[Anh Ngữ] Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days) - Susan Ee (English)

[Đông Tịch]

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 10:​

Spoiler

SILICON VALLEY is about half an hour by car from the forest in the hills. It’s also about forty-five minutes away from San Francisco if you’re driving on the freeway. I figure the roads will be clogged with deserted cars and desperate people. So we head for the hills where there are fewer people and more places to hide.

Until a few weeks ago, rich people lived along the lower hills, either in three-bedroom ranch houses that cost a couple million dollars, or in fairytale mansions that cost ten million dollars. We stay away from those, my logic being that they probably attract the wrong kind of visitors. Instead, we pick out a little guesthouse behind one of the estates. A not-too-fancy kind of guesthouse that won’t attract any attention.

The angel just follows me without comment, and that works fine for me. He hasn’t said much since we left the office building. It’s been a long night, and he can barely stand by the time we reach the cottage. We make it to the house just before a storm hits.

It’s strange. In some ways, he’s shockingly strong. He’s been beaten, mutilated, and bleeding for days, yet he can still fight off several men at a time. He never seems to get cold despite being shirtless and jacketless. But the walking seems hard on him.

When we finally sit in the cabin as the rain starts, he eases off his boots. His feet are blistered and raw. They’re pink and vulnerable as though they haven’t been used much. Maybe they haven’t. If I had wings, I’d probably spend most of my time flying too.

I dig through my pack and find the small first aid kit. In it, there are some blister packs. They’re like adhesive bandages but bigger and tougher. I hand the packages to the angel. He opens one up and stares at it like he’s never seen one before.

He first looks at the skin-colored side, which is a shade too light for him, then at the padded side, then back at the skin-colored side again. He puts it up to his eye like a pirate’s eye patch and makes a grimace.

My lips crack into a quarter smile even though it’s hard for me to believe I can still smile. I grab it out of his hand. “Here, I’ll show you how to use it. Let me see your foot.”

“That’s a pretty intimate demand in the angel world. It usually takes dinner, some wine, and sparkling conversation for me to give up my feet.”

That calls for a witty comeback.

“Whatever,” I say.

Okay, so I won’t be getting the Witty Woman of the Year Award. “Do you want me to show you how to use this or not?” I sound surly. It’s the best I can do right now.

He sticks out his feet. Angry red spots scream for attention on his heels and big toes. One foot has a burst blister on the heel.

I look at my meager supply of blister packs. I’ll have to use them all on his feet and hope that my own will hold out. The small voice pipes up again as I gently place the adhesive around his burst blister: He won’t be with you for more than a couple of days. Why waste precious supplies on him?

He pulls a glass splinter out of his shoulder. He’s been doing that the whole time we’ve been walking, but he keeps finding more. If he hadn’t stepped in front of me when he broke through the window, I’d be peppered with glass shards too. I’m almost sure he didn’t protect me on purpose, but I can’t help but be grateful that he did.

I carefully soak up pus and blood with a sterile pad, even though I know that if he is going to get an infection, it would come from the deep wounds on his back, not from a few blisters on his feet. The thought of his lost wings makes my hands gentler than they would be otherwise.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

I don’t need to know. In fact, I don’t want to know. Giving him a name makes it sound like we’re somehow on the same side, which we can never be. It’s like acknowledging that we could become friends. But that’s not possible. It’s pointless to make friends with your executioner.

“Raffe.”

I only asked him his name to distract him from thinking about having to use his feet instead of his wings. But now that I know his name, it feels right. “Rah-fie,” I repeat slowly. “I like the sound of that.”

His eyes soften as though he smiles even though his expression doesn’t change from his stony look. For some reason, it makes my face heat up.

I clear my throat to break the tension. “Raffe sounds like Raw Feet. Coincidence?” That gets a smile out of him. When he smiles, he really does look like someone you’d want to get to know. Some otherworldly handsome guy a girl could dream about.

Only he’s not a guy. And he’s too otherworldly. Not to mention that this girl is beyond dreaming about anything other than food, shelter, and the safety of her family.

I rub my finger firmly around the adhesive to make sure it won’t fall off. He inhales sharply and I can’t tell if it’s from pain or pleasure. I’m careful to keep my eyes down on my task.

“So, aren’t you going to ask me my name?” I could kick myself. That sounds just like me flirting. But I’m not, of course. I couldn’t be. At least I’d managed to keep the tone from being giggly.

“I already know your name.” Then he mimics my mother’s voice perfectly. “Penryn Young, you open this door right now!”

“That’s pretty good. You sound just like her.”

“You must have heard the old adage that there’s power in knowing someone’s true name.”

“Is it true?”

“It can be. Especially between species.”

“Then why did you just tell me yours?”

He leans back and gives me a bad boy, devil-may-care shrug.

“So what do they call you if they don’t know your name?”

There’s a brief pause before he answers. “The Wrath of God.”

I take my hand off his foot in a slow controlled motion to keep it from shaking. I realize then that if someone could see us, it might look like I am paying him homage. He sits in a chair while I kneel at his feet with my eyes downcast. I quickly stand up so that I am looking down at him. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and look him straight in the eyes.

“I am not afraid of you, your kind, or your god.”

There’s a part of me that cringes at the lightning strike that I am sure will come. But it doesn’t. There isn’t even dramatic thunder outside in the storm. It doesn’t make me feel any less afraid, though. I am an ant on the battlefield of the gods. There’s no room for pride or ego, and barely enough room for survival. But I can’t help myself. Who do they think they are? We may be ants, but this field is our home, and we have every right to live in it.

His expression changes just a fraction before he shutters it in his godlike way. I’m not sure what it means, but I do know that my insane statement has some kind of an effect on him, even if it’s just amusement.

“I don’t doubt it, Penryn.” He says my name as though he is tasting something new, rolling it over his tongue to see how he likes it. There’s an intimacy in the way he says it that makes me want to squirm.

I toss the remaining blister packets onto his lap. “Now you know how to use them. Welcome to my world.”

I turn around, showing him my back, emphasizing my lack of fear. At least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s also convenient that by turning my back on him, I can let my hands shake a little as I dig through my pack for something to eat.

“Why are you guys here, anyway?” I ask as I rummage for food. “I mean, it’s obvious that you’re not here for a friendly chat, but why do you want to get rid of us? What did we do to deserve extermination?”

He shrugs. “Beats me.”

I stare at him, openmouthed.

“Hey, I don’t call the shots,” he says. “If I was good at marketing, I’d spin you an empty story that sounds profound. But the truth is that we’re all just stumbling around in the dark. Sometimes we hit something terrible.”

“That’s it? It can’t be as random as that.” I don’t know what I want to hear, but that’s not it.

“It’s always as random as that.”

He sounds more like a seasoned soldier than any angel I’ve ever heard of. One thing’s for sure—I’m not going to get a lot of answers out of him.

Dinner is instant noodles and a couple of energy bars. We also have bite-sized chocolates plundered from the office for dessert. I wish we could light up the fireplace, but the smoke from the chimney would be a sure sign that the cottage is occupied. Same for the lights. I have a couple of flashlights in my bag, but remembering that it was my mother’s flashlight that probably attracted the gang, we crunch our dried noodles and oversweetened energy bars in the dark.

He scarfs down his portion so fast that I can’t help but stare. I don’t know when he last ate, but he certainly hasn’t eaten in the two days I’ve known him. I’m also guessing that his super-healing consumes a lot of calories too. We don’t have much, but I offer him half my share. If he had been awake the last couple of days, I’d have had to feed him a lot more than this.

My hand stays out with the offered food long enough to make it awkward. “Don’t you want it?” I ask.

“That depends on why you’re giving it to me.”

I shrug. “Sometimes, as we’re stumbling along in the dark, we hit something good.”

He watches me for another second before taking the offered food.

“Don’t think you’re getting my share of the chocolate, though.” I know I should conserve the chocolate, but I can’t help eating more than I’d planned. The waxy texture and burst of sweetness in my mouth brings comfort that’s too rare to pass up. I won’t let us eat more than half my stash, though. I stuff the rest way down in the bottom of my pack so I won’t be tempted.

My longing for the candy must show on my face because the angel asks, “Why don’t you just eat it? We can eat something else tomorrow.”

“It’s for Paige.” I zip up my pack with finality, ignoring his thoughtful look.

I wonder where my mother is now. I’d always suspected that she is more clever than my father, even though he is the one with the master’s degree in engineering. But all her animal cleverness won’t help her when her crazy instincts are demanding her attention. Some of the worst times in my life have been because of her. But I can’t help but hope that she’s found a dry place out of the rain, and has managed to find something to eat for dinner.

I dig through my pack and find the last Styrofoam cup of dried noodles. I walk to the door and leave it outside.

“What are you doing?”

I think about explaining to him about my mother but decide against it. “Nothing.”

“Why would you leave food outside in the rain?”

How did he know it was food? It’s too dark for him to see the cup of noodles.

“How well can you see in the dark?”

There’s a brief pause as though he’s considering denying that he can see in the dark. “Almost as well as I can see in the day.”

I squirrel away the intel. This little piece of information may have just saved my life. Who knows what I would have done once I found the other angels? I may have tried to hide in the dark as I snuck into their nest. That would have been a nasty time to find out just how well angels can see in the dark.

“So, why would you leave valuable food outside?”

“In case my mother is out there.”

“Wouldn’t she just come in?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

He nods as if he understands, which, of course, he couldn’t. Maybe to him, all humans behave as though they are crazy. “Why don’t you bring the food in, and I’ll tell you if she’s nearby.”

“And how would you know if she’s nearby?”

“I’ll hear her,” he says. “Assuming the rain doesn’t get too loud.”

“How good is your hearing?”

“What?”

“Ha ha,” I say dryly. “Knowing this stuff could make a big difference in my chances of rescuing my sister.”

“You don’t even know where she is, or if she’s alive.” He says this matter-of-factly, as if he’s talking about the weather.

“But I know where you are, and I know you’ll be headed back to the other angels, even if it’s only to get revenge.”

“Ah, is that how it is? Since you couldn’t get the information out of me when I was weak and helpless, your big plan now is to follow me back to the nest of vipers to rescue your sister? You know that’s about as well-thought-out as your plan to scare off those men by pretending to be an angel.”

“A girl’s gotta improvise as the situation changes.”

“The situation has changed beyond your control. You’ll only get yourself killed if you follow this path, so take my advice and run the other way.”

“You don’t understand. This isn’t about making logical, optimal decisions. It’s not like I have a choice. Paige is just a helpless little girl. She’s my sister. The only thing up for discussion is how I’ll rescue her, not whether or not I’ll try.”

He leans back to give me an appraising look. “I wonder which will get you killed faster—your loyalty or your stubbornness?”

“Neither, if you’ll help me.”

“And why would I do that?”

“I saved your life. Twice. You owe me. In some cultures, you’d be my slave for life.”

It’s hard to see his expression in the dark, but his voice sounds both skeptical and wry. “Granted, you did drag me out of the street while I was injured. And normally, that may qualify as saving my life, but since your intent was to kidnap me for interrogation, I don’t think that counts. And if you’re referring to your botched ‘rescue’ attempt during my fight with those men, I’d have to remind you that if you hadn’t slammed my back into giant nails sticking out of the wall, then chained me to a cart, I’d never have been in that position in the first place.”

He chuckles. “I can’t believe those idiots almost bought that you were an angel.”

“They didn’t.”

“Only because you screwed up. I almost burst out laughing when I saw you.”

“It would have been pretty funny if our lives hadn’t been at stake.”

His voice sobers. “So you know you could have been killed?”

“So could you.”

The wind whispers outside, rustling the leaves. I open the door and retrieve the cup of noodles. I might as well believe that he’ll hear my mother if she comes around. It’s better if we don’t risk someone else seeing the food and coming into the cabin.

I pull out a sweatshirt from my pack and put it on over the one I’m wearing. The temperature is dropping fast. Then I finally ask the question to which I dread the answer. “What do they want with the kids?”

