The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two (19 page)

“Now, where was I? As you know, there have
been warring factions in the world, certainly the power center
seems to be the City, but the wars have gone on long enough.
Especially, the Angel conflict that has been going on over two
thousand years—good versus evil, all that.” The Demon chuckled
maniacally. “And only since the Change has the war been able to
leak across onto the earth. And we Demons have been caught in the
middle from time to time—for no fault of our own, of course. And as
you know we are considered different by both of the Divine
factions.

“I have just now come from a meeting with
very influential Fallen. They also have difficulty with the
constant conflict that goes on between the three groups—I mean four
counting
mankind
.” Balg chuckled as he stubbed his cigar
out. “Now, Fallen they break into three big families. One directed
by the former world champion Lucifer. There’s a rumor that he hit
bottom—just lost it. Anyway, his old gang is strictly into turf
control. They just want out of the scrapping. I don’t know what the
fuck they’re doing. And I don’t care, because they recognize turf…
Do you understand that Felon? Turf?” Balg pounded his desk.

Felon glared.

“So, Lucifer and his boys are running a skid
row deal down in the sewers under the City, if you can believe
that. Repenting some say, but I don’t believe it! Someone told me
he gave his fortune away to charity. I think he drank it.” Balg’s
eyes glowed. “So, those guys are right into the Holy Compact thing
and repentance and all that. You know the deal they got with
Heaven.”

Balg continued. “So they made their own Bible
if you can believe that, and they go by it. Let’s call it Epistle
Envy. Whatever, the other two gangs of Fallen not directly under
the control of Saint Lucifer are still bound by the Compact and
don’t want to piss off the Dark Prince, who still commands the
majority at least you know, he’s a figurehead. And everyone’s a bit
twitchy about the whole wrath of God thing, which is supposed to
happen if the Compact is subverted.

“Us Demons, we have latitude when it comes to
the Compact. Hell, some of us are Catholics…but we have latitude
since we pre-date the whole Christian thing. So, some of these
Fallen have watched how Demons work, and they like what they see.”
Balg chuckled. “I have my own superiors to answer to just like you.
But they’re very easy to buy, if they notice this shit at all.
Demons are different. You know that.” He cleared his throat. “We
have a hierarchy of advancement, once you get made, you can go up
the chain. There’s a King of Demons but you know he’s really more
interested in his take and getting some poontang… I know the guy,
he’s nuts for pussy. All he thinks about!”

Balg shifted in his chair. A grin spread
across his powerful cheeks. “Myself, I want advancement. I’m a
Baron, but I’ve been a Baron for about four hundred years. It’s
time to move up.” He chuckled at the irony. “Well, upward—so to
speak. But, there are two Fallen with a great deal of power running
the other gangs I mentioned. And it came to me that perhaps we
could work a deal. Talks began three decades ago. And I just got
back from a meeting now.” He took a breath. “I understand you have
worked for Fallen in the past? One named Kest hired you to whack
one of his boys.”

“Liars,” Felon hissed. “Cheats.” Kest had
deducted a Voided Soul-Procurement Clause Tax. It wasn’t much, but
it wasn’t in the agreement. Of course, as Kest pointed out, it
wasn’t out of it either—unless Felon wanted to reactivate the
clause.

“Hey, you ever eat out with them. It’s like
perdition. They take so fucking long figuring out tips…I just whip
out the wad and pay it, you know. It’s embarrassing. But they are
powerful. I will be the first to admit it. And they are made of the
same stuff as...” Balg set the clawed fingers of one hand against
his lips and pointed upward. “So I couldn’t ignore the
possibilities of what might come up from an alliance with them.
Fallen I spoke to, know of you, and understand
our
relationship. So I decided to offer them a gift of good faith.”

“Faith!” Felon spat; already his reluctance
to deal with Fallen was rising.

“For a sum that you can pick, I want you to
do a number on a certain Angel from the Celestial Choir. Now, he is
of minor importance in Heaven—barely more than a fucking cherub,
okay? And his behavior is hardly worthy of an Angel—the
hypocritical bastards. But it is possible that a certain group of
his contemporaries up there is not in direct opposition to the
thoughts, feelings and aspirations of all Fallen. They are all
brothers. You know, it’s family. It’s a family fucking deal.

