“You just don’t pull back the Apocalypse,” Minister Paul, the Baptist says, “it doesn’t work that way. Oh Lordy Lord. The Four Horsemen. Oh, Lordy Lord Lord.”
“So this burning man,” the Imam named Azad says, leaning close, “he wishes you to recant your prayer to God?”
“Yes.” I sigh. “He needs me to cancel my prayer so the world will end. The burning man is responsible for all this. He has some sort of, I don’t know, biblical weapon of mass destruction.”
“The burning man must be the Herald of War,” Adam, the Mormon Elder, says, “What did he say to that other man? The one you met in the graveyard? Who was he?”
“He was dressed really well,” I say, “and he kept talking about when I died, and how my soul was dead but I lived on.”
“Pestilence?” the Jewish Rabbi, Saul, says, “or Famine? Did he look like he was starving? Did he have a quiver of diseased arrows?”
“He didn’t have any arrows, Jesus, I don’t know who these people are. Maybe there’s an answer in the Bible, does anyone have one?”
I pick from about twenty offered to me, and in moments, everybody is flipping through their copy.
“Revelation, 6:1-8,” John says, “And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.
And I saw, and behold a white horse, and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him, and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.”
“The man with the crown and the white horse,” I say, “I met him. He was pretty nice, he had an army, and a tent. I didn’t see a bow though. He explained everything to me.”
“He’s typically called Pestilence,” Adam says, “this is the guy with the bow and the diseases, right? Did he have any diseases? Did he look sickly?”
“He looked fine to me,” I say, “Seriously, what in the that says he spreads diseases with a bow? From the Bible this guy just sounds like a king, maybe a conqueror. You people read too many comic books.”
“She could be right,” Saul says, “we have let popular culture define who these horsemen are. Perhaps the king on the white worse is not the harbinger of disease, but instead a false prophet or leader of men into war. John, next quote please, and Jessica, let us know if any of these men sound familiar.”
John continues, “And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.
And there went out another horse that was red, and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the Earth, and that they should kill one another, and there was given unto him a great sword.”
“War,” I say, and everyone nods, “this guy was on fire, literally. He came out of the sky like a meteor and blew up miles of graveyard. Just looking at him nearly killed me, he’s so powerful the others cannot deal with him anymore.”
“Perhaps War himself has grown to be too powerful in our own lives?” The Imam sighs. “Perhaps this is Mankind’s doing? We may have brought this upon ourselves.”
“You saying because we made War so important in our lives, it makes him stronger?” Paul says, “What are we supposed to do, sign a peace treaty and make this guy go away?”
Michael shakes his head. “I could say a worldwide peace treaty among all of man would do all of us a bunch of good, don’t you say?”
“Never gonna happen,” I say, resting on the couch and rubbing my eyes, “anyone got any better ideas?”
“We need to fight and defeat War somehow?” Adam shrugs. “Who was he meeting with? One of the other two, right?”
“The old guy, the rich one who was with me looking at my grave. War came to him, the man on the black horse. That is the same horse that found me and pulled me into this mess.”
“I think this is him, listen,” John says and continues reading, “And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.
And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine.”
“Famine,” Michael says, wincing, “the third horseman.”
“I never saw famine in him, nor balances or scales,” I say, “just a rich guy, like a businessman.”
“Perhaps this man is in the business of war?” Saul says, “Perhaps this is another misinterpretation of our popular culture.”
“Those who deal in the weapons of war,” the Imam says, “are the merchants of death itself. Beware those whom profit from the winds of conflict, the flames of hatred, and the false leaders who bring us to the precipice of war.”
“So the king on the white horse is evil?” I shake my head. “He seemed nice enough, and he wanted to help me.”
“Never trust a stranger with smooth words and whom says he only wishes to help,” Saul says, “he could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His explanations of all this should be taken with a huge grain of salt.”
“He has my sword,” I say, “and my armor. Given to me by the fourth one.”