“There’s been more than one taken?”

“I’ve seen the street gangs take them. I figured they wouldn’t want Paige because of her legs. But now, I wonder if they’re selling them to the angels.”

“I don’t know what they’re doing with the kids. Your sister is the first one I’ve heard of.” His quiet voice chills me.

The rain pounds on the windows and the wind scrapes a branch on the glass.

“Why were the other angels attacking you?”

“It’s impolite to ask the victim of violence what they did to be attacked.”

“You know what I mean.”

He shrugs in the dim light. “Angels are violent creatures.”

“So I noticed. I used to think they were all sweet and kind.”

“Why would you think that? Even in your Bible, we’re harbingers of doom, willing and able to destroy entire cities. Just because we sometimes warned one or two of you beforehand doesn’t make us altruistic.”

I have more questions, but I need to settle one thing first. “You need me.”

He barks a laugh. “How so?”

“You need to get back to your buddies to see if you can get your wings sewn back on. I saw it in your face when I mentioned it back at the office. You think it might be possible. But to get there, you have to walk. You’ve never traveled on the ground before, have you? You need a guide; someone who can find food and water, safe shelter.”

“You call this food?” The moonlight shows him tossing the empty Styrofoam cup into a trash can. It’s too dark to see it land in the can across the room, but by the sound of things, it’s a three-pointer.

“See? You would have passed that by. We have all kinds of stuff that you’d never guess was food. Besides, you need someone who’ll take the suspicion off you. No one will suspect you as an angel if you’re traveling with a human. Take me with you. I’ll help you get home if you’ll help me find my sister.”

“So you want me to lead a Trojan Horse to the aerie?”

“Hardly. I’m not out to save the world, just my sister. That’s more than enough responsibility for me. Besides, what are you worried about? Little ol’ me being a threat to angelkind?”

“What if she’s not there?”

I have to swallow the dry lump in my throat before I can answer. “Then I’ll no longer be your problem.”

The darker shadow of his form curls up on the couch. “Let’s get some sleep while it’s still dark out.”

“That’s not a no, right?”

“It’s not a yes either. Now let me sleep.”

“And that’s another thing. It’s easier to keep a watch at night when there are two of us.”

“But it’s easier to sleep when there’s just one.” He grabs a sofa pillow and puts it over his ear. He shifts once more, then settles in, his breathing turning heavy and regular as though already asleep.

I sigh and walk back to the bedroom. The air gets colder as I near the room, and I have second thoughts about sleeping in there.

As soon as I open the door, I see why it’s so cold in the cottage. The window is broken and sheets of rain blow onto the bed. I’m so tired I could just sleep on the floor. I grab a folded blanket off the dresser. It’s cold but dry. I close the bedroom door to keep the wind out and pad back into the living room. I lie down on the sofa across from the angel, wrapping myself in the blanket.

He seems to be comfortably asleep. He’s still shirtless, as he has been since the first time I saw him. The bandages must provide a little warmth but not much. I wonder if he gets cold? It must be freezing when flying high up in the sky. Maybe angels are adapted to cold temperatures, just as they’re light for flight.

But this is all a guess, and probably a justification to make myself feel better about taking the only blanket in the cottage. The power is out tonight, which means the heat is out. It rarely freezes in the Bay Area, but it does get pretty cold at night sometimes. This seems to be one of those times.

I fall asleep listening to the rhythm of his steady breathing and the drumming of the rain on the windows.

I DREAM that I am swimming in the Antarctic, surrounded by broken icebergs. The glacial towers are majestic and deadly beautiful.

I hear Paige calling for me. She’s floundering in the water, coughing, barely keeping herself afloat. Having only her arms to paddle with, I know she can’t tread water for long. I swim toward her, desperate to reach her, but the gut-freezing cold slows my motions, and I waste almost all my energy shivering. Paige calls to me. She’s too far for me to see her face, but I can hear tears in her voice.

“I’m coming!” I try to call to her. “It’s okay, I’ll be there soon.” But my voice comes out in a hoarse whisper hardly reaching my own ears. Frustration cracks through my chest. I can’t even comfort her with reassurances.

Then I hear a motorboat. It cuts through the floating ice chunks as it charges toward me. My mother is on the boat, driving it. With her free hand, she throws precious survival gear overboard, splashing it into the icy water. Cans of soup and beans, life vests and blankets, even shoes and blister packs go over the side of the boat, sinking among the bobbing ice.

“You really should eat your eggs, dear,” says my mother.

The boat heads straight for me and is not slowing down. If anything, it’s speeding up. If I don’t get out of the way, she’ll run me over.

Paige calls out for me in the distance.

“I’m coming,” I call out but only a croaked whisper comes out of my mouth. I try to swim toward her but my muscles are so cold that all I can do is flail. Flail and shiver in the path of my mother’s boat.

“Hush. Shhh,” a soothing voice whispers in my ear.

I feel the sofa cushions being pulled out from against my back. Then warmth envelops me. Firm muscles embrace me from the space where the cushions used to be. I’m groggily aware of masculine arms wrapping themselves around me, their skin soft as a feather, their muscles steel velvet. Chasing away the ice in my veins and the nightmare.

“Shhh.” A husky whisper in my ear.

I relax into the cocoon of warmth and let the sound of the rain on the roof lull me back to sleep.

The warmth is gone, but I’m no longer shivering. I curl up on my own, trying to savor the heat left in the cushions by a body that is no longer there.

When I open my eyes, the morning light makes me wish I hadn’t. Raffe lies on his sofa, watching me with those dark blue eyes. I swallow, suddenly feeling awkward and unkempt. Great. The world has come to an end, my mother is out there with the street gangs, crazier than ever, my sister has been kidnapped by vengeful angels, and I’m concerned that my hair is greasy and my breath smells bad.

I get up abruptly, tossing aside my blanket with more force than is necessary. I grab my toiletries and head for one of the two bathrooms.

“Good morning to you too,” he says in a lazy drawl. I have my hand on the bathroom door when he says, “In case you’re wondering, the answer is yes.”

I pause, afraid to look back. “Yes?” Yes, it was him holding me through the night? Yes, he knows I liked it?

“Yes, you can come with me,” he says as though he already regrets it. “I’ll take you to the aerie.”

 

[Đông Tịch]

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 11:​

Spoiler

THE WATER is still running in the cottage but it’s not warm. I consider taking a shower anyway, not knowing how long it will be before I can take a proper one, but the thought of glacier temperature water hitting me full force makes me hesitate.


I decide to do a thorough sponge bath with a washcloth. At least that way, I can keep various parts of me from freezing all at once.


As predicted, the water is ice-cold, and it brings back pieces of my dream from last night, which inevitably reminds me how I got warm enough to be cradled to sleep. It was probably just some kind of angel host behavior triggered by my shivering, the way penguins huddle together when it’s cold. What else could it be?


But I don’t want to think about that—I don’t know how to think about that—so I shove it down into that dark, overstuffed place in my mind that’s threatening to burst any moment now.


When I come out of the bathroom, Raffe looks freshly showered and dressed in his black pants with boots. His bandages are gone. His wet hair swings in front of his eyes as he kneels on the hardwood floor in front of the open blanket. On it, his wings are laid out.


He combs through the feathers, fluffing out the ones that are crushed and plucking out the broken ones. In a way, I suppose he’s preening. His touch is gentle and reverent, although his expression is hard and unreadable as stone. The jagged ends of the wing that I chopped look ugly and abused.


I have the absurd impulse to apologize. What, exactly, am I sorry for? That his people have attacked our world and destroyed it? That they are so brutal as to cut off the wings of one of their own and leave him to be torn apart by the native savages? If we are such savages, it is only because they have made us so. So I am not sorry, I remind myself. Crushing one of the enemy’s wings in a moth-eaten blanket is nothing to be sorry about.


But somehow, I still hang my head and walk softly as though I am sorry, even if I won’t say it.


I walk around him so he won’t see my apologetic stance, and his naked back comes into full view. It has stopped bleeding. The rest of him looks perfectly healthy now—no bruises, no swelling or cuts, except where his wings used to be.


The wounds are a couple of streaks of raw hamburger running down his back. They follow the ragged flesh where the knife sawed through the tendons and muscles. I don’t like to think about it, but I suppose the other angel sawed through joints, severing bones away from the rest of him. I suppose I should have sewn the wounds shut, but I had assumed he’d die.


“Should I, like, try to sew your wounds shut?” I ask, hoping the answer will be no. I’m a pretty tough girl, but sewing chunks of flesh together pushes the limits of my comfort zone, to say the least.


“No,” he says without looking up from his work. “It’ll eventually heal on its own.”


“Why hasn’t it healed already? I mean, the rest of you healed in no time.”


“Angel sword wounds take a long time to heal. If you’re ever going to kill an angel, slice him up with an angel sword.”


“You’re lying. Why would you tell me that?”


“Maybe I’m not afraid of you.”


“Maybe you should be.”


“My sword would never hurt me. And my sword is the only one you can wield.” He gently plucks out another broken feather and lays it on the blanket.


“How’s that?”


“You need permission to use an angel sword. It’ll weigh a ton if you try to lift it without permission.”


“But you never gave me permission.”


“You don’t get permission from the angel. You get it from the sword. And some swords get grouchy just for asking.”


“Yeah, right.”


He runs his hand over the feathers, feeling for broken ones. Why doesn’t he look like he’s kidding?


“I never asked permission and I managed to lift the sword no problem.”


“That’s because you wanted to throw it to me so I could defend myself. Apparently, she took that as permission asked and given.”


“What, it read my mind?”


“Your intentions, at least. She does that sometimes.”


“O-kay. Right.” I let it go. I’ve heard plenty of wacky things in my time and you just have to learn to roll with them without directly challenging the person spewing the weirdness. Challenging weirdness is a pointless and sometimes dangerous exercise. At least, it is with my mom. I must say, though, that Raffe is even more inventive than my mother.


“So…you want me to bandage your back?”


“Why?”


“To try to keep infection out,” I say, rummaging through my pack for the first aid kit.


“Infection shouldn’t be a problem.”


“You can’t be infected?”


“I should be resistant to your germs.”


The words “should” and “your” catch my attention. We know next to nothing about the angels. Any information might give us an advantage. Once we organize again, that is.


It occurs to me that I might be in the unprecedented position of being able to glean some intelligence on them. Despite what the gang leaders would have the rest of us believe, angel parts are always taken from dead or dying angels, I’m sure of it. What I would do with angel intel, I don’t know. But it can’t hurt to gain a little knowledge.


Tell that to Adam and Eve.


I ignore the cautionary voice in my head. “So…are you immunized or something?” I try to make my voice casual as though the answer means nothing to me.


“It’s probably a good idea to bandage me up anyway,” he says, sending me a clear signal that he knows that I’m fishing for information. “I can probably pass for human so long as my wounds are covered.” He pulls out a broken feather, putting it reluctantly into a growing pile.


I use up the last of the first aid supplies to patch up his wounds. His skin is like silk-covered steel. I’m a little rougher than I need to be because it helps keep my hands steady.


“Try not to move around too much so you don’t bleed again. The bandages aren’t that thick and blood will soak through pretty quickly.”


“No problem,” he says. “Shouldn’t be too hard not to move around as we run for our lives.”


“I’m serious. That’s the last of our bandages. You’ll have to make them last.”


“Any chance we can find more?”


“Maybe.” Our best chance is from first aid kits in houses, since the stores are either cleaned out or claimed by gangs.


We fill up my water bottle. I didn’t have much time to pack supplies from the office. The supplies I carried with me are a random assortment. I sigh, wishing I’d had time to pack more food. Other than the single dried noodle cup, we’re out except for the handful of fun-sized chocolates I’m saving for Paige. We share the noodles, which is about two bites per person. By the time we leave the cottage, it is midmorning. The first place we hit is the main house.