“This particular Angel is privy to some of
the dealings and discussions that have gone on. Some of which
meetings I’ve already mentioned. So he is a guardian Angel gone bad
who’s having an affair with a human woman. He fell in
love—supposedly.” Balg’s eyes flashed white rings of disbelief. “If
he were to get whacked in a compromising situation then any
testimony that he has given or could have given will be suspect.
And his mouth will be shut. My friends within the Fallen ranks, and
their friends among the Divine, will have an annoyance out of the
way, and will have acquired trust and good faith with the Demons
under my command. Which is good for me. And, in the long run, good
for you.”

Felon sipped his drink. Killing Angels was
dangerous work—this deal sounded complicated—might be a swan song.
He wouldn’t want to push his luck after it.

“Deposit $3 million in cash in an account of
my choosing,” Felon said. “Put $2 million in gold ingots in a
safety deposit box upon completion of the job.” He contemplated
asking for Infernal protection after the hit; but knew that no one
could be trusted.

Balg laughed long and loud, stroking his
horns as he howled. “Felon! I thought you were getting soft.” The
Demon pounded the desk. “Done!” He reached out to Felon; the
assassin stood, reluctantly took his hand. “Passport got the papers
drawn up—we’ll just fill in the blanks and arrange the finances
before you leave.”

“When do you want it done?” Felon turned to
go.

“Tomorrow morning, at eleven!” Balg raised
his hand. “I’m sorry for the specific timeframe, but we know he’ll
be at his girlfriend’s and his guard will be down. Fuck he won’t
see it coming and then me and my associates can go to the next
stage in our plans. The easiest money you’re ever going to
make.”

Felon almost protested. Twenty-three hours
made it dangerous. No time to plan. He’d set it up. If things
weren’t safe, he could abort. No one would complain. And it was
worth taking his time. He knew that once this job was out of the
way, he’d have to disappear for a while—maybe retire. He’d be too
hot to do anything else.

“Wurn will take you back to the mainland.”
Balg’s face was a mask of joyous teeth. The door opened, Passport
entered. “See to the paperwork first.”

Passport nodded, made a sweeping gesture with
his hand. Felon waited for the gangly secretary to leave and
followed him from the office.

26 – Tea Party

Dawn was playing quietly with some plastic
cups and saucers she’d found while exploring their hideout. They
were tucked away in a box with other junk from the old days. She
jumped at the chance to have a tea party, but had quickly grown
bored with it. Mr. Jay always encouraged her to play because he
said that the happiest people he knew were young at heart. And, he
would add, somebody had to remember how to be a
real
kid, in
case
real
kids ever returned and needed to know. So, her
mind was bouncing from childish notion to adult idea—and getting
excited about Nurserywood and real tea parties when she heard
something rattle and click in the hall outside.

She blew out the candle that sputtered on the
table, and hurried to her cubbyhole, slid the door into place and
flipped the slat to lock it. She sat in the dark, terror clutching
at her heart as the doorknob to the hallway rattled and then
roughly turned. The squeaking of old hinges followed. Then there
were little creaks and knocking noises—as something entered, and
whispery sounds like dry leaves rattling in the wind. Her breath
was coming in rapid little bites and big gulps and she started to
feel a little dizzy.
Calm down
. The grownup voice in her
head warned.
Slow your breathing. One. Two. Three…

She had pulled her quilt over her and was
just doing what the voice had suggested, when the door to her
cubbyhole started rattling and banging against the wall.
Oh, Mr.
Jay
! Panic flashed through Dawn. The fine hair on her arms
stood on end. The door rattled and banged again and then fell into
a silent and quiet state that was far more terrifying.

“Hey kid,” a youthful voice said finally—it
was childlike but had a raspy edge of weariness. “Kid. Come on out.
We won’t hurt you, and we don’t have time for this.”

Dawn’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart
thumped in her ears.

“Come on,” the whisper continued after a few
silent seconds. “We ain’t got time for chitty chats or pitty pats
or patty cakes!”

Dawn was startled when a quiet chorus of
whispered laughter followed—that ran louder until a shushing sound
silenced it.

