They Who Fell (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“T
here’s an order to things, Rhamiel, and she doesn’t understand it,” said Ecanus. “A fault I lay firmly at your feet. You’ve been treating beasts like they’re our equals, and this one’s starting to believe it.” His grip tensed, and his fingers sunk deeper into Jana’s flesh. She could hear his teeth grinding together, clenching in fury. She clung to his arm with both hands, hoping that if he released her she might somehow hold on and clamber back to safety. She didn’t dare look down, and couldn’t stand to look at Ecanus. So she focused on Rhamiel, trying to calm her rapid breathing and soothe her shattered nerves.

“Dear Ecanus,” said Rhamiel. “I’m not quite sure you understand the order here, either. I’m afraid I’m a few rungs higher up the ladder. This is becoming a challenge to my rank. I’ve only just met the girl, and I’d promised her some of Zuphias’s wine. I can’t very well let you turn her into a stain on the ground before I’ve kept my word.” Rhamiel was the picture of calm and poise. He seemed unperturbed by the entire situation, and maybe he was. But he kept his distance from Ecanus, leaving enough room that he wouldn’t feel threatened enough to do anything rash, and he kept his hand to the hilt of his sword.

It didn’t make Jana any more comfortable. Part of her was ecstatic to see him. She’d thought she was doomed, and now he’d flown in from nowhere to defend her. She wondered briefly whether Nefta had him all wrong—and then realized she was still dangling, still kicking at the air, and he was still so far away. She was at the platform’s edge, and he’d never get to her in time. If Ecanus wanted to make good on his threats, all he had to do was let go.

“If she thinks she’s one of us, then let her learn to fly,” said Ecanus. He cracked a smile, though it wasn’t a confident one. Jana got a good look at his nubby teeth and his sickly gums, and couldn’t help but resume her squirming.

“Ecanus,” said Rhamiel, his voice hardening. “I’m not in the mood for sport. I’ve been preparing for my enterprise on the outside, one sanctioned by the Conclave. I’ve enemies out there, and I won’t tolerate one in here.” He tugged at his sword, flashing a few inches of fire that drew Ecanus’s attention. “Now free the girl, and we’ll talk when I return.”

“You don’t have that kind of pull, Rhamiel,” spat Ecanus bitterly. “The others would never tolerate open warfare against one of our own, not in here. This little bitch wronged me. Defied me. Pointed a sword in my face. And she did it in front of all the rest of her kind. No one would side with you. They’d want to kill her, too, if they got even a whiff of it.”

A rush of air blew past Jana from the other side. Ecanus flipped around, jostling her about as she let out an involuntary squeal. She was distracted from her troubles for a moment by embarrassment, and then again by the new arrival. It was Zuphias, landing opposite Rhamiel and penning Ecanus in. Like Rhamiel, he left a gap between them: a threat, but not an immediate one. And like Rhamiel, he kept his hand to his sword.

“Is this really wise, Ecanus?” asked Zuphias. “If Rhamiel doesn’t kill you, Nefta will. The girl’s her servant. Her fate is Nefta’s to decide. Take up the matter with her if you like. Her property, her punishment.”

“Not many would miss you if I were to lop off your head, I don’t think,” said Rhamiel. “You’re inventive, and sometimes entertaining, I’ll grant you that. But you’re not exactly well-liked. One has to get a better understanding of social niceties if one wants to move up in the world. Who must be deferred to, and who can be deferred. You’ll never fly higher than this if you don’t learn the difference.” Rhamiel drew his sword out, slowly, and took a few steps towards him.

Ecanus looked back and forth between the two, a cornered animal calculating its choices. He didn’t have any he was fond of. Backing down would cost him face; plowing ahead could cost him more. Not having much face left to lose, he opted to preserve his skin. He pulled Jana back from the brink, tossing her against the platform and huffing away. “Take her, and deal with her ceaseless sass yourselves,” called Ecanus as he walked back through the archway, giving Jana one last evil grin. “I’ve insubordination enough to endure from my own servant. And that one’s mine to discipline however I like.”

