River
We drove through the town, searching for somewhere to stop. After a few minutes, Hawk parked in front of a handful of homes still in relatively decent condition. The four of us approached the best looking house with the least amount of vines and vegetation trying to take it over. I didn’t know what our odds were of finding running water inside, but I was willing to have my hopes crushed rather than just sitting around in gargoyle blood all day.
Stepping onto the sagging porch, I spotted the remains of chipped red paint peeling away from the house. As I walked across the porch, one of the boards cracked under my foot and gave way an inch before catching.
When I was sure it wouldn’t collapse, I lifted my head to study the street. I held my breath as my gaze darted over the hushed roadway. The cracking sound probably hadn’t been that loud, but it still echoed in my ears and I was certain that if anything or anyone was lurking nearby, they’d heard the sound.
“It’s fine,” Hawk said. “It wasn’t that loud.”
I tore my attention away from the roadway as Corson turned the doorknob. He pushed against the door, but the swollen wood held firm in its frame. Resting his hand on the door, he leaned his shoulder into it and shoved harder against the wood. It gave way beneath his weight with a crack of wood and a squeak of rusted hinges.
He swept inside in a crouched position with his talons fully extended. The rest of us had our guns in hand, but I didn’t think we’d get a chance to fire them before Corson eviscerated any threat coming at us. The tips of his claws scraped across the wood floor, gouging its surface and kicking up dust as he moved.
Stepping into the house, I froze and sucked in a breath as I looked around. It was like opening a time capsule; it appeared as if nothing within had been touched since the day the bombs had fallen. The layer of dust covering everything was so thick that if I’d had allergies, I’d be in the middle of an attack so bad right now, I’d sneeze all the dust out of the room. The scent of mildewed, old, rotten wood hit me, causing me to wrinkle my nose at the oppressive smell.
Behind me, Erin sneezed and my nose tickled so badly my eyes watered. I walked into the living room behind Corson, my eyes going to the dust-coated pictures on the mantle and the single, small sunflower sprouting in the center of the chimney.
I had no idea how the flower had gotten there, perhaps dropped down the chimney by a bird or dragged in by some animal, but the cheery yellow flower was the only spot of color amongst the gray enshrouding the home. Its head tilted back to absorb the small stream of light filtering down the chimney. My eyes were riveted on it as I was torn between being awed by the sign of life and beauty continuing on here, or crying from the emptiness and loss encompassing this place.
This had once been someone’s home, and now it was nothing but a rotting structure. I tore my eyes away from the flower and back to the rest of the house. Pictures still lined the wall, but there was so much dust on the glass I couldn’t see what was held within their frames. Knitting needles and a basket of thread sat next to the rocking chair beside the fireplace.
I rubbed my hands over the goose bumps popping out on my arms. I’d been so focused on everything in here that I hadn’t noticed the others had already moved on. I found them in the kitchen, standing by the sink. Erin was turning the faucet on and off but no water came out.
“Probably tree roots in the pipes,” Hawk said.
“Could be a well and, with no electricity, the pump won’t work,” Vargas said.
“Possibly,” Hawk agreed. “Either way, it doesn’t do us any good.”
Corson jerked his head toward the back door. “We’ll try the next house.”
I followed them outside and across the backyard to the house next door. My eyes scanned over the growing trees and woods creeping in. Before, I’d heard the laughter of those who had once resided here; now their tears and screams of terror resonated within me as they’d fled from the war baring down on them.
I felt hollow inside, empty and cold despite the nearly hundred-degree temperature of the day. Death hung heavily on my soul when we arrived at the back porch of the next house.
The door was already partially open. Either it had never been closed by the people fleeing, or it had been reopened by an unseen hand. Corson led the way inside again. The dust coating in this house wasn’t as thick as it was in the other one, but rotting leaves, dirt, and assorted debris littered the once tiled floor.
The others walked over to the kitchen faucet while I made my way into the living room and stood staring at the thick, green vines growing through the floor. The vines had twisted their way up the front of the gray stone fireplace to allow only peeks of the old splendor to show through the vegetation.
Something about the fireplace drew me toward it. Unable to resist, I walked across the floor and stepped carefully around the rotting floorboards to stand before the fireplace. The thick vines scraped against my skin when I shoved my hand through their drooping green leaves. The granite mantle of the fireplace was cool against my skin as I felt blindly over it.
My hand enclosed around a picture frame and I pulled it forward. I wiped away the dust covering the glass to reveal the fading picture within. The edges of the photo had curled in, but I could make out the family portrait. A man and woman smiled proudly as they stood behind two little boys and one younger girl. All of the children smiled broadly, each of them showing off at least one missing tooth.
I held the photo before me, unable to tear my gaze away from the family that didn’t exist anymore. I don’t know how I knew it; I just knew the family in this picture had no longer been the same before the war had even erupted.
“There’s no water here, either,” Corson said.
My eyes remained on the photo, my fingers resting on the face of the little girl as she stared at me from beyond the glass. Stared at me from a world beyond this one, a world I couldn’t touch, or perhaps I somehow could.
Where had that idea come from? I shook my head to try to clear my mind of the strange notion that I could somehow reach out and communicate with the girl, wherever she was.
Not here, not anymore. Gone beyond this plane. Taken from her family before the war.
“River.”
My hands tightened around the frame as I struggled to tear my attention away from the photo.
“Did you hear me?” Corson asked.
“No water here,” I said in a hoarse voice.
“We’re going to move on.”
“Wait.”
“For what?”
I didn’t have an answer for him, but I knew there was something in this house I was meant to see, something more than what was in this room. Moving away from him, I walked toward the stairs. I peered into the dark shadows obscuring the top half of them before jogging up them with no concern about what might lie ahead, or that they might give way beneath my weight.
“River!” Corson hissed from behind me.