“We ain’t got time,” the voice insisted,
followed by much mechanical clicking and rattling that sounded like
machinery. “We’re here to help you.” There was more whispering, and
the hushing sound. “Kid. We’re just like you so don’t be worried.
We know you’re spooked, but you don’t have to fill your
diaper.”

“Diaper!” Dawn blurted, before clapping a
hand over her mouth. She heard giggling outside and then harsh
whispered words.

“Enough!” the voice hissed as the door to the
cubbyhole shook briefly and was still. “Look out at least if you
can.” Then the voice went quiet. “Here, give a sec…”

Dawn cautiously approached the door. With
small fingers she slid the little wooden flap aside that hid her
peephole. There was only darkness. Dim gray lines showed the edges
of the boarded up windows—but the gloom was heavy and trended to
black shadows. Suddenly, a match flared blindingly. It swooped up
through the air, illuminating a hand, a set of rough clothes on a
small body, the shoulders bulky, the arms and legs knobby with
padding. The match’s orange yellow light traveled upward until it
hovered in front of a small face—a forever child, a girl with
freckles and curly hair and big round eyes. She was perhaps
pre-Change nine but still about Dawn’s height and weight. The flame
suddenly flared as the girl lit a cigarette. She pulled it out of
her mouth with her free hand and then smiled.

“There! You see? I’m a kid too!” And then:
“Shit!” the girl cried out as the match burned down to her fingers
and she threw it to the ground where it went out. There was
giggling and then a string of angry curses as the girl scolded.
There was a sudden multitude of wooden scratching sounds, this time
echoing all about the hideout as six new flames sparked to life and
traveled up to reveal as many other forever children.

There were an equal number of boys and girls.
Their ages ranged from six to something near eleven or twelve the
biggest: one broad shouldered boy in handmade armor and padding
wearing a wide metal hat. Across from him to the right of the girl
with curly hair was a little boy, the smallest. He was wearing a
brass helmet like some kind of museum piece—its fluted edges curled
down over his narrow shoulders and swept up over his covered
forehead. A welded grid of flat metal straps like a basket hid his
face. His left hand looked monstrous like some lethal flower. Its
five sharp petals were shiny knife blades almost as long as the
boy’s arm. The small fist that held them was covered with a padded
hockey glove and well bound up with heavy layers of duct tape and
wire.

All the other kids held cutting weapons too,
and from straps and belts hung guns of various sizes and
shapes.

“Come on, we have to go,” the girl with the
curly hair insisted. She blew a stream of smoke into the darkness
overhead. “Toffers and Sheps are coming.” The girl read Dawn’s
unspoken question. “Truant Officers and Shepherds—their dog-things
have picked up your scent.”

Dawn’s hands reached out of their own accord
and pulled the latch free to unlock her door. She pushed it aside
and stepped out.

The kids’ eyes went wide and round and swept
over her form.

“She’s got no weapons,” a tall girl in helmet
and pigtails said.

“She’s dressed like a kid,” said the big boy
with the wide steel hat. “A real
fucking Squeaker
!”

Dawn found the scrutiny unnerving. Her hands
self-consciously smoothed the material of her little jumpsuit as
she searched for something to say. A few wooden matches suddenly
flickered to the floor as new ones were struck to life. A second
later, the remaining matches were doused and replaced.

“My name is Dawn,” she said finally. Her
voice sounded soft and childlike compared to these rough
characters.

“I’m Liz,” the curly haired girl growled,
flicking her cigarette to the ground. “We got to get you out of
here.” She looked nervously at the door. They’d closed it after
entering. “The Toffers are coming and they got Sheps, meaning
they’ll get right on you. Last we saw them—they weren’t none of
them wearing their people skins.”

Dawn shook her head. She didn’t know what a
Toffer was or a Shep, and she sure wasn’t going to just leave Mr.
Jay because some girl told her too, no matter how rough and tumble
she looked.

“I can’t leave,” she said, finally. “I’m
waiting for Mr. Jay.” Then an idea struck her. “Maybe
he
can
help you.”

“
Maybe he can help you
!” the other
kids parroted, making their voices sound silly and childish. A
chorus of quiet giggling followed.