Jana lay on the ground gasping, letting the air rush into her lungs in relief. She clutched at her neck with both hands. It still felt constricted, like Ecanus hadn’t entirely let go. Then she looked up at her rescuers. Zuphias hung back, put out at having had to bother with intervening on behalf of a non-entity like her. He looked as if the rescue had been a great burden on him, and had interrupted some pressing business of his own he’d have preferred to have been attending to—one of their social occasions that amounted to organized braggery, or cataloguing his wines or another collection of rarities whose accumulation displayed sophistication. And then there was Rhamiel.

He sheathed his sword, approaching Jana and offering her a hand up. She took it, and was pulled upwards. She tried to steady herself, and then swooned, stumbling into his arms despite herself. She felt like a clumsy fool, but he just smiled down at her, until she found her footing and pushed herself away.

“Did he hurt you?” asked Rhamiel.

She didn’t respond; she wasn’t sure she safely could. He loomed over her, wings flexing outward and armor adding bulk to his frame. Up close, it had incredible detail, the gold beaten into the shape of a heavenly creature mid-roar, its mane curling out over the shoulderplates. What it was, she couldn’t tell, but the smiths must have spent years hammering it together. His face was now broadcasting his concern, and she looked away quickly, fluttering inside despite herself. Nefta may have thought him mad, bad, and dangerous to know, but she thought he had a tenderness to him. She could see it there, she was certain of it. There was something nice about knowing there was a guardian angel looking out for her, whatever his faults might be.

“That was foolish, Rhamiel,” said Zuphias. “Ecanus was right. If you’d done him harm, the others would have cast you out, if not worse. You’re fortunate he was gullible enough to believe your bluff. If he weren’t so used to being trodden upon, he’d have dropped her and taken his chances.”

“But he is used to it, and he doesn’t have that kind of spine,” said Rhamiel. “You must know your opponent, Zuphias. There’s other ways to get inside their heads than miracles, and I make it a point to know everyone in the tower. I don’t expect you to deign to dine with him. Your status is the kind built over centuries, carried forward by its own inertia. Shatter the illusion of exclusivity, and it all falls apart. My status is that of the upstart, and a little social rule-breaking is to be expected.” Zuphias stood stoic, absorbing the criticism without comment. A true aristocrat never acknowledges such things, not in public, lest his aura of aloof superiority be punctured.

Rhamiel pivoted from Zuphias’s silence to Jana’s. “Jana, he seems to have put you in a state of shock. You’re quite all right now. I know he seems terrifying, but he’s a coward inside. He won’t bother you again. I give you my word.”

She wasn’t sure what to do. If she responded, she’d risk Nefta’s wrath on the one hand, and on the other, she wasn’t sure what she’d say. There was something overpowering about it all, this creature of legend landing in front of her and battling on her behalf, and she didn’t have any idea how one was expected to respond. She thought about staying quiet, and she knew she really should. But he’d only keep at it, and she couldn’t just ignore him, not after he’d saved her life. She groped around for the right thing to say, and then just sputtered out what came to mind. “I’m not supposed to talk to you,” said Jana. “I can’t.”

“You can’t?” said Rhamiel in mock horror, returning to his playful self. “It seems you can do whatever you like. You threatened to kill poor, defenseless Ecanus, but you’re afraid to talk to me?”

“Nefta,” said Jana, shaking her head and stammering. “I can’t. I just can’t.” She was kicking herself, wishing she could think of something clever or impressive to say, but that was what had come out. She thought she might be as frightened of him as she was of Ecanus, the way he roiled her insides just by standing there.

“I suppose you mustn’t displease her,” said Rhamiel. “If Nefta says you can’t speak to me, well, then we shan’t speak. Look where breaking the rules has gotten the both of us.” He winked, smiled, and then took off, soaring upward and circling the ramp before disappearing into the shadows of the tower above.

“Gratitude is a thing of the past, I suppose,” sniffed Zuphias, walking towards the platform’s edge and unfurling his wings. They were dark, but all of the feathers were intact, and he still had a kind of regal beauty to him. “We go to the trouble of rescuing you, and you won’t even condescend to speak to us. Rhamiel’s a fool if I ever saw one.”

“She didn’t say anything about you, sir,” said Jana. “Thank you.” Nefta probably wouldn’t like it if she’d known, but she’d been very specific. Rhamiel wasn’t here anymore, and if she’d wanted to make rules about Zuphias, she could have done so. He was certainly right about gratitude, and Jana had no desire to alienate another of the angels over a simple thank-you.