Arriving at the top of the stairs, I stood in the hall for a couple of seconds. Dim light filtered in from around the dingy curtains at the end of the hall. Dust motes danced in the air as I strode forward to stand before the first door on my right. Years ago, I’d stopped questioning any weird instinct guiding me forward or my visions. I’d never had answers for any of my questions until I’d met Kobal.
He’d finally explained what I was, what made me so different from all the other seemingly normal people around me. Though I may not have liked the answers he gave me, I didn’t deny they were the right ones. Now, I didn’t question the things I experienced or saw in a vision, because I knew they would reveal something to me that had to be seen.
I gripped the knob on the door and twisted it. The door remained closed, the wood swollen from the elements and years of neglect. Pressing my shoulder against the wood, I pushed on it a couple of times before putting my entire body behind it and shoving hard.
“River!” Corson bit out in exasperation as he reached the top stair and turned toward me in the hallway.
The door finally gave way beneath my weight and flung open. I stumbled forward a step before catching myself. The door crashed against the wall and bounced back toward me, but my hand shot out to stop it from closing again. I took a startled step back as I gazed in disbelief at the room before me.
It was the little girl’s room, or at least I assumed it was because of the canopy bed and the cotton-candy-colored walls. The fabric of the canopy had faded over the years and the dust on top of it made it difficult to discern the color, but there were still some bright pink patches showing through the dirt and age.
My gaze roamed over the room, my heart leaping and crashing in such a strange way I wondered if I was having some kind of heart attack. Everywhere I looked, the faces of angels stared back at me. There weren’t merely one or two of them, not even a dozen or so, but hundreds, perhaps thousands of them lining the floor-to-ceiling shelves of the room.
All of the angels’ little cherubic faces were dusty, but I could still make out their different expressions and poses. Most of them were in prayer, some had their wings stretched outward, and others were playing with each other with clouds beneath their feet. Some were porcelain dolls, others were miniatures, and more than a few had been hand-carved and painted.
I’d never seen anything like it. They were beautifully strange, yet something about them made my skin crawl. There were so many.
Beside me, Corson’s mouth hung open. His eyes surveyed the room as if the angels were going to come to life and fly at him. After everything I’d seen since leaving my normal life behind, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did come alive, but I didn’t think it was going to happen. At least, I really hoped it didn’t. I didn’t believe that whatever had drawn me here was bad, but I couldn’t think of anything more terrifying than these figurines coming to life right now.
My gaze fell on a sign hanging by the window. The floor creaked beneath my feet as I walked over to pull the sign from the wall. I wiped away the dust to reveal the name, Angela, painted on it in pink.
I traced my fingers over her name as images unfurled within my mind; images of laughter and happiness before all the anguish and loss. The days of a young girl playing with her brothers on the playground, then later lying in her bed with her stuffed animals crowded around her while her body wasted away.
Never before had I been able to see into another’s life like this before. I didn’t know if it would ever happen again, or if I was only meant to see Angela’s short life, but this new development didn’t frighten me.
“They called her their angelic Angela,” I murmured. “Cancer took her too young.”
“Why would you say that?” Hawk asked from behind me.
I glanced over at where he stood just inside the doorway with an expression nearly identical to Corson’s as he surveyed the room. They both looked prepared to defend themselves against an impossible angel uprising. Vargas appeared behind him, his eyes widened as he surveyed the room, and his fingers brushed over his cross before his hand fell back to his side. Beside him, Erin took one step into the room before quickly stepping back.
“Sometimes I just know things,” I answered and returned the sign to where it hung on the wall.
Tilting my head back, I lifted my hand to the mobile over my head. My fingers slid over the cherubs hanging from it and dancing in the air beneath my touch. I turned away from the mobile and moved closer to the window to stare out at the hushed street.
I bit my lip, suppressing a gasp as the shimmering image of a young girl standing on the sidewalk materialized before me. Her wheat blonde hair hung in ringlets around her shoulders, her kelly-green eyes were vivid in the sun spilling around and through her transparent body. She looked the same as Angela, the girl in the picture downstairs, and she wore the same red and white checkered sundress from the picture.
I knew it wasn’t real, that the little girl didn’t exist, but I couldn’t look away from her. There had been a lot of strange occurrences in my life, some I’d written off and forgot, others had stuck with me, but nothing like this had ever happened before. I closed my eyes and rubbed them with my fingertips. When I opened them again, she was still standing there, a see-through vision who held my gaze.
“Do you see her?” I inquired when Corson walked over to stand next to me.
“Who?”
I wasn’t surprised by his answer, but I’d still hoped that someone else could see her too. “No one. I thought I saw someone, but I was wrong.”
The little girl continued to stare at me, her pretty features sparkling with the rays of the sun filtering through her body. Angelic would have been the best way to describe her. I flattened my fingers against the glass as the girl wavered and vanished before blinking back into form further across the road. She turned and lifted her hand to point at the horizon. I followed her finger until I spotted something standing along the tree line on a distant hillside.
“What are those?” I inquired and pointed toward the shapes moving swiftly across the ground. I didn’t know if it was the distance, a trick of the light, or if they were really doing it, but they seemed to be floating across the earth.
Corson’s eyes narrowed as he studied where I’d indicated. “Lanavours,” he grated. I recalled the name from last night and the creatures roaming the city. “We have to get out of this town.”
“What about Kobal?” I demanded.
“He’ll find you, but not if they find us first. We don’t have enough weapons or people to deal with them, and believe me, you do not want to deal with them. The gargoyles were more fun.”
Those words made my blood run cold. Anything worse than a gargoyle was something I preferred not to mess with. Turning away from the window, I snatched one of the angels from the shelf. I had no idea what possessed me to do such a thing, but it felt right in my hand as I rushed out the door after the others.