I have high hopes of a stocked kitchen, but one glance at the gaping cupboards in the sea of granite and stainless steel tells me we’ll have to scrounge for leftovers. Rich people may have lived here, but even the rich didn’t have enough currency to buy food once things got bad. Either they ate all the food they could before packing up and hitting the road, or they took it with them. Drawer after drawer, cupboard after cupboard, there is nothing but crumbs.


“Is this edible?” Raffe stands at the kitchen entrance, framed by the Mediterranean archway. He could easily be at home in a place like this. He stands with the fluid grace of an aristocrat who’s used to rich surroundings. Although the quarter-bag of cat food he’s holding up does mess with the image a little.


I dip my hand into the bag and bring out a few pieces of red and yellow kibbles. I pop them in my mouth. Crunchy, with a vaguely fishy taste. I pretend they’re crackers as I chew and swallow. “Not exactly gourmet, but it probably won’t kill us.”


That’s the best we can do in the food department, but we do find supplies in the garage. A backpack that doubles as a duffel bag, which is great since he can’t carry a backpack right now but might be able to later. A couple of boys’ sleeping bags all rolled and ready to go. No tent, but there are flashlights with extra batteries. A slick camp knife that’s more expensive than any I’ve ever managed to buy. I give mine to Raffe and keep this one for myself.


Since my clothes are dirty, I simply trade them in for clean ones from the closets. We also grab some extra clothes and jackets. I find a sweatshirt that comes close to fitting Raffe. I also make him change from his telltale black pants and laced boots to jeans and ordinary hiking boots.


Luckily, there are three bedrooms stocked with various sizes of men’s clothing. There must have been a family with two teen boys here once, but the only sign of them now is what’s in the closets and garage. The fit of Raffe’s hiking boots are what concern me the most. His blisters are already healed from yesterday, but even with his super-healing, we can’t have him tearing up his feet every day.


I tell myself I care because I can’t have him holding me back by limping, and refuse to think further than that.


“You look almost human dressed like that,” I say.


Actually, he looks exactly like a gorgeous Olympian champion. It’s more than a little disturbing just how much he looks like a supreme example of a human being. I mean, shouldn’t an angel that’s part of a legion to eradicate humanity look, well, evil and alien?


“So long as you don’t bleed in the shape of wing joints, you should pass for human. Oh, and don’t let anyone pick you up. They’ll know you’re not right as soon as they feel how light you are.”


“I’ll be sure not to let anyone but you carry me in her arms.” He turns and leaves the kitchen before I can figure out what to make of his comment. A sense of humor is one more thing I don’t think angels should have. The fact that his sense of humor is corny makes it even more wrong.


It’s late morning by the time we leave the big house. We’re in a little cul-de-sac off Page Mill Road. The road is dark and slick with last night’s downpour. The sky is heavy with broken gray clouds, but if we’re lucky, we should be in the hills under a warm roof by the time the rains start again.


Our packs sit on Paige’s chair, and if I close my eyes, I can almost pretend it’s her I’m pushing. I catch myself humming what I thought was a meaningless tune. I stop when I realize it’s my mother’s apology song.


I put one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the too-light weight of the wheelchair and the wingless angel beside me.


There are a lot of cars strewn on the road until we hit the freeway entrance. After that, there are only a couple of cars pointed up the hill. Everyone tried to get on the freeway to get away in the early days. I’m not sure where they were going. I guess they weren’t either since the freeway is clogged in both directions.


It’s not long before we see the first body.

 

[Đông Tịch]

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 12:​

Spoiler

A FAMILY lying in a pool of blood.


A man, a woman, a girl about ten years old. The child is at the edge of the woods while the adults are in the middle of the road. Either the kid ran for it when the parents were attacked, or she hid during the attack and was caught when she came out.


They haven’t been dead for long. I know because the blood on their tattered clothes is still bright red. I have to swallow and fight to keep the cat food in my stomach.


Their heads are intact. Thankfully, the girl’s hair has been blown over her face. Their bodies, though, are in bad shape. For one thing, parts of their torsos have been chewed down to the bones with bits of flesh still stuck to them. For another, a few arms and legs are missing. I don’t have the guts to take a closer look but Raffe does.


“Teeth marks,” he says as he kneels on the asphalt in front of the man’s body.


“What kind of animal are we talking about?”


He sits crouched near the bodies, considering my question. “The kind with two legs and flat teeth.”


My stomach roils. “What are you saying? That they’re human?”


“Maybe. Unusually sharp, but human-shaped.”


“Can’t be.” But I know it can. Humans will do what is needed to survive. Still, it doesn’t add up. “This is too wasteful. If you’re desperate enough to cannibalize, you wouldn’t just take a few bites and leave.” But these bodies have more than a few bites taken out of them. Now that I make myself really look, I can see they are half-eaten. Still, why leave half behind?


Raffe peers at the place where the kid’s leg should be. “The limbs have been ripped right out of their sockets.”


“Enough,” I say as I take two steps back. I scan our surroundings. We’re in an open field, and I feel as nervous as a field mouse looking at a sky full of hawks.


“Well,” he says as he gets up, scanning the trees. “Let’s hope whoever did this is still in control of this area.”


“Why?”


“Because they won’t be hungry.”


That doesn’t make me feel better. “You’re pretty sick, you know that?”


“Me? It isn’t my people who did this.”


“How do you know? You have the same teeth we do.”


“But my people aren’t desperate.” He says this as if the angels had nothing to do with us being desperate. “Nor are they insane.”


That’s when I see the broken egg.


It lies on the side of the road near the kid, the yolk brown and the egg white congealed. The stench of sulfur hits my nose. It’s the familiar reek that infused my clothes, pillow, and hair for the last two years throughout Mom’s rotten egg kick. Beside it, there is a small bouquet of wild sprigs. Rosemary and sage. Either my mother thought they were pretty, or her insanity has taken on a very dark sense of humor.


It doesn’t mean anything other than she was here. That’s all. She couldn’t take on an entire family.


But she could overtake a ten-year-old coming back from her hiding place after her parents were killed.


She was here and walked by the bodies, just as we are doing. That’s all.


Really, that’s all.


“Penryn?”


I realize Raffe’s been talking to me.


“What?”


“Could they be kids?”


“Could what be kids?”


“The attackers,” he says slowly. Obviously, I’ve missed a piece of the conversation. “As I’ve said, the bite marks seem too small to be adults.”


“They must be animals.”


“Animals with flat teeth?”


“Yes,” I say with more conviction than I feel. “That makes more sense than a kid taking down an entire family.”


“But not more sense than a gang of feral children attacking them.” I try to shoot him a look that says he’s crazy, but I suspect I only succeed in looking scared. My brain buzzes with images of what might have happened here.


He says something about avoiding the road and heading uphill through the forest. I nod without really hearing the details and follow him into the trees.

 

[Đông Tịch]

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 13:​

Spoiler

WE MOSTLY have evergreens in California, but there’s enough fall foliage that covers the forest. We can’t help but crunch at every step. I don’t know about other parts of the world, but at least in our hills, I’m convinced that the whole story of skilled woodsmen walking silently through the woods is a myth. For one thing, there’s simply no place to walk during autumn where you can avoid the fallen leaves. For another, even the squirrels and deer, birds and lizards make enough noise in these hills to make them seem like much larger animals.

The good news is that the rains drenched the leaves, which dampens the sound. The bad news is that I can’t navigate the wheelchair on the wet hillside.

Dead leaves get trapped in the spokes as I struggle to force it forward. To lighten the load, I strap the sword onto my pack and carry them on my back. I throw the other pack to Raffe to carry. Still the chair skids and slips on the wet leaves, constantly heading downhill as I struggle to roll it crosswise. Our progress slows to a crawl. Raffe offers no help but neither does he offer sarcastic suggestions.

We eventually pick out a clear path that seems to go in the general direction we want to head. The ground is mostly level on the trail and there is far less foliage on it. But the rains have turned the dirt trail into a mud bath. I don’t know how well the chair will work in the mud, and I’d rather keep it running in smooth condition. So I fold the chair and carry it. That works for a while, in an uncomfortable, awkward way. The most I’ve ever carried the chair before was a flight or two of stairs.

It becomes obvious very quickly that I won’t be able to continue to hike carrying a wheelchair. Even if Raffe offered to help—which he doesn’t—we wouldn’t make it very far lugging an awkward metal and plastic contraption.

I finally unfold it and set it down. It sinks in, the mud greedily sucking at the wheels. It only takes a few feet for the chair to get completely clumped in mud to the point where the wheels freeze.

I grab a stick and knock off as much of it as I can. I have to do that a couple more times. Each time, the mud clumps faster on the wheels. Once churned, it’s more like clay than mud. Finally, it only takes a couple of spins of the wheels before the chair is good and stuck.

I stand beside it, tears stinging my eyes. How can I rescue Paige without her chair?

I’ll have to figure something out, even if I have to carry her. The important thing is that I find her. Still, I stand there for another minute, my head bowed in defeat.

“You still have her chocolate,” says Raffe, his voice not ungentle. “The rest is just logistics.”

I don’t lift my eyes to look at him because the tears haven’t gone away yet. I brush my fingers along the leather seat in a good-bye as I walk away from Paige’s chair.

WE WALK for about an hour before Raffe whispers, “Does moping actually help humans feel better?” We’ve been whispering since we saw the victims on the road.

“I’m not moping,” I whisper back.

“Of course you’re not. A girl like you, spending time with a warrior demigod like me. What’s to mope about? Leaving a wheelchair behind couldn’t possibly show up on the radar compared to that.”

I nearly stumble over a fallen branch. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I never kid about my warrior demigod status.”

“Oh. My. God.” I lower my voice, having forgotten to whisper. “You are nothing but a bird with an attitude. Okay, so you have a few muscles, I’ll grant you that. But you know, a bird is nothing but a barely evolved lizard. That’s what you are.”

He chuckles. “Evolution.” He leans over as if telling me a secret. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been this perfect since the beginning of time.” He is so close that his breath caresses my ear.

“Oh, please. Your giant head is getting too big for this forest. Pretty soon, you’re going to get stuck trying to walk between two trees. And then, I’ll have to rescue you.” I give him a weary look. “Again.”

I pick up my pace, trying to discourage the smart comeback that I’m sure will come.

But it doesn’t. Could he be letting me have the last say?

When I look back, Raffe has a smug grin on his face. That’s when I realize I’ve been manipulated into feeling better. I stubbornly try to resist but it’s already too late.

I do feel a little better.

FROM THE map, I remember that Skyline Boulevard is an artery that runs through the woods into South San Francisco or thereabouts. Skyline is uphill from where we are. Although Raffe hasn’t said where the aerie is located, he’s told me we need to head north. That means going through San Francisco. So if we just head uphill, then follow Skyline into the city, we can stay out of highly populated areas until we can no longer avoid it.

I have a lot of questions for Raffe now that I’ve realized I should collect as much knowledge of angels as possible. But cannibals take precedence, and we keep our conversation to a whispered minimum.

I thought that it could take all day for us to get to Skyline, but we reach it by midafternoon. Good thing too, because I don’t think I can handle another meal of cat food. We have plenty of time to rummage through the houses on Skyline for dinner before it gets dark. These houses are nowhere near as close to each other as houses in the suburbs, but they are still regularly spaced along the road. Most of them are hidden behind redwood trees, which is great for surreptitious supply searching.

I wonder how long we should wait for my mother and how we’ll ever find her again. She knew to come up to the hills, but we had no plans beyond that. Like everything else in life right now, all I can do is hope for the best.

Skyline is a beautiful road along the hilltop of the mountain range that divides Silicon Valley from the ocean. It’s a two-lane highway that gives glimpses of both the valley on one side and the ocean on the other. It’s the only road I’ve walked on since the attacks that doesn’t feel wrong in its deserted state. Flanked by redwoods and smelling of eucalyptus, this road would feel more wrong with traffic on it.

Not long after we reach Skyline, though, we see cars piled up crosswise on the road, blocking any potential traffic. This is obviously not something that happened by accident. The cars are angled ninety degrees to the road and staggered for several car lengths, just in case someone decides to crash through them, I suppose. There is a community here, and it does not welcome strangers.