“What did she tell you, exactly?” asked Zuphias, arching his brow.

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to say,” said Jana.

“Well, girl,” said Zuphias, “Nefta’s up there, and I’m down here. Spit it out. I know she’s been worming around in your head, and I’ll have the answer if I have to wring it out of her myself.”

“No!” said Jana. “No.” That would be the worst of all worlds. Nefta would learn about Ecanus, and about Rhamiel, and she wouldn’t just box Jana’s ears for that. “She says he’ll hurt me. That he’d love me, but he wouldn’t keep me. That he’s done it before, and he’ll do it again.”

Zuphias chuckled, overtaken by amusement. “Did she say all that? She’s turning into something of a viper in her dotage. Taking her prey into her den, and paralyzing them with her poisons.”

“I don’t understand, sir,” said Jana. The angels could be oblique, often purposefully so. Much of their time together was spent in conversational games, bantering back and forth trying to either hide information or to extract it. They couldn’t easily kick the habit with the servants, who preferred to speak more directly given the potential consequences of a miscommunication.

“Nefta has sold you a bill of goods, my dear,” said Zuphias. “I don’t doubt she’s been hurt, but she’s hardly got anyone to blame but herself. She couldn’t care a whit for you. You’re just the competition.”

“Perhaps you should discuss this with Rhamiel himself, instead of hearing about it secondhand,” added Zuphias as he approached the edge of the ramp. “He’s been blathering on about you for weeks. You’re an exceptionally tedious topic of conversation, I can assure you. If you’re worried that his fascination won’t last forever—well, nothing does, and it’s best you enjoy the things you have while you can.” His wings began to beat, and his body began to lift into the air. He looked down, appraising her, before flapping off to whatever very important business he’d delayed attending to for Jana’s sake.

She knew Cassie would be looking for her, and knew she had to get back to her chores. But still she stood there for a few minutes longer, alone, gazing up above at the shapes gliding around in the dark, and wondering which one of them was Rhamiel.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I
t was Dax who fired first. He let loose as soon as they were noticed, a wild and unfocused spray of bullets that served mostly to attract the attention of the entire convoy. He managed to down one of the closer Vichies, although the bragging rights were considerably diminished by having also clipped the leg of the hostage he carried behind him. The Vichies cried out, and then it was war.

The meeker ones tried to hide among the cars. A portly bald man who’d been close to them when the firing began dove for cover at once, leaving behind the woman he’d cuffed to his bike. It lost its balance and slammed to the ground, and she lay there helplessly screaming over the gunfire, filling the intervals between bursts with shrieks and wails. A few of the others panicked and tried to drive off. Some of them made it, but one particularly careless man went straight for the bumper of a yellowed old sedan, launching himself through the air and into its rear windshield.

There were just a few of the bikers nearby when it all began, and they were the only ones with the presence of mind to return fire. A thin man with a scruffy mullet and leathered skin covered in tattoos was the quickest to draw, whooping and firing a shotgun with one hand as he raced between the cars on his bike. It was an impressive sight, but a poor tactical choice. His aim was terrible, and wasn’t helped by his grandstanding. Thane picked him off quickly, timing his fire for when he’d left the protection of the traffic jam and was circling around in the open yelling to the rest of them to attack.

Two others were smarter, opting to hide behind an overturned tractor-trailer and engage from a distance. But they weren’t particularly good shots, either, and what didn’t go over the heads of their targets connected only with grass, dirt, and cars. They did manage to accomplish something despite themselves, as the barrage pinned the cell to their position and gave the other Vichies the courage to begin firing volleys of their own.

Behind the ridge, Holt was fully occupied with trying to bring Faye to her senses, holding her down and working to soothe her as he left the battle to Thane and Dax. She was still chanting, an insistent and unpleasant discourse in a language that no one there could understand. It disquieted some of the closer Vichies who were able to hear it over the gunfire and the shouting, and drove them to flee rather than stay and do battle with whatever the source of the sound was. Otherworldly noises meant otherworldly dangers, and anyone with a bent towards incautious curiosity had been weeded out of the world long ago.