John closes his book as he recites the final psalm from memory, “And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.
And I looked, and behold a pale horse, and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the Earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the Earth.”
“Death,” I say, “the skeleton guy. The comic books got one part right, I suppose. He tried to sew my mouth shut but I stopped him.”
“Eww,” Adam says, “why do that?”
“Angels of death do not need to ask questions,” Saul says, “they just take souls to Heaven. Perhaps he was doing it as a professional favor?”
I stare at the Rabbi. “What angel of death?”
“Azrael,” the Imam says from beside me, “the Angel of Death. He is not in any Christian Bible, but he is a figure in many traditions, such as Muslim, Judaism, or Sikh. Black wings it is said he has. We Muslims believe angels have no free will, but act upon the will of God only. You have Azrael’s wings, but I wonder if you are a true angel.”
“I have no idea what I am.” I rest my head in my hands. “Maybe this is God’s will. Maybe I’m not a true angel, but I’m sort of halfway there. Maybe I can’t hear God.”
“If these are Azrael’s wings,” Adam says from behind me, touching one of my feathers, “then where is he?”
I look up. “I honestly don’t know. If I would have met him, I would have asked.”
“Maybe someone cut his wings off?” Paul says, “And you got them? Lordy Lord, who would capture an angel of death and do that? They must be looking for a world of pain.”
My eyes open wide. I stand up.
“I know where he is.”
CHAPTER XXII:
It’s Me in the Mirror
I’m washing my face in the church’s womens’ room, alone in one of the back halls. I bury my face in the rag again, and let the hot water soak away all my fears. I look at myself, and realize it’s not going to get rid of them all.
I dry my face with a towel, and inspect my rifle on the marble counter. AK-47. Seven full military magazines. Over two-hundred rounds of ammunition. Adam said each clip is only three seconds of firing, and to save my shots by firing singles.
There’s a banging on the door. “Jessica?” John’s voice.
I stare at myself in the mirror. “I’m still here, what?”
“Jessica you know the where but not the what or why,” the pastor says from the other side, “and you have no idea if Azrael is even a friend, or if he is even still alive.”
“I have something of his,” I say, shifting my wings. “Those men came for me, they captured me because of who I am. They only care about the wings, not me, not Azrael.”
“How can you be sure those aren’t the king’s men, the first horseman’s?” Adam’s voice.
“These men spoke Latin, some ancient dialect,” I say, pulling some gunk out of my left eye, “King Tanas’ men spoke English, or at least I understood him.”
I pause. “Different banners too.”
“You can’t be sure they still have Azrael,” John says, “and you can’t be sure Azrael won’t kill you to get his wings back, if those are his.”
“I need to know.” I stare at myself. “Even if he is my enemy, I need to know.”
Adam says, “If you leave, we may never see you again.”
I slide the clips back into the rifle pouches, and snap each one closed. “Consider our short time together to be a gift, I guess. It’s good to see all of you coming together in a time like this. It gives me hope for the world.”
I sling the belt of ammunition over my shoulder. “What little of it we have left.”
I close my eyes and focus. I need to return to that cell, the one I left after I had been captured. I focus on the men in white tunics with red crosses, and their strange way of speaking. I remember how sore my head was after being pummeled, kicked, and punched and knocked unconscious. I focus on all of the men there with swords, weapons, and armor, and grip my rifle tight.
Can I fight them all with one gun?
The door opens and Adam walks in. “Jessica?”
I drop my head. “You’re not supposed to be in here, Adam.”
He looks around, blushing. “I know, but still. Jessica, please. You don’t have to do this. God will work everything out.”
I look at him, and he seems young for a church elder, blond hair, tied in a ponytail, thick rimmed glasses, and his typical white shirt and black slacks. He’s cute in a way, like Brad, and maybe in another life I could fall for someone like this. Maybe.
“I’m fine, Adam, thank you,” I say, “I have to do this alone.”