The angel who now looks human takes in the sight. He angles his head like a dog that hears something in the distance. He nods his chin slightly, ahead and to the left of the road.

“They’re over there, watching us,” he whispers.

All I can see is an empty road running through redwoods. “How can you tell?”

“I hear them.”

“How far?” I whisper. How far are they, and how far can you hear?

He looks at me as though knowing what I’m thinking. He can’t read minds as well as have amazing hearing, can he? He shrugs, then turns to head back into the cover of the trees.

As an experiment, I call him all kinds of names in my head. When he doesn’t respond, I come up with random images in my head to see if I can get him to give me a funny look. Somehow, my thoughts drift to how he held me during the night, when I dreamed I was freezing in the water. My imagination has me waking up on that couch and turning to face him. He’s so close that his breath feathers my cheek as I turn…

I stop. I think about bananas, oranges, and strawberries, mortified that he might actually sense what I am thinking. But he continues through the forest, giving no sign that he can read my mind. That’s the good news. The bad news is he doesn’t know what they are thinking either. Unlike him, I don’t hear, see, or smell anything that might indicate that anyone is out to ambush us.

“What did you hear?” I whisper.

He turns around and whispers back, “Two people whispering.”

After that, I keep my mouth shut and just follow him.

The woods up here are all redwoods. There are no leaves on the forest floor to crunch as we walk. Instead, the forest gives us exactly what we need—a thick carpet of soft needles that muffles our footsteps.

I want to ask if the voices he heard are coming our way, but am afraid to speak unnecessarily. We can try to go around their territory, but we need to continue in the same general direction if we are to reach San Francisco.

Raffe picks up his pace downhill almost to a run. I follow blindly, assuming he hears something I don’t. Then I hear it too.

Dogs.

By the sound of their barking, they’re heading straight for us.

 

[Đông Tịch]

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 14:​

Spoiler

WE BREAK into a sprint, skidding on the needles almost as much as running over them. Could these people keep dogs? Or is this a wild pack? If they’re wild, then climbing up a tree would keep us safe until they wander away. But if they’re kept…The thought boggles my mind. They would need enough food to keep themselves and their dogs fed. Who has that kind of wealth and how did they get it?


An image of the cannibalized family comes back to me, and my brain shuts off while my instincts take over.


It’s clear by the sound of the dogs that they’re gaining on us. The road is far behind us now so we can’t dive into a car. A tree will have to do.


I frantically scan the forest for a climbable tree. There are none that I can see. Redwoods grow tall and straight around us, with branches shooting out perpendicular to the trunk high above the ground. I’d have to be at least double my height to reach the lowest limb of any of these trees.


Raffe jumps, trying to reach one. Although he springs much higher than a normal man could, it is still not enough. He slams his fist into the trunk in frustration. He’s probably never needed to jump before. Why hop when you can fly?


“Get on my shoulders,” he says.


I’m not sure what his plan is, but the dogs are getting louder. I can’t tell how many of them there are, but it’s not one or two, it’s a pack.


He grabs my waist and lifts me up. He’s strong. Strong enough to lift me all the way up until I’m standing on his shoulders. I can barely reach the lowest branch this way, but it’s enough to get a grip when I push off from him. I hope the skinny limb is strong enough to hold my weight.


He puts his hands below my feet, supporting and pushing me up until I’m securely on the branch. It wobbles but holds my weight. I look around for an offshoot to break so that I can lower it to him to help him climb up.


But before I can do anything, he takes off running. I almost call out his name, but catch myself before I do. The last thing we need is me giving away our position.


I watch him disappear down the hill. Now it’s my turn to pound on the tree in frustration. What’s he doing? If he stayed nearby, maybe I could have managed to get him up here somehow. I could have at least helped him fight off the dogs by throwing things down on them. I have no projectile weapons but from this height, anything I throw would be a weapon.


Did he run to distract the dogs so I could be safe? Did he do it to protect me?


I slam my fist into the trunk again.


A six-pack of dogs comes snarling at the tree. A couple linger, sniffing around the base, but the rest take off after Raffe. It only takes a moment before the loitering pair run off after the pack.


My branch leans precariously toward the ground. The limbs are so sparse and thin here that all anyone would have to do is look up to see me. The lower stems only have leaves at their ends so that there is very little coverage near the trunk. I reach up for another branch and start climbing. The boughs get stronger and thicker as I head up. It’s a long way up to one with enough leaves to give me any cover.


When a dog yelps in pain, I know they have caught up to him. I curl up and cling to the tree, trying to guess what’s happening.


Below me, something large crashes through the underbrush. It turns out to be several large men. Five of them. They are in camouflage and carry rifles like they know how to use them.


One of them signals with his hand and the rest fan out. These men don’t give the impression of weekend hunters shooting rabbits with one hand while drinking beer with the other. They are organized. Trained. Deadly. They move with an ease and confidence that makes me suspect they’ve worked together before. That they’ve hunted together before.


My chest drains of all heat thinking about what a rogue military group would do to an angel prisoner. I consider yelling at them, distracting them to give Raffe a chance to run. But dogs are still growling and yelping. He’s fighting for his life and my yelling will only distract him and get us both caught.


If I die, Paige is as good as dead too. And I won’t die for an angel, no matter what crazy things he does that coincidentally save my skin. If he could have climbed on my shoulders to get up here, would he have?


But deep inside, I know better. If he was just out to save himself, he would have outrun me at the first sign of danger. As the old joke goes, he doesn’t need to outrun the bear, he just needs to outrun me. That, he could easily do.


The vicious growl of a dog lunging makes me cringe. The men shouldn’t be able to tell that Raffe is not human unless they strip his shirt or unless the wounds on his back open and bleed. But if he’s getting torn up by the dogs, he will heal completely within a day and that will be a dead giveaway if they keep him that long. Of course, if they’re cannibals, none of it will matter.


I don’t know what to do. I need to help Raffe. But I also need to stay alive and not do anything stupid. I just want to curl up and put my hands over my ears.


A sharp command silences the dogs. The men have found Raffe. I can’t hear what they’re saying, only that they’re talking. Not surprisingly, the tone doesn’t sound friendly. Not much is said, and I can’t hear Raffe talking at all.


A few minutes later, the dogs run past my tree. The same two diligent dogs sniff at the base below me before running to catch up with the rest of the pack. Then the men come.


The one that made the hand signal earlier leads the group. Raffe walks behind him.


His hands are tied behind his back and blood runs down his face and leg. He stares straight ahead, careful not to look up at me. Two men flank him on either side, their hands on his arms as though just waiting for him to fall so they can drag him up the hill. The last two men follow, holding their rifles at forty-five degree angles and looking around for something to shoot. One of them carries Raffe’s bag.


The blue blanket holding the wings is nowhere in sight. The last I saw, Raffe had it strapped to his bag. Could he have taken the time to hide the wings before the dogs reached him? If so, that could buy him a few more hours of life.


He’s alive. I repeat this fact in my head to keep other, more disturbing thoughts from taking over. I can’t do anything if I’m frozen by thoughts of what’s happening to Raffe or Paige or my mother.


I clear my mind. Forget plans. I don’t have enough information to formulate a plan. My instincts will have to do.


And my instincts tell me that Raffe is mine. I found him first. If these testosterone-poisoned baboons want a piece of him, they’re going to have to wait until after he gets me into the aerie.


When I can’t hear the men anymore I climb down from my branch. It’s a long way and I’m careful to get my feet in the right positions before swinging down. The last thing I need is a broken ankle. The needles cushion my fall and I land without mishap.


I run downhill in the direction Raffe ran. In about five minutes, I have the wrapped wings. He must have tossed the bundle into a bush as he ran because it lies partially hidden in the underbrush. I strap it to my pack and run after the men.

 

[Đông Tịch]

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 15:​

Spoiler

THE DOGS are a problem. I’ll need my brain for that one. I may be able to hide from the men as I lurk, but I won’t be able to hide from the dogs. I keep running anyway. I’ll have to worry about things one at a time. I’m gripped by a surprisingly strong fear that I won’t be able to find them at all, so I pick up my pace from jogging to sprinting.


I’m practically doubled over breathless by the time I see them. I’m breathing so hard, I’m surprised they can’t hear me.


They approach what at first looks like a dilapidated group of buildings. But a closer look shows that the buildings are actually fine. They only look dilapidated because there are branches leaning against the buildings and woven in a net above the compound. The branches are carefully placed so that they look like they fell naturally. I from above it looks just like the rest of the forest. I from above you can’t see the buildings at all.


Hidden beneath redwood lean-tos around the buildings are machine guns. They are all pointed up at the sky.


This does not have the feel of an angel-friendly camp.


Raffe and the five hunters are met by more men in camouflage. There are women here too, but they’re not all in uniform. Some don’t look like they belong here. Some lurk around in the shadows, looking greasy and scared.


I get lucky because one of the guys ushers the dogs into a kennel. Several of the dogs are barking so if some of them bark at me, it shouldn’t be noticeable.


I look around to make sure I haven’t been spotted. I take my pack off and hide it in a tree hollow. I consider keeping the sword with me but decide against it. Only angels carry swords. The last thing we need is for me to nudge their thinking in that direction. I put the blanket-wrapped wings beside the pack and mentally mark the location of the tree.


I find a good spot where I can see most of the camp and flatten myself on a piece of ground covered in enough leaves to buffer me from the mud. The cold and wetness seep through my sweatshirt anyway. I throw some leaves and needles over myself for good measure. I wish I had one of their camouflage outfits. Luckily, my dark brown hair blends in with my surroundings.


They shove Raffe onto his knees in the middle of their camp.


I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying, but I can tell the men are debating what to do with him. One of them bends over and talks to Raffe.


Please, please don’t make him take his shirt off.


I frantically try to think of a way to rescue him and still keep myself alive, but there’s nothing I can do in broad daylight with a dozen trigger-happy guys in uniform swarming the area. Unless there’s an angel attack that distracts them, the best I can hope for is that he’ll still be alive and somehow accessible once it gets dark.


Whatever it is Raffe tells them must at least satisfy them for now because they pull him up to his feet and take him inside the smallest building in the center. These buildings don’t look like houses, they look like a compound. The two buildings on either side of the one into which they take Raffe look big enough to house at least thirty people each. The one in the center looks like it could house maybe half that. My guess is that one of them is for sleeping, another for communal use, and maybe the small one for storage.


I lie there, trying to ignore the wet cold seeping in from the ground, wishing the sun would go down faster. Maybe these people are as afraid of the dark as the street gangs in my neighborhood. Maybe they’ll go to bed as soon as the sun sets.


After what seems like a long time, but is probably only about twenty minutes, a young guy in uniform walks by only a few feet away from me. He holds a rifle at a forty-five degree angle across his chest as he scans the forest. He looks like he’s ready for action. I stay perfectly still as I watch the soldier walk by. I’m surprised and immensely relieved that he doesn’t have a dog with him. I wonder why they don’t use them to guard the compound.


After that, a soldier walks by every few minutes, too close for comfort. Their patrols are regular enough that after a while, I get the rhythm of it and know when they’re coming.


About an hour after they take Raffe into the center building, I smell meat and onions, garlic and greens. The delicious smell has my stomach clenching so hard that it feels like I have cramps.


I pray that it is not Raffe I’m smelling.


People file into the building on the right. I don’t hear an announcement so they must have a set dinnertime. There are far more people here than I realized. Soldiers, mostly men in uniform, trudge out of the forest in groups of two, three, or five. They come from every direction and a pair of them almost step on me on their way to dinner.


By the time night rolls around, and the people disappear into the building on the left, I am almost numb with the cold seeping in from the ground. Combined with the fact that I’ve had nothing but a handful of dried cat food all day, I don’t feel as ready as I’d like to be for a rescue.