“Stay with us. It’s going to pass. Stay with us and stay down,” said Holt, only to be met with gibberish in return. He could see her in her eyes, the glint of soul and personality that shines through them and speaks someone’s essence with just a look. Faye was there, but frightened, and totally unable to control herself. Drops of blood had started running from her nose, leaving thin lines across her mouth in their wake. He couldn’t trust her, and she couldn’t trust herself, so he kept her pinned low with the weight of his body as she babbled.

“More on the left,” said Thane, adjusting his fire to meet a few new entrants to the battle who’d come from the fore of the convoy to investigate the commotion. Dax didn’t seem to hear him. He’d emptied his clip, and was busy trying to replace it with a fresh one. He knew how; he’d even trained how. But acting under the pressure of Holt’s voice was one thing, and acting in the face of the enemy was another. Thane reached over to Dax, flipped the clip around to face the proper direction, and clicked it in. Then he returned to the enemy, shooting underneath a car to hit one of them in the foot as he tried to hide behind it.

The battle went their way at first. Thane was an excellent shot, and the Vichies were virtually useless. The bikers were a threat, but they were accustomed to victory through posturing and bluff, and none of them had ever had the discipline to choose training over more enjoyable enterprises such as drinking, carousing, and bullying. Thane could have held them off on his own with ease, if more and more of them hadn’t kept streaming towards the gunfire.

The shouts began as their numbers grew, cautious taunts that rose to a bold chorus as more and more of them joined in. “Angel food!” screamed one of the Vichies, to be answered by a retort from Dax’s weapon. “Gonna fuck you up, man! Gonna put you in chains!” shouted another. They only grew louder from there, piping in from all around. “Gonna sell your asses! Gonna make you some angel’s little bitch!” It was less about intimidating their opponents, and more about priming each other for battle. None of them had much in the way of courage individually, but even the most slavish of followers can be prodded into decisive action, provided the only alternative is to stand out from the crowd.

“Thane!” shouted Holt. “We need to end this! Get in your stash and get us a distraction!” Thane obliged, crawling over to the ATV and opening up its trailer. He was a hoarder of anything he thought had destructive potential, though the items he collected seemed to slip away as quickly as he could acquire them. He kept finding creative uses for them, most of which tended to annihilate his weapons along with their targets. His choice on this occasion was a small box of grenades he’d bought from a scavenger who’d been rummaging through the remains of a National Guard post. They’d been the prize of his armory for years, and he’d long hoped to test them out on one of the angels. But since he’d gotten his hands on the sword, they were a distant second, and now seemed as good a time as any to put them to use.

“We’re going to have to make a run for it,” said Holt. It was easier said than done. Everything around them for miles was open pasture, with nothing for cover but overgrown grass and a few scattered hills. There was the road, but it was infested with Vichies, and there was nothing stopping them from charging out into the pasture but a few thin strands of barbed wire and their own lack of fortitude. A few of them would eventually try, maybe further down the road where there wasn’t an easy line of fire, and then the cell’s position would be overwhelmed.

Holt lifted Faye over his shoulder, carrying her over to one of their bikes and seating her in front of him. “Dax. Dax!” He had to shout to get his attention; Dax was eagerly burning through clip after clip of ammunition now that he’d recovered his ability to reload. Eventually Thane crawled back over and tapped him on the shoulder, pointing him to Holt.

“We’re going. Now,” said Holt. “Get on the ATV and get ready to follow us. I want you behind us, and I want you firing if we need it. Thane’s going to buy us all a minute and then come after us.”

“But we’re winning,” said Dax. “They’re all shitting their pants. I know I got one of them, maybe two.” He looked too eager, too happy about it, and that was a dangerous thing. The ones who started to enjoy killing started to look for excuses to do it, sanitizing the experience and turning it all into a game. It robbed them of something, the little piece of themselves that told them when to stop, and they could never quite get it back. Holt had seen it before, and he didn’t want to see it again.

“Dax, damn it, get on the ATV,” said Holt. “They’re not going to stay back forever, and we’re not going to make it out of here on our own.” Faye was swaying in front of him, the stream of words dying down to a low muttering, and Holt had to hold his arm tightly around her waist to keep her from falling off the bike entirely.

