offered artisanal trinkets, some beaded earrings, and candies.
A man nearby cleaned a car’s windows, then knocked on the driver’s door to ask for coins.
It was not the first time that Michael had seen this, and it was quite the familiar scene in general — humans traveling, humans and their commerce.
But it’d been an eternity since he’d been tasked to destroy this, to harm them.
Stopping, he decided to climb off his horse, setting it at the center of the bridge, before he flapped his wings.
Michael rose into the air and breathed out nervously.
In the migrant car — a little girl was chattering with her father in the creole language of the island they originated from, a young indigenous boy who’d left his home alone sat with a middle-aged woman he’d met in a caravan, who was talking to another woman, who held a crying infant, and there was a quiet older man.
On the radio, there was news. Before them, there was a nearly desolate road.
The beautiful priest stared at each of the pedestrians they passed, many whose gazes lingered.
“Hm,” the good priest was sighing, “maybe this wasn’t a good idea. ”
“You’re right,” said the beautiful devil. “One of us should have stayed behind in the shelter. There could be a massacre happening right now, and we’re letting it happen.”
“There’s no massacre happening right now,” the good priest grumbled. “What I mean is that we might get attacked. I was just hearing about some cars that were stopped by criminals and got their gasoline stolen.”
“Oh dear,” said the beautiful one. “I’ll pray a Hail Mary, in case.
” Again, the good priest sighed. “But don’t worry so much, brother.
We’re almost there.” He nodded his head at the bridge coming into view, though they were headed for a large building across the street from it.
“Look, there’s so many soldiers.” Dozens of men were stationed both at the immigration building that the migrants had to be processed through and by the bridge entryway, brandishing their hefty firearms and camouflage.
“A lot of them,” Tono replied, less cheerily, then jostled in his seat when one of those soldiers was stepping up to the road before them, lifting a weaponless, gloved hand, palm facing them in a halting gesture. “Oh, what do they want?”
“For fuck’s sake,” added the older man in the back, to which the beautiful one chuckled.
“Hey now,” Tono tried to coax them, shifting the van into parking.
“Don’t stress.” Other soldiers were approaching now, perhaps eight or nine.
“I’ll talk to them,” said the good priest, almost insisting.
“I’ll talk to them—” As he rolled the left window down, the first soldier was already commanding:
“Out of the vehicle. All of you.”
“We’re from the shelter on Private Street, and we have,” Tono tried to interject, “an appointment with the migration office. Look, I have documentation for everyone here. ángel, can you pass me the folder I have on the side there—”
“Out of the vehicle, now,” repeated the soldier, firmer, then banged his hand on the side of the car with a metallic thud.
“Hurry your asses up.” His sharpness chilled the blood of every human in the van, including the good priest, whose eyes widened in confusion, but when he opened his mouth, the soldier lifted his long firearm, pointed the barrel between Tono eyes.
Instantly, those in the back drew a breath, and the infant hiccuped with the first bubbling of a wail. Again: “Get out of the fucking car.”
Swiftly, calmly, the priest ángel clicked to unlock the van and urged with a quiet voice: “Everyone, step out of the car. To the right.” The left had the most crowding of soldiers, and Satan was certain the migrants realized this too, as they didn’t hesitate to hurry in the direction he indicated, almost stampeding over one another.
Meanwhile, he remained in place, waiting for the soldier to lower his gun away from Tono, and he listened to the radio.
“The president has reportedly retracted his statement—” Static was seeping out like blood from a wound.
“He trusts that—” It was a nation like Babylon, up ahead.
To those headed there, Heaven and Hell, at once.
“It was—” Slowly, the man began to trail the end of his gun lower, lower, before he grabbed the handle of the door, wretched it open abruptly.
“It was a misunderstanding, according to the Speaker of the House, but there is something to be said about the complete lack of government control at the border. A recent massacre of soldiers outside the border town of—”
“Wait—” the priest Tono tried to say again, but he was grappled at the collar of his button-up, then yanked out.
“You get out too,” the soldier snarled at the devil. “Get out and put your hands up.”