There are no lights in any of the buildings. This group is careful, obviously hiding themselves well at night. The compound is silent except for the sound of crickets, which is a pretty amazing feat considering how many people live there. At least there are no screams coming from Raffe’s building.


I make myself wait for what I think is about an hour in the dark before making my move.


I wait until the patrol walks by. At that point, I know that the other soldier is on the other side of the compound.


I count to one hundred before I get up and run as quietly as I can toward the buildings.


My legs are as cold and stiff as gunmetal, but they limber up real fast at the thought of being caught. I have to take the long way around, skittering from moon shadow to shadow, working my way in a zigzag pattern toward the center building. The crisscross of the canopy works to my advantage, speckling the whole area with shifting camouflage.


I flatten myself against the side of the mess hall. One guard takes measured steps to my right, and in the distance, the other walks slowly on the far side of the compound. Their footsteps sound dull and slow, as if they’re bored. A good sign. If they heard anything unusual, their steps would be quicker, more urgent. At least I hope so.


I try to see the back of the center building, looking for a back door. But with the moon shadow on that side, I can’t tell if there’s a door or even a window.


I dart from my cover to Raffe’s building.


I pause there, expecting to hear a shout. But all is quiet. I stand plastered to the wall, holding my breath. I hear nothing and see no movement. There’s nothing but my fear telling me to abort. So I go on.


On the backside of the building, there are four windows and a back door. I peek through a window but see nothing but darkness. I resist the temptation to tap on it to see if I get a response from Raffe. I don’t know who else might be in there with him.


I have no plan, not even a harebrained one, and no real idea of how to overcome anyone who might be in there. Self-defense training usually doesn’t include sneaking up on someone from behind and choking them quietly to death—a skill that could be pretty handy right now.


Still, I’ve consistently managed to beat sparring partners much bigger than me, and I hold on to that fact to warm me against the chill of panic.


I take a deep breath and whisper as softly as I can. “Raffe?”


If I can just get an indication of which room he’s in, it would make this a whole lot easier. But I hear nothing. No tapping on the window, no muffled calls, no chair scrapings to lead me to him. The awful thought that he might be dead comes back to me again. Without him, I have no way of finding Paige. Without him, I am alone. I give myself a mental kick to distract me from following that dangerous line of thought.


I inch over to the door and put my ear to it. I hear nothing. I try the doorknob just in case it’s unlocked.


I have my handy lock picking set in my back pocket as usual. I found the kit in a teenager’s room during my first week of foraging for food. It didn’t take me long to realize that picking a lock is a whole lot quieter than breaking a window. Stealth is everything when you’re trying to avoid street gangs. So I’ve been getting a lot of practice picking locks the past couple of weeks.


The doorknob turns smoothly.


These guys are cocky. I crack it open the tiniest bit and pause. There are no sounds, and I slip into the darkness. I pause, letting my eyes adjust. The only light is the mottled moonlight streaming in through the windows at the back of the house.


I’m getting used to seeing by dim moonlight now. It seems to have turned into a way of life for me. I’m in a hallway with four doors. One door stands open into a bathroom. The other three are closed. I grip my knife as if that could stop a bullet from a semi-automatic. I put my ear to the first door on the left and hear nothing. As I reach for the doorknob, I hear a very quiet voice whispering through the last door.


I freeze. Then I walk over to the last door and put my ear against it. Was that my imagination, or did that sound like, “Run, Penryn?”


I crack open the door.


“Why don’t you ever listen to me?” Raffe asks quietly.


I slip in and close the door. “You’re welcome for rescuing you.”


“You’re not rescuing me, you’re getting yourself caught.” Raffe sits in the middle of the room, tied to a chair. There’s a lot of dried blood on his face, streaking from a wound on his forehead.


“They’re asleep.” I run over to his chair and put my knife to the rope around his wrists.


“No, they’re not.” The conviction in his voice trips alarms in my head. But before I can think of the word trap, a flashlight beam blinds me.

 

[Đông Tịch]

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 16:​

Spoiler

“I CAN’T let you cut that,” says a deep voice behind the flashlight. “We have a limited supply of rope.”


Someone grabs my knife out of my hand and shoves me roughly into a chair. The flashlight turns off and it takes several blinks for me to adjust my vision again to the night. By the time I can see again, someone is tying my hands behind my back.


There are three of them. One checks Raffe’s ropes, while the remaining one leans against the doorway as though here for just a casual visit. I tense up my muscles to try to make the rope as loose as possible as the guy behind me ties me up. My captor grips my wrists so hard that I’m half convinced that they will snap.


“You’ll have to excuse the lack of light,” says the guy leaning against the doorjamb. “We’re trying to avoid unwanted visitors.” Everything about him—from his commanding voice to his casual stance—makes it clear he’s the leader.


“Am I really that clumsy?” I ask.


The leader leans down toward me so that we’re eye to eye. “Actually, no. Our guards didn’t see you, and they were under orders to be on the lookout for you. Not bad, overall.” There’s approval in his voice.


Raffe makes a low sound in his throat that reminds me of a dog’s growl.


“You knew I was here?” I ask.


The guy stands straight again. The moonlight isn’t bright enough to show me details of what he looks like, but he’s tall and broad-shouldered. His hair is military short, making Raffe’s hair look ragged and disreputable by comparison. His profile is clean, the lines of his face sharp and defined.


He nods. “We didn’t know for sure, but the gear in his bag looked like half the supplies that a pair might carry. He has a camping stove but no matches, no pots or pans. He has two bowls, two spoons. Stuff like that. We figured someone else was carrying the matching half of the supplies. Although, frankly, I wasn’t expecting a rescue attempt. And certainly not from a girl. No offense meant. I’ve always been a modern guy.” He shrugs. “But times have changed. And we are a camp full of men.” He shrugs again. “That takes guts. Or desperation.”


“You forgot lack of brains,” growls Raffe. “I’m your target here, not her.”


“How do you figure?” asks the leader.


“You need men like me as soldiers,” says Raffe. “Not a skinny little girl like her.”


The leader leans back with his arms crossed. “What makes you think we’re looking for soldiers?”


“You used five men and a pack of dogs to catch one guy,” says Raffe. “At that rate, you’re going to need three armies to get done whatever it is you’re trying to do here.”


The leader nods. “You obviously have prior military experience.” I raise my brows at this, wondering what happened when they captured him.


“You didn’t bat an eye when we pointed the guns at you,” says the leader.


“So maybe he’s not as good he thinks he is if he’s been captured before,” says Raffe’s guard. Raffe doesn’t rise to the bait.


“Or maybe he’s special ops, trained for the worst situations,” says the leader. He pauses, waiting for Raffe to confirm or deny. The moonbeams filtering through the window are bright enough to show the leader watching Raffe with the intensity of a wolf watching a rabbit. Or maybe it’s like a rabbit watching a wolf. But Raffe says nothing.


The leader turns to me. “You hungry?”


My stomach picks that time to growl loudly. It would have been funny in any other situation.


“Let’s get these folks some dinner.” The three men leave.


I test the ropes around my wrists. “Tall, dark, and friendly. What more could a girl ask for?”


Raffe snorts. “They got a lot friendlier once you showed up. They haven’t offered me food all day.”


“Are they just skittish, or are they really bad guys?”


“Anybody who ties you to a chair at gunpoint is a bad guy. Do I really need to explain this?”


I feel like a little girl who did something stupid.


“So what are you doing here?” he asks. “I risk getting chewed to pieces by a pack of dogs so you can escape, and then you run back here? Your sense of judgment could use a dash of common sense.”


“Sorry, I’ll be sure and never do that again.” I’m beginning to wish they had gagged us.


“That’s the sanest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”


“So who are these guys?” Raffe’s super hearing has no doubt gained him a lot of information on what they’re up to.


“Why? You planning on enlisting?”


“I’m not much of a joiner.”


Despite his usual handsome features, he looks rather grotesque in the moonlight with all those streaks of dried blood running down his face. For a second, I envision him as the classic fallen angel out to damn your soul.


But then he asks, “You all right?” His voice is surprisingly gentle.


“I’m fine. You know we need to get out of here by morning, right? They’ll be able to tell by then.” All that blood with no wound. No human heals that fast.


The door opens and the smell of stew almost drives me mad. I haven’t starved since the attacks, but I haven’t exactly been gaining weight either.


The leader pulls up a chair next to mine and lifts the bowl under my nose. My stomach grumbles as soon as the scent of meat and vegetables hits me.


He lifts a heaping spoonful and stops halfway between the bowl and my mouth. I have to suppress a groan of pleasure at the anticipation for decorum’s sake. A pimply faced soldier pulls up a chair next to Raffe and does the same with his stew.


“What’s your name?” asks the leader. There is something intimate about the way he asks me this question as he is about to feed me.


“My friends call me Wrath,” says Raffe. “My enemies call me Please Have Mercy. What’s your name, soldier boy?” Raffe’s mocking tone brings a flush to my cheeks for no reason.


But the leader isn’t flustered. “Obadiah West. You can call me Obi.” The spoon moves away from me just a fraction.


“Obadiah. How biblical,” says Raffe. “Obadiah hid the prophets from persecution.” Raffe stares at his own suspended spoon of stew.


“A Bible expert,” says Obi. “Too bad we already have one.” He looks at me. “And what’s your name?”


“Penryn,” I say quickly before Raffe can open his mouth to say something sarcastic. “Penryn Young.” I’d rather not antagonize our captors, especially if they’re about to feed us.


“Penryn.” He whispers it as though making it his own. I’m somehow embarrassed to have Raffe witness this moment, though I’m not sure why.


“When was the last time you had a real meal, Penryn?” asks Obi. He holds the spoon just out of reach of my mouth. I swallow the saliva before answering.


“It’s been awhile.” I give him an encouraging smile, wondering if he’ll let me have that bite. He moves the spoon to his own mouth and I watch him eat it. My stomach grumbles in protest.


“Tell me, Obi,” says Raffe. “Just what kind of meat is this?”


I look back and forth between the soldiers, suddenly unsure if I’m hungry.


“You’d have to catch a lot of animals to feed this many people,” says Raffe.


“I was just about to ask you what kind of animals you’ve been hunting,” says Obi. “A guy your size must need a lot of protein to maintain your muscle mass.”


“What are you implying?” I ask. “We’re not the ones attacking people, if that’s what you’re getting at.”


Obi looks sharply at me. “How do you know about that? I didn’t say anything about attacking people.”


“Oh, don’t give me that look.” I give him my best grossed-out-teenager expression. “You couldn’t possibly imagine that I’d want to eat a person, could you? That’s totally disgusting.”


“We saw a family,” says Raffe. “Half-eaten on the road.”


“Where?” asks Obi. He seems surprised.


“Not too far from here. You’re sure it wasn’t you or one of your men?” Raffe shifts in his chair as though to remind Obi he and his men are not exactly the friendly sort.


“None of mine would do it. They don’t need to. We have sufficient supplies and firepower to support everyone here. Besides, they got two of our men last week. Trained men with rifles. Why do you think we hunted you? We don’t normally go after strangers. We’d like to know who did it.”


“It wasn’t us,” I say.


“No, I don’t suppose it was you.”


“He didn’t do it either, Obi,” I say. His name tastes foreign in my mouth. Different, but not bad.


“How do I know that?”


“We have to prove our innocence now?”


“It’s a new world.”


“What are you, the sheriff of the New Order? Arrest first, then ask questions later?” I ask.


“What would you do if you caught them?” asks Raffe.


“We could use people who are, shall we say, a little less civilized than the rest of us. Precautions would have to be taken, of course.” Obi sighs. It’s clear he doesn’t like the idea but seems resigned to do what needs to be done.


“I don’t get it,” I say. “What would you do with a bunch of cannibals?”


“Sic them on the angels, of course.”


“That’s crazy,” I say.


“In case you hadn’t noticed, the whole world has gone crazy. It’s time to adapt or die.”


“By throwing crazy at crazy?”


“By throwing whatever we have that might confuse or distract, or maybe even repulse them, if that’s even possible. Anything to keep their attention from the rest of us while we organize,” says Obi.