Something about seeing her that way snapped Dax back to his senses, and he scrambled towards the ATV and turned on the engine. “Okay. You go, I’ll be in the rear. I’ll give you some suppressing fire if I can. To give you a little more cover.”

Thane nodded to Holt, and turned back to the battle. He picked up the first of the grenades, running his hand over it fondly and giving it a quick kiss. Then he lobbed it towards the enemy, as hard as he could. It bounced off the tire of a faded blue van, clattering along the ground and rolling near a cluster of Vichies who’d been taking turns shooting at them with an old hunting rifle. It took them a few seconds to realize what was happening, before one of them screamed, a high-pitched girlish cry from a middle-aged man. Another one of them managed to make it a few strides away, out into the open, but it was too late. The grenade exploded, a burst of anger and smoke and fury. Blood and chunks of metal sprayed all around the nearby cars, and the rest of the Vichies started to panic.

Thane grabbed a second grenade, plucked out the pin and gave it a healthy toss. This one interrupted the arrival of a few more bikers from the rear of the convoy, landing in their path and exploding. It sent the closest one of them up into the air as he drove past, launching his bike behind him and knocking over two others who were following. They lay on the ground, stunned and bleeding from their ears, until Thane picked off one of them with his gun. The other crawled away in a daze, disappearing into the cars and leaving a pool of blood behind him.

Holt was heading off into the pasture at half-speed, taking advantage of the confusion and weaving from side to side to make a more difficult target. Dax was close on his tail, stealing nervous glances over his shoulder. The explosions had distracted the Vichies, but now they were starting to notice the getaway. The alarm went out, and the Vichies started popping out from their hiding places to take potshots at the escapees. Puffs of dust began bursting up behind Dax, as stray bullets struck the ground around them. Bikes started to rumble and then boom, as the Vichies charged towards the fence. The sight of the enemy’s rear had emboldened them, and many of them judged the pursuit of a fleeing opponent as a fine opportunity to secure a few war stories without the risks of a war.

The chase was on, and Thane knew he was out of time. He let his last grenade loose, aiming for a few of the Vichies who’d reached the fence and were maneuvering their bikes underneath the wires. White turned to red, and the ranks of their vanguard were thinned. Thane hurried to his own bike, mounting it and kicking the engine into gear. He sped towards Dax, making up the distance while being followed by a few of the bikers. Holt just kept heading further and further into the pasture, and they never got close. Once the road was out of sight, the bikers gave up the chase, firing a few last lazy shots before stopping to discuss among themselves how to embellish the story they’d tell to their companions.

When they’d travelled far enough away, and the danger had passed, Holt stopped them all in the middle of a field. Faye was coming around, and the words she was murmuring were English again. “Shouldn’t be this way,” she sobbed. “Shoulda been someone else.”

“I know,” said Holt, cradling her head and wiping the blood from her nose. “It should have been me. I’m sorry. I fucked the whole thing up. I didn’t see them coming.”

“No,” said Faye. She was dazed, clutching at her throat to confirm that it was hers again. “No, no. Shoulda been married. Shoulda had kids. Shouldna been this.”

“It’s okay,” said Holt. “None of us should have. But it’s going to be okay.” He picked her up and off the bike, laying her on the ground to rest and rolling up his jacket to serve as a pillow.

“Not who I was supposed to be,” said Faye, drifting off into herself.

“We’re stranded,” said Thane. “We can’t get back on the road, not with those fuckers all over it. We need to go north, cross the thing, and ditch the coast.”

“We’re not going north,” said Holt. “We’re heading to the southwest. All we have to do is get around Philadelphia.”

Thane’s hackles rose, and his nostrils flared. “An’ where we goin’ after Philly? Tell me, where do you think we’re goin’ after Philly? Don’t tell me we’re goin’ where I fuckin’ think we’re goin’.” Holt stayed silent, and Thane knew. He was taking them exactly where he’d thought.

They were going to the center of it all, the home of the Vichies and the source of the betrayal that had paralyzed the world after the Fall. They were going to the font of the nation’s corruption, a place stained by sin and steeped in treachery. They were going to a den of lies, packed with cowardly parasites who survived by whoring their allegiances to the highest bidder.

They were going to Washington, D.C.