He touches my arm. My skin tingles to his touch. “You don’t have to do this alone, Jessica. We can help, and God is always with you. Just, just don’t-”
“What?” I look at him. “You’re not even like me, I don’t even believe what you believe, hell, sorry, I have never been very religious myself. They picked the wrong person to fight God’s war with these people.”
He lets out a long breath. “Jessica, it’s not too late. Just, just don’t make a decision you will regret, it’s all I ask. With who you are, and I don’t pretend to understand it, but you have power, and you need to be responsible-”
“I don’t know what responsible is anymore,” I say, closing my eyes, “I just need to finish this, to find some way to escape, to get away and hide, to save my family in my other life, and to…I’ve given up trying to understand this a long time ago. I’m just trying to survive.”
“We make rash decisions without guidance and direction in our lives,” he says, fixing my hair.
Something about his voice soothes me, and I feel myself calm and relax. Part of me wants to curl up in a ball somewhere and fall asleep. No, not asleep. “I can’t stop. I need to see this through. Just go, you are making this hard enough on me as it is.”
I let out an exasperated sigh, once, twice, and then I turn to him. “Adam, I-”
He’s gone.
“Adam?”
I walk over to the door and peer out into the hall. Nothing.
“Adam?”
I check the stalls in the women’s room. Nothing. Jesus, why do I need this right now? He’s probably heartbroken or something, I’m just a little younger than him, I’m an angelic figure, and he probably has feelings for me. He could be so shocked out of his mind on a terrible day like this he’s ready to take hold onto anybody, and a beautiful young girl walking into church who proves your beliefs is probably a lot for him to handle.
I walk back out into the hall. “Adam?”
Pastor John leans out of another door in the hall. “Jessica, angel, yes?”
“Have you seen Adam?”
He shakes his head no.
“Thanks.”
I walk back into the women’s room. Great, well, if I never see you again, I hope you have a wonderful life and make it to Heaven some day, Adam.
I stare at myself in the mirror. “Look me up.”
As if I don’t have enough distractions and-
Doubts. I need to clear the doubts from my mind. I need to focus, to picture myself in the room, to feel the cold, dark surroundings like they were around me now, to peer out the small barred window in the door, and to feel the pain and the fear of waking up in a cold cell.
Is two-hundred rounds going to be enough? What if they shoot me with their crossbows? How many men do they have?
I bite my lip, the doubts are clouding my thoughts and distracting me. I focus on the room again, feeling the coldness of the floor, and focusing on the cell. Return to the darkness. Return to the darkness. Go back into the cell. Calm myself.
Focus.
CHAPTER XXIII:
I Can’t Do This Alone
I stand up from behind the diner’s counter. “No need to look for me, I’m right here.”
Colonel Becks and a dozen chemical-suited soldiers aim their guns directly at me.
“Aww hun,” Velma says as she winces, “you could of kept hiding under there.”
Vijay sits in a booth, defeated, while the trooper Jeff shares a dirty look with the colonel.
“Put your gun down!” One of the soldiers shouts, and the rest start closing in on me. I put my rifle on the counter. Slowly.
It seems every eye and gun in the diner is upon me.
I unfurl my wings, and the diner goes silent.
Velma drops into a chair. “Jesus Christ.”
I can see the colonel’s eyes go wide under his mask.
“You know about these?” I lean over the counter towards him. “You know what’s going on here? Do you know who I am?”
“Wings down!” Men are shouting, pointing rifles, taking cover inside booths and behind counters, their rifles all aimed at me. “Wings down!”
The Colonel holds his hand up, and slowly opens it. “Lower your weapons.” An uncomfortable pause hangs in the diner. “I said lower your weapons, now!”
Colonel Becks reaches under his neck, and pulls his chemical suit’s hood off. He’s an older man, cropped gray hair, baby-blue eyes, and a scar-marked face. He looks me up and down. “Azrael, angel of death?”
“You just said you were looking for him,” I say, “I presume. Well, I’m not him, but I have his wings. I need to know why you are looking for him.”