“Organize into what?” asks Raffe.


“Into an army strong enough to launch them off our world.”


All the heat drains out of my body. “You’re gathering a resistance army?” I try desperately not to look at Raffe. I’ve been casually trying to collect information on the angels just in case it might come in handy. The hope of an organized resistance, though, went up in smoke along with DC and New York.


And here is Raffe, in the middle of a rebel camp that is desperately trying to keep itself a secret from the angels. If the angels knew about this, they would crush it in its infancy, and who knows how long it could take for another resistance to organize.


“We prefer to think of ourselves as simply a human army, but yes, I suppose we are considered the resistance since we are the underdog by a long shot. Right now, we’re gathering forces, recruiting and organizing. But we have something big planned. Something the angels won’t soon forget.”


“You’re striking back?” The thought boggles my mind.


“We’re striking back.”

 

[Đông Tịch]

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 17:​

Spoiler

“HOW MUCH damage can you do?” asks Raffe. My stomach turns cold knowing that I’m the only human in the room who knows that Raffe is one of the enemy.


“Enough damage to make a point,” says the resistance leader. “Not to the angels. We don’t care what they think. But to the people. Let them know that we are here, that we exist, and together, we will not be pushed aside.”


“You’re attacking the angels as a recruiting campaign?”


“They think they’ve won already. More importantly, our own people feel like that too. We need to let them know the war has just begun. This is our home. Our land. Nobody gets to waltz in and take over.”


My mind swirls with conflicting emotions. Who is the enemy in this room? Whose side am I on? I stare carefully at the floor, desperately trying to avoid looking at either Raffe or Obi.


If Obi senses something, then he might start to suspect Raffe. If Raffe senses something then I can’t really expect him to trust me. Oh God, if I piss off Raffe, he might renege on our deal and disappear to the aerie without me.


“My head hurts,” I whimper.


There’s a long pause where I’m convinced Obi is working things out. I’m almost positive that he’s about to shout, “My God, he’s an angel!”


But he doesn’t. Instead, he gets up and puts my bowl of stew on his chair. “We’ll talk more in the morning,” says Obi. He guides me up and over a couple of steps to a cot in the shadows I hadn’t noticed before. Raffe’s guard does the same across the room.


I lie down awkwardly on my side with my wrists tied behind my back. Obi sits on the cot and ties my ankles together. I’m tempted to make a quip about requiring dinner and a movie before getting so kinky, but I don’t. The last thing I need is to start making *** jokes while I’m being held prisoner in a camp full of armed men in a world where there are no laws.


He puts a pillow under my head. As he’s doing this, he brushes hair out of my face and sweeps it behind my ear. His touch is warm and smooth. I should be scared, but I’m not. “You’ll be all right,” he says. “The men will have strict orders to be gentlemanly toward you.”


I guess it doesn’t take a mind reader to know that I might be worried about that. “Thank you,” I say.


Obi and his man collect the bowls of stew and leave. The lock clicks behind them.


“Thank you?” asks Raffe.


“Shut up. I’m exhausted. I really need to get some sleep.”


“What you need is to decide who’s on your side and who’s not.”


“Will you tell them?” I don’t want to get specific in case someone’s listening. I hope he understands what I mean. If Raffe and I make it to the aerie, he’ll have intel on the infant resistance movement. If he tells the other angels and they kill off the movement, I’ll be the Judas of my kind.


There’s a long pause.


If he doesn’t tell, will he be the Judas of his kind?


“Why did you come here?” he asks, blatantly changing the subject. “Why didn’t you run away like we both know you should have?”


“Stupid, huh?”


“Very.”


“I just…couldn’t.”


I want to ask him why he risked his life to save mine when his people kill us every day. But I can’t. Not here, not now. Not while someone may be listening.


We lie in silence, listening to the crickets.


After a long time, as I drift away to a numb place, he whispers in the dark. “They’re all asleep except for the guards.”


I’m instantly alert. “You have a plan?”


“Sure. Don’t you? You’re the rescuer.” The moon has moved, and the light coming through the window is dimmer now. But it’s still enough for me to see the darker shadow of his form getting up from his cot. He comes over to me and starts untying me.


“How the hell did you do that?”


“When you’re storming the aerie, remember that ropes won’t hold angels.” He whispers the last word.


I’d forgotten how much stronger he is than a man.


“You mean you could have gotten out all that time? You don’t even need me. Why didn’t you do it already?”


“What, and miss the fun of rattling their tiny little brains wondering what happened?” He swiftly unties me and pulls me to my feet.


“Ah, I get it. You can escape at night, but not during the day. You can’t outrun bullets, can you?”


Like most people, my first introduction to angels was through the looping footage of the Archangel Gabriel being shot. I can’t help but wonder if the angels would have been less hostile if we hadn’t immediately killed their leader. At least, they think he was killed. No one knows for sure because the body wasn’t recovered, or so they said. The legion of winged men floating behind him dispersed with the panicked crowd, quickly disappearing into the smoky sky. I wonder if Raffe was part of that legion.


He arches his brow at me, clearly refusing to discuss the effects of bullets on angels.


I give him a smug smile. You’re not as perfect as you look.


I walk over to the door and put my ear to it. “Is there anyone else in the building?”


“No.”


I try to turn the knob but it’s locked.


Raffe sighs. “I was hoping not to show excessive strength and raise suspicion.” He reaches for the knob, but I stop him.


“Well then, good thing I got us covered.” I pull a slim lockpick and tension wrench out of my back pocket. The soldier who searched me before tying me up did a fast job. He was looking for guns or bulky knives, not skinny little picks.


“What’s that?”


I get to work on the lock. It feels good to surprise him with a talent that angels don’t have.


Click.


“Voila.”


“Talkative, but talented. Who would have thought?”


I open my mouth to make a smartass comeback, then realize I’d only be proving his point, so I stay quiet, just to prove that I can.


We sneak out into the hallway and stop at the back door.


“Can you hear the guards?”


He listens briefly. He points to eleven o’clock and five o’clock. We wait.


“What’s in here?” I ask, pointing at the closed doors.


“Who knows? Supplies maybe?”


I start for one of the doors, thinking of venison or even guns.


He grabs my arm and shakes his head. “Don’t get greedy. If we raid them on our way out, they’re less likely to just forget about us. We don’t want trouble if we can avoid it.”


He’s right, of course. Besides, who’d be stupid enough to store guns in the same place as their prisoners? But the thought of venison makes my mouth water. Oh, I should have bargained for that stew while I had the chance.


After a minute, Raffe nods and we slip out into the night.


***


WE MAKE a run for it, Raffe and me. My heart flip-flops in my chest as I pump my legs as fast as they will go. The air frosts from my mouth. The smell of soil and trees beckons us toward the forest. The trees rustling in the wind mask the sound of our pounding feet.


Raffe could run much faster, but he stays close.


The moon disappears behind clouds, and the forest turns dark. I slow to a walk once we’re inside the canopy, not wanting to smash into a tree.


My breathing is so heavy, I’m afraid the guards will hear it. The adrenaline rush of a run for freedom drains, and I’m back to being scared and tired. I pause, bending over to catch my breath. Raffe puts his hand on my back, urging me to keep going with gentle pressure. He’s not even out of breath.


He points deeper into the forest. I shake my head and point to the other side of the camp. We need to go around to retrieve his wings. My pack is replaceable; the wings and sword are not. He pauses, then nods. I don’t know if he knows what I’m after, but I know that his wings are never far from his mind, the way little Paige is never far from mine.


We skirt around the camp, going as deep into the forest as we can without losing sight of the camp. This gets tricky several times since the moonlight is so dim now, and the camp itself is mostly under canopy. I have to rely more heavily on Raffe’s night vision than I like.


Even knowing he can see, I can only go so fast without walking into a branch or losing my footing. It takes a long time to navigate the forest in the dark, and even longer to find my stash.


Just when I see the tree hiding our goods, I hear the distinctive click of a gun’s safety latch behind me.


My hands are up in the air before the guy can say, “Freeze.”

 

[Đông Tịch]

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 18:​

Spoiler

“JUST FOR interrupting my night, you’re getting latrine duty.” Obi is clearly not an early morning guy, and he doesn’t bother to hide that he’d much rather be sleeping than dealing with us.


“What do you want with us?” I ask. “I told you we didn’t kill those people.”


We’re right back where we started—Raffe and I sit tied to our chairs in what I’m starting to think of as our room.


“It’s now more about what we don’t want. We don’t want you telling others our numbers, our location, our arsenal. Now that you’ve seen our camp, we can’t let you go until we move.”


“How long will that be?”


“A while.” Obi shrugs noncommittally. “Won’t be too long.”


“We don’t have a while.”


“You’ll have as long as we say you have,” says Boden, the guard who caught us. Or at least that’s what the name on his uniform says. It could, of course, just be a uniform that he took from a dead soldier that already had that name on it. “You’ll do everything the resistance movement says. Because without it, we’d all be doomed to the hell those angelic motherfu—”


“Enough, Jim,” says Obi. There’s enough weariness in his voice that I’m guessing that good ol’ Jim and maybe several of the other soldiers have repeated these exact same lines a million times over with the zeal of the newly converted.


“It’s true,” says Obi. “The resistance founders warned us this time would come, told us where to go to survive, galvanized us while the rest of the world was falling apart. We owe the resistance everything. It’s our greatest hope of surviving this massacre.”


“There’s more than just this camp?” I ask.


“It’s a network that’s all over the world in pockets. We’re just becoming aware of the others, trying to organize, trying to coordinate.”


“Great,” says Raffe. “Does this mean we have to stay until we forget we ever heard of this resistance movement?”


“That’s the one thing you should spread,” says Obi. “Knowing about the resistance brings hope and community. We can all use as much of that as possible.”


“Aren’t you worried that if word gets out, that the angels will just destroy it?” I ask.


“Those pigeons couldn’t take us out if they sent their entire chirping flock,” Boden scoffs. His face is red and he looks ready for a fight. “Just let ’em try.” The white-knuckled grip on his rifle is making me nervous.


“We’ve had to detain a fair number of people here since the cannibal attacks started,” says Obi. “You’re the only ones who managed to make it out. There could be a place for the two of you here. A place with meals and friends, a life with meaning and purpose. Right now, we’re fractured. They have us eating each other, for God’s sake. We can’t make a stand if we’re bashing each other over the head and killing each other for cans of dog food.”


He leans toward us in earnest. “This camp is just the start, and we need everyone to pitch in if we’re going to have a chance in hell of taking back our world from the angels. We could use people like you. People with the skills and determination to be humanity’s greatest heroes.”


Boden snorts. “They can’t be that good. They stumbled in a big semicircle around the compound like a couple of dildos. How skilled can they be?”


What dildos have to do with it, I have no idea. But he does have a point in that we did get caught by an idiot.


IT TURNS out I don’t really get latrine duty. Only Raffe gets that honor. I end up with laundry duty. I’m not sure that’s much better. I’ve never worked so hard in my life. You know the world has ended when manual labor in America is cheaper and easier than using machines. Men can seriously grime up jeans and other heavy clothes when they’re out in the forest. Not to mention unmentionables.


I have more than a few “eww” moments during the day. But I do learn a few things from the other laundry women.


After a long stretch of wary silence, the women begin to talk. A couple of them have only been at the camp for a few days. They seem surprised and still mistrustful of finding themselves unharmed and unmolested. There’s a wariness about the way they keep their voices low and their eyes scanning their surroundings that keeps me from relaxing even when they begin to gossip.


While working our butts off—or more accurately, our arms and backs—I learn that Obi is an absolute favorite among the women. And that Boden and his buddies should be avoided. Obi is in charge of the camp, but not of the entire resistance movement. There’s apparently talk, at least among the women, that Obi would be a great worldwide leader of the freedom fighters.


I love the idea of a leader destined to lead us out of our dark times. Love the romance of being part of something good, and right, led by a group of people fated to be heroes.


