The Fallen

CHAPTER TEN

There was another rumble of thunder and the windows in the living room rattled ominously. Aaron began to experience the same overpowering sense of panic he had felt in the guidance office when coming face-to-face with Camael.

“We need to get out of here,” he said, gazing up at the ceiling. “We…we should get Stevie to the hospital right away.”

Gabriel’s words echoed through Aaron’s head. “Something bad is coming.”

“I don’t know, Aaron,” Lori said. “He seems to be calming down.” She looked at her child; there was uncertainty and fear in her eyes.

Stevie’s struggles were indeed waning. He had screamed himself hoarse but still tried to squeak out his warning.

Tom leaned down and kissed the boy’s head. “I’ve never seen him like this before, maybe Aaron’s right. Maybe we should take him—just in case.”

“Good, we’ll take my car,” Aaron said quickly as he and Gabriel moved into the darkened kitchen.

“He doesn’t have any socks on,” he heard his mother say behind him. “Let me go upstairs and get his sneakers and socks. I should probably bring his coat, too, just in case…”

“We don’t have time for that, Mom,” Aaron barked. His panic was intensifying. “We have to get out of here right now.”

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to get away, to leave everything and run as fast as he could into the night. It took every ounce of his self-control not to leave his parents and little brother behind. Nothing would make him do that, in spite of what his senses were telling him. After so many tumultuous years in the foster care system, the Stanleys were the only people, the only family, who’d stuck it out with him, showering him with love, and more importantly, acceptance…

His foster dad came up from behind. “Take it easy, pal. He’ll be okay. There’s no reason to get crazy with your mother. I’ll get his shoes and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

“No time,” Gabriel said suddenly, staring at the kitchen door.

Clack!

They all jumped at the sudden sound as the deadbolt on the kitchen door slid sideways as if moved by some invisible force.

“What the hell is that?” Tom asked, trying to get around his son.

“Go,” Aaron said forcefully. “Take Mom and Stevie and go out the front door.”

The door began to slowly open with the high-pitched whine that Tom had been threatening to put oil to since the summer, and three men entered on a powerful gust of wind. Aaron’s senses were blaring and he winced in pain from their razor-sharp intensity. He knew what these men were. Not men at all.

Angels.

He was enthralled by the way they moved. They didn’t so much walk into the house as glide, as though on wheels or a conveyor belt.

“What is this?” Tom Stanley hollered, pushing Aaron out of the way. “Get the hell out of my house before I beat the livin’—”

It happened quickly. Tom advanced, fists clenched, intent on defending his home and family. Fire suddenly leaped from an invader’s hands and his father stumbled back, covering his eyes as he fell to the linoleum floor.

Aaron couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was just like his dream. The three invaders were holding swords. Swords made of fire.

“Call the police!” his father shouted as he struggled to stand.

Aaron ran to help him. “Get up! You have to get Mom and Stevie out of here.”

One of the invaders stalked slowly toward them, his face eerily illuminated by the light of his weapon. There was something u

“Do we frighten you, monkey?” the invader asked in a voice like nails ru

“Get away from them!” Lori screamed from the doorway to the living room.

In her arms she held the limp and nearly catatonic Stevie, his eyes large and glassy, like saucers. Gabriel stood by them, tensed, preventing her from entering the kitchen.

Aaron got his father to his feet and pushed him back toward the living room. The stranger raised his flaming sword above his head. Wings dappled with spots of brown dramatically unfolded from his back. Aaron and his father froze, awestruck by the sight of something they once believed to be purely of fiction—of myth.

The angel prepared to strike them down. “We are the Powers—the harbingers of your doom. Look upon us in awe!”

The blade of fire began its descent, and Aaron stepped in front of his father to take the hit. Suddenly there was a flurry of movement and a yellow-white blur passed over him with an unearthly grace, landing in front of the sword-wielding attacker and snarling ferociously.

Gabriel.

“No!” Aaron screamed as he watched his beloved friend lunge at the supernatural invader.

The dog’s jaws clamped down upon the wrist of the angel’s sword hand with a wet crunch, like the sound of celery being crushed between eager teeth. The sound made Aaron wince with imagined pain.

The sword of fire tumbled from the angel’s grasp to dissipate in a flash before it could touch the floor—and the creature began to scream. The sound was like nothing Aaron had ever heard before, part crow caw, part whale song, part the screech of brakes.

“What is happening?” Lori cried aloud, clutching her moaning child to her.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Tom shouted as he lunged toward his family and wrapped his arms protectively about them.

Gabriel dangled from the angel’s wrist, growling and thrashing, as if trying to sever the hand from the arm. The angel seemed stu

“It hurts, my brothers!” wailed the Powers soldier as he frantically tried to shake Gabriel loose. “The animal is not as it should be—it has been changed!”

The angel flailed his arm wildly and Gabriel finally released his grip, falling to the floor.

“Gabriel, come! Now!” Aaron yelled.

The Lab stayed where he had landed, in a crouch, baring his fangs and snarling at the angels. A thick black blood, like motor oil, streamed from the injured angel’s wounds to form glistening puddles on the yellow-check flooring.

“No,” said the dog between snarls. “Get Mom, Dad, and Stevie out. I will keep these beasts here.”

Aaron was torn. “I’m not leaving you!” he yelled.

But he knew that every second counted. Aaron quickly gathered up his family and ushered them toward the hallway. He would try to get them out the front door to his car and then come back for his friend.

They stepped through the kitchen door and stopped short. Another angel was crouched in the hall, going through his bookbag, its eyes glistening wetly in the darkness. “Going nowhere, silly monkeys,” it hissed.

A powerful gust of wind pummeled the house from outside and it creaked and moaned with the force of the blow. Aaron tensed, sensing that something bad was to follow. The front door explosively blew in, torn from its hinges, practically crushing the squatting angel against the wall, and driving Aaron and his family back toward the kitchen in a shower of debris.

Aaron shielded his eyes from pieces of flying matter, and when he looked up he saw that another of them now stood in the doorway, an angel with long white hair. The way this one stood—the way he carried himself—Aaron was certain he was in the presence of the leader, the one Zeke had called Verchiel.

The newcomer cocked his head strangely and surveyed all that was before him. Others slunk into the home behind their leader: all deathly pale, all wearing the same kind of clothes.