Only, it isn’t my fight. My fight is getting my sister back safe and sound. My fight is keeping my mother out of trouble and shepherding her to a safe place. My fight is feeding and sheltering what remains of my family. Until those battles are permanently won, I don’t have the luxury of looking beyond them to the grander picture of wars with gods and romantic heroes.


My fight at the moment is struggling to get stains out of sheets that are taller and wider than me by yards. Nothing takes the romance and grandeur out of life than scrubbing stains out of sheets.


One of the women worries over her husband, who she says is “playing soldier” even though he’s barely moved out of his computer programmer’s chair in twenty years. She also frets over her golden retriever, which is in the kennel with the rest of the dogs.


It turns out that most of the guard dogs are actually just pets of the people in the camp. They’re trying to train them into the mean, vicious guard dogs that chased Raffe, but in reality, they haven’t had enough time to train most of them. Besides, they’ve spent their whole lives being pampered and played with, and it’s apparently not easy to turn them into vicious killers when they’d rather lick you to death or chase squirrels.


Dolores assures me that her dog, Checkers, is of the lick-you-to-death variety, and that most of the dogs are in doggie paradise out here in the forest. I nod in more understanding than she realizes. This is the reason the guards are dog-free. It’s hard to patrol when your K9 partner keeps running off to chase after rodents and barks all night long. Thank goodness for small favors.


I casually try to turn the conversation toward what might be gnawing on the refugees on the road. All I get are wary glances and frightened expressions. One woman crosses herself. Talk about a conversation killer.


I pick up a grimy pair of pants to dunk in the dingy water, and we go back to working in silence.


Although Raffe and I are prisoners here, no one is really guarding us. That is to say, no one is specifically assigned to guard us. Everyone knows we’re the newbies, and as such, everyone keeps an eye on us.


To avoid notice of Raffe’s head injury healing too fast, we managed to put two adhesive bandages at his hairline first thing this morning. We were prepared to say that head injuries bleed a lot so the injury itself was smaller than it seemed last night, but no one asked. I also took a quick peek at his bandages. There was blood in the shape of wing joints. Dried but unmistakable. Nothing we could do about that.


Raffe digs a ditch by the portable toilets along with other men. He’s one of the few still wearing his shirt. There’s a dry band around his chest outlining his bandages but no one seems to notice. I note the filth on his shirt with a professional eye and hope that someone else ends up having to wash it for him.


The sun glints off something shiny on the privacy wall the men are building around the latrine. I’m pondering the perfect regularity of the rectangular boxes they’re using to build the wall when I recognize them. Desktop computers. The men are stacking desktop computers and cementing them into a privacy wall.


“Yup,” says Dolores as she sees what I’m looking at. “My husband always did call his electronic gadgets ‘bricks’ when they got phased out.”


They got phased out, all right. Computers were the height of our technological prowess, and now we’re using them as latrine walls, thanks to the angels.


I go back to scrubbing a pair of pants on my washboard.


Lunch takes several lifetimes to come. I’m about to get Raffe when a honey-haired woman saunters over to him on her long legs. Everything about her walk, her voice, and the tilt of her head invites a man to get a little closer. I change direction and head for the mess hall, pretending not to notice them walking to lunch together.


I grab a bowl of venison stew and a heel of bread and scarf them down as fast as I can. Some people grumble around me about having to eat the same old stuff each time, but I’ve had enough dried noodles and cat food to truly appreciate the taste of fresh meat and canned vegetables.


I know from my morning’s gossip session that some of the food comes from foraging in the nearby houses, but most of it comes from a warehouse the resistance keeps hidden. By the looks of things, the resistance does a good job of providing for their people.


As soon as I finish eating, I look for Obi. I’ve been wanting to plead with him all day to let us go. These people don’t seem that bad now that it’s daylight, and maybe they’ll sympathize with my urgent need to rescue my sister. Of course, I can’t keep Raffe from telling the enemy about this camp, but there’s no reason he’ll want to tell anyone until we reach the aerie, and maybe by then, the camp will have moved. It’s a lame justification, but it’ll have to do.


I find Obi surrounded by men who are gingerly moving crates from the storage closets I almost peeked into last night. There are two men carefully loading each crate onto a truck.


When one loses his grip on a corner, everyone freezes.


For a few heartbeats, they all stare at the man who lost his grip. I can almost smell their fear.


They all exchange glances as if confirming that they’re all still here. Then they continue their sideways crab-walking toward the truck.


I guess the things stored in that room had more bang than venison and guns.


I try to go talk to Obi, but a camouflaged chest blocks my way. When I look up, the guard who caught us last night, Boden, glares down at me.


“Get back to your washing, woman.”


“Are you kidding me? What century are you from?”


“This century. This is the new reality, sweet cheeks. Accept it before I cram it down your throat.” His eyes drop meaningfully to my mouth. “Deep and hard.”


I can practically smell the lust and violence on him.


A needle of fear spikes in my chest. “I need to talk to Obi.”


“Yeah, you and every other chick in camp. I got your Obi right here.” He grabs himself between his legs and sort of shakes it up and down like he is shaking hands with his dick. Then he leans his face down close to mine and wiggles his tongue in an obscene gesture so close to me that that I can feel his spittle.


That needle of fear punctures my lungs and all the air seems to go out of me. But the anger that swamps it is a tsunami taking over every cell in my body.


Here is the embodiment of the very thing that had me crawling from car to car, hiding and freezing at the slightest sound, scampering in the shadows like an animal, desperate with worry that someone like him will catch me, my sister, my mother. Here is the bigger, stronger attitude that had the nerve to steal my sister, a helpless, sweet little girl. Here is the thing literally blocking me from rescuing her.


“What did you just say to me?” The girl who used to be civilized and polite just had to give him a second chance.


“I said—”


I slam the heel of my hand into his nose. I don’t just do it with my arm. The force comes all the way from my hips as I launch my whole body into the strike.


I feel the nose smash under my onslaught. Even better, he’d started to do that obscene gesture with his tongue again and it smashes between his teeth as his head whiplashes back, spraying blood from his bit tongue.


Sure, I’m pissed off. But my actions are not entirely without thought. I might regularly open my mouth without thinking, but I never start a fight without consulting my brain. For this one, I figured I’d win as soon as I made the first move. Intimidation tactics like his are common among bullies. The smaller, weaker opponent is supposed to cringe and back off.


My quick calculation went something like this: he’s a foot taller and wider than me, a trained soldier, and I’m a girl. If I had been a man, people might let us fight it out. But people tend to believe that when a girl hits a big guy with a gun looming over her, it must be in self-defense. With all these macho men milling about, I give it about ten seconds before someone breaks up our fight.


So without much harm, I’d win the battle because: one, I’d get Obi’s attention, which was what I was trying to do in the first place; two, I’d humiliate Knuckle Brain by showing everybody what kind of a girl-intimidating bully he is; and three, I’d make my point that I’m not easy pickin’s.


What I don’t count on is how much damage Boden can do in ten seconds.


He spends a few seconds staring at me in shock and gathering his fury.


Then he slams an SUV of a punch across my jaw.


Then he hurls his body into me.


I land on my back, trying desperately to catch my breath through the talons of pain gripping my lungs and face. By the time he sits on top of me, I figure I have about two seconds left. Maybe a really fast, chivalrous soldier out there would beat my estimate. Maybe Raffe is already leaping to get this gorilla off me.


Boden grabs the neck of my sweatshirt with one fist and cocks the other for another smash. Okay, I just need to survive this punch, then someone is bound to reach us.


I grab the pinkie of the hand on my sweatshirt and give it the hardest twist I can, flipping it all the way over.


It’s a little known fact that where the pinkie goes, so goes the hand, wrist, arm, and body. Otherwise, something breaks along the way. He jerks with it, gritting his teeth and twisting his body to follow the pinkie.


That’s when I catch a glimpse of the people around us.


I was beginning to think this camp had the slowest soldiers in history. But I was wrong. A surprising number of people made it to the fight in record time. The only problem is that they’re acting like kids in a schoolyard—running to watch the fight rather than to break it up.


My surprise costs me. Boden jams his elbow into my right breast.


The intense pain just about kills me. I curl as best I can with two hundred pounds of muscle on top of me, but that doesn’t protect me from the bitch-slap he whips across my face.


Now he’s adding insult to injury because if I had been a man, he would have hit me with a closed fist. Great. If he just slaps me around and I still get beaten, then I’ll only prove that I’m someone everyone can push around.


Where’s Raffe when I need him? Out of the corner of my eye, I see him among a blur of faces, his expression utterly grim. He writes something down on money, then passes it to a guy who’s collecting bills from everyone around him.


It dawns on me what they’re doing. They’re taking bets!


Worse, the few who are cheering for me aren’t cheering for me to win; they’re screaming for me to last just one more minute. Apparently, no one’s even betting that I’ll win, only on how long I’ll last.


So much for chivalry.

 

[Đông Tịch]

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 19:​

Spoiler

WHILE I’M taking in the scene, I block two more hits with Boden sitting on top of me. My forearms are taking a beating and my bruises are getting bruises.


With no rescue in sight, it’s time to get serious about the fight. I lift my butt and legs off the ground like a gymnast and wrap my legs around Boden’s thick neck, hooking my ankles at his throat. I rock my body forward, jerking my legs down.


Boden’s eyes widen as he’s yanked backward.


Entwined, we swing like a rocking chair. He lands on his back, legs spread around my waist. I’m suddenly sitting upright with my ankles wrapped around his throat.


The instant we land, I slam my fists into his groin.


Now it’s his turn to curl.


The cheering crowd instantly mutes. The only noise I hear is Boden’s groaning. Sounds like he’s having trouble breathing.


Just to make sure he stays that way, I jump up and kick him in the face. I kick him so hard his body spins halfway on the dirt.


I wind up for another kick, this time to the stomach. When you’re small enough to have to look up at everyone around you, there’s no such thing as a dirty fight. That’s a new motto for me. I think I’ll keep it.


Before I can complete my kick, someone grabs me around my ribs, pinning my arms. My heart thunders from the adrenaline, and I’m practically panting in my need for blood. I kick and scream at whoever holds me.


“Easy, easy,” says Obi. “That’s enough.” His voice is like velvet brushing against my ears, his arms like steel bands across my ribs. “Shhh…Relax, it’s over…You won.”


He guides me out of the circle and through the crowd as he soothes me, his arms never relaxing their hold. I glare my most condemning glare at Raffe as I catch his eye. I could have been beaten to a pulp, and all he would have done was lose a . He still looks grim, his muscles taut, his face pale as though all the blood has drained from him.


“Where are my winnings?” asks Raffe. I realize he’s not talking to me even though he’s still looking at me. It’s as if he wants to make sure I hear it along with everyone else.


“You didn’t win,” says a guy near him. He sounds gleeful. He’s the one who collected all the bets.


“What do you mean? My was the closest to what happened,” growls Raffe. His hands are fisted as he turns to the guy, and he looks ready for a fight himself.


“Hey buddy, you didn’t she’d win. Close doesn’t count…”


Their voices drift into the wind as Obi practically drags me to the mess hall. I don’t know which is worse—that Raffe didn’t jump in to defend me, or that he that I would lose.


The mess hall is a big open cabin with rows of fold-up tables and chairs. I’m guessing it would take less than half an hour to fold it all up for moving. From everything I’ve seen the whole camp is designed to be packed up and moved in less than an hour.


The place is deserted even though there are half-eaten food trays on the tables. I guess a fight is a not-to-be-missed event around here. Obi’s grip on me relaxes once I stop struggling. He guides me to a table closest to the kitchen in the back.


“Sit. I’ll be right back.”


I sit on a metal folding chair, trembling with the adrenaline crash. He heads back into the kitchen area. I take deep breaths, calming down and getting a hold of myself until he comes back with a first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas.


He hands me the peas. “Put this on your jaw. It’ll help with the swelling.”


I take the bag, staring at the familiar photo of green peas before gingerly pressing it to my tender jaw. The fact that they have the power to keep food frozen impresses me more than the rest of the camp combined. There’s something awe-inspiring about the ability to maintain some aspects of civilization when the rest of the world is sinking into a dark age.


Obi cleans the blood and dirt off my scrapes. They’re mostly that, scrapes.


“Your camp sucks,” I say. The peas are numbing my jaw and my words come out slurred.


“Sorry about that.” He rubs antibiotic ointment onto the scrapes on my hands. “There’s so much tension and jittery energy that we’ve had to accommodate our people’s need to blow off steam. The trick is to let them do it under controlled conditions.”


“You call what happened out there a controlled condition?”


A half smile brightens his face. “I’m sure Boden didn’t think so.” He rubs more ointment on my scraped knuckles. “One of the concessions we made is that if a fight breaks out, no one interferes until there’s a clear winner or it becomes life-threatening. We just let people take bets on the outcome. It blows off steam for both the fighters and the spectators.”


So much for the power to maintain a piece of civilization.


“Also,” he says, “it helps keep the number of fights down when the entire camp is taking bets on the outcome. People take fights seriously when there’s no one to rescue you and the whole camp is watching your every move.”


“So everyone knew this rule but me? That no one is allowed to interfere?” Had Raffe known it? Not that it should have stopped him.


“People can jump in if they want, but that invites someone else to jump in for the other side to keep it a fair fight. The bettors wouldn’t like it if it suddenly turned one-sided.” So much for making excuses for Raffe. He could have jumped in; we just would have had to fight someone else too. Nothing we haven’t done before.


“Sorry no one explained the rules of the playground to you.” He bandages my bleeding elbow. “It’s just that we haven’t had a female get into a fight before.” He shrugs. “We just didn’t expect it.”


“I guess this means you lost your .”


He grins sourly. “I only make big bets that involve lives and the future of humanity.” His shoulders slump as though the invisible weight on them is too much. “Speaking of which, you handled yourself well out there. Better than anyone expected. We could really use someone like you. There are situations that a girl like you could handle better than a platoon of men.” His grin turns boyish. “Assuming you don’t clock an angel for pissing you off.”


“That’s a big assumption.”


“We can work on that.” He gets up. “Think about it.”


“Actually, I was trying to get to you when that gorilla got in my way. The angels have taken my sister. You need to let me go so I can find her. I swear I won’t tell anybody about you, your location, anything. Just please, let me go.”


“I’m sorry about your sister, but I can’t jeopardize everyone here based on your word. Join us, and we’ll help you get her back.”


“It’ll be too late by the time you can mobilize your men. She’s seven years old and wheelchair-bound.” I can barely get the words out through the lump in my throat. I can’t actually say what we both know, that it might already be too late.


He shakes his head, looking genuinely sympathetic. “I’m sorry. Everyone here has had to bury someone they love. Join us and we’ll make those bastards pay.”


“I don’t intend to bury her. She’s not dead.” I grind out the words. “I’m going to find her and get her out.”


“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply that she was.” He had, and we both know it. But I pretend to believe his pretty words. As I’ve heard other people’s mothers tell their daughters, politeness is its own reward. “We’ll be moving soon, and you can go then if you still want to leave us. I hope you won’t.”


“When is soon?”


“I can’t disclose that information. All I can say is that we have something major in the works. You should be a part of it. For your sister, for humanity, for all of us.”


He’s good. I feel like standing up and saluting him while humming the national anthem. But I don’t think he’d appreciate that.


I am, of course, rooting for the humans. But I already have more responsibilities than I can handle. I just want to be an ordinary girl living an ordinary life. My biggest concern in life should be what dress to wear to the prom, not how to escape a paramilitary camp to rescue my sister from cruel angels, and certainly not whether to join a resistance army to beat back an invasion to save humanity. I know my limits and that goes way beyond them.


So I just nod. He can make of that what he will. I hadn’t really expected him to let me go, but I had to try.


As soon as he walks out the door, the lunch crowd shuffles back in. It must be understood, either implicitly or explicitly, that when Obi talks to one of the fighters, everyone gives them privacy. Interesting that he took me to the mess hall during lunch, making everyone wait until we were finished. He sent a clear message to everyone in the camp that I am someone he has noticed.


I get up to leave with my chin up. I avoid looking into any faces so I won’t have to talk to anyone. I walk with my bag of peas down so as to not bring attention to my injuries. As if people are likely to forget I’m the one who was fighting. If Raffe is in the lunch crowd, I don’t see him. Just as well. I hope he lost his argument with the bookie. He deserves to lose that .


I’m barely out and walking between the buildings on my way to the laundry area when two redheaded guys step out from behind a building. If they didn’t have matching boy-next-door smiles, I would have thought they were ambushing me.


They’re identical twins. Both look scrappy and strung-out in their dirty civilian clothes, but that’s not unusual these days. No doubt I look just as scrappy and strung-out. They’re barely out of their teens, tall and skinny with mischievous eyes.


“Great job out there, champ,” says the first guy.


“Oh, man, you really put old Jimmy Boden in his place,” says the second one. He’s practically beaming. “Couldn’t have happened to a better man.”


I stand there, nodding. I keep a polite grin on my face while still holding the frozen peas to my jaw.


“I’m Tweedledee,” says one.


“I’m Tweedledum,” says the other. “Most people call us Dee-Dum for short since they can’t tell us apart.”


“You’re joking, right?” They shake their heads in unison with identical friendly smiles. They look more like a couple of underfed scarecrows than the chubby Tweedledee and Tweedledum I remember from childhood. “Why would you call yourselves that?”


Dee shrugs. “New world, new names. We were going to be Gog and Magog.”


“Those were our online names,” says Dum.


“But why go all doom and gloom?” asks Dee.


“Used to be fun being Gog and Magog when the world was Tiffany-twisted and suburban-simple,” says Dum. “But now…”


“Not so much,” says Dee. “Death and destruction are so passé.”


“So mainstream.”


“So in with the popular crowd.”


“We’d rather be Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”


I nod, because what other response is there?


“I’m Penryn. I’m named after an exit off Interstate 80.”


“Nice.” They nod as if to say they understand what it’s like to have parents like that.


“Everyone’s talking about you,” says Dum.


Not sure I like that. That whole fight thing didn’t really go off the way I had planned. Then again, nothing in my life has gone the way I had planned.


“Great. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go hide now.” I tip my bag of frozen peas at them like a hat as I try to step between them.


“Wait,” says Dee. He lowers his voice to a dramatic whisper. “We have a business proposition for you.”


I pause and politely wait. Unless their proposition includes getting me out of here, there is nothing they can say to get me interested in any kind of business idea. But since they aren’t moving out of my way, I don’t have much of a choice but to listen.


“The crowd loved you,” says Dum.


“How about a repeat performance?” asks Dee. “Say, for a thirty percent take of the winnings?”


“What are you talking about? Why would I risk my life for a measly thirty percent of the winnings? Besides, money doesn’t buy you anything anymore.”


“Oh, it’s not money,” says Dum. “We just use money as a shortcut for the relative value of the .”


His face becomes animated like he’s genuinely fascinated by the economics of post-apocalyptic gambling. “You put your name and the you’re making on, say, a five-dollar bill, and that just tells the bookie that you’re willing to something of greater value than a dollar bill, but less than a ten-dollar bill. It’s the bookie who decides who gets what and who gives what. You know, like maybe someone loses a quarter of his rations and gets extra chores for a week. Or if he wins, then he gets someone else’s rations to add to his, and someone else scrubs the toilet for him for a week. Get it?”


“Got it. And the answer’s still no. Besides, there’s no guarantee I’ll win.”


“No.” Dee gives me an over-the-top used car salesman’s smile. “We’re looking for a guarantee that you’ll lose.”


I burst out laughing. “You want me to throw a fight?”


“Shhh!” Dee looks around dramatically. We’re standing in the shadows between two buildings, and no one seems to notice us.


“It’ll be great,” says Dum. His eyes shine with mischief. “After what you did to Boden, the odds will be so far in your favor when you fight Anita—”


“You want me to fight a girl?” I cross my arms. “You just want to see a catfight, don’t you?”


“It’s not just for us,” says Dee defensively. “It’ll be a gift to the whole camp.”


“Yeah,” says Dum. “Who needs television when you’ve got all that water and laundry suds?”


“Dream on.” I shove through them.


“We’ll help you get out,” says Dee in a singsong cadence.


I stop. My brain runs through half a dozen scenarios based on what he just said.


“We can get the keys to your cell.”


“We can distract the guards.”


“We can make sure no one checks on you until morning.”


“One fight, that’s all we ask.”


I turn to look at them. “Why would you risk treason for a mud fight?”


“You have no idea how much I’d risk for an honest-to-God mud fight between two hot women,” says Dee.


“It’s not really treason anyway,” says Dum. “Obi’s gonna let you go, it’s just a matter of timing. We’re not here to keep human prisoners. He’s overemphasizing your risk to us.”


“Why?” I ask.


“Because he wants to recruit you and that guy you came with. Obi’s an only child, and he doesn’t understand,” says Dee. “He thinks keeping you around for a few days will get you to change your mind about leaving us.”


“But we know better. A few days of singing patriotic songs ain’t going to convince you to abandon your sister,” says Dum.


“Got that right, brother,” says Dee.


They bump fists. “Damn straight.”


I look at them. They really do understand. They’d never leave each other behind. Maybe I have genuine allies. “Do I really have to do this silly fight to get your help?”


“Oh, yeah,” says Dee. “No question.” They both grin at me like mischievous little boys.


“How do you know all this stuff? About my sister? What Obi’s thinking?”


“It’s our job,” says Dum. “Some people call us Dee-Dum. Other people call us spymasters.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down dramatically.


“Okay, Spymaster Dee-Dum, what did my friend on the fight?” It doesn’t matter of course, but I still want to know.


“Interesting.” Dee arches his brow in a knowing fashion. “Of all the things you could have asked when you found out we deal in information, you pick that one.”


My cheeks warm despite the frozen peas on my jaw. I try not to look like I wish I could take back my question. “What are you, in kindergarten? Just tell me already.”


“He that you’d last in the ring for at least seven minutes.” Dum rubs his freckled cheek. “We all thought he was crazy.” Seven minutes is a long, long time to get hammered by giant fists.


“Not crazy enough,” says Dee. His smile is so boyish and pre-disaster that it’s almost possible to forget we live in a world gone mad. “He should have that you’d win. He woulda raked it in. Man, the odds were so far against you.”


“I he could take down Boden in two minutes,” says Dum. “That guy’s got badass written all over him.”


“Ninety seconds, flat,” says Dee.


I’ve seen Raffe fight. My would be on ten seconds, assuming Boden didn’t have a rifle like he did the night he caught us. But I don’t say that. Doesn’t make me feel any better that he didn’t jump in to play the hero.


“Get us out tonight and you’ve got a deal,” I say.


“Tonight’s awfully short notice,” says Dee.


“Maybe if you could promise you’ll rip Anita’s shirt off…” Dum gives me his little-boy smile.


“Don’t push your luck.”


Dee holds up a slim leather case and dangles it like bait. “How about a bonus for ripping her shirt off?”


My hands fly to my pants pocket where my lock picking set should be. My pocket is flat and empty. “Hey, that’s mine!” I make a grab for it but it disappears from Dee’s hand. I hadn’t seen him move. “How’d you do that?”


“Now you see it,” says Dum, waving the case. How it got from Dee to Dum I have no idea. They’re standing next to each other but still, I should have seen something. Then it’s gone again. “Now you don’t.”


“Give it back, now, you thieving bastards. Or the whole thing’s off.”


Dum gives Dee a sad clown face. Dee arches his brow in a comic expression.


“Fine,” Dee sighs. He hands me back my lock picking set. This time, I was watching for it, but I still didn’t see it moving from Dum to Dee. “Tonight it is.”


Dee-Dum flash identical grins at me.


I shake my head and stomp off before they can steal any more of my things.