World After

“Mostly,” says Doc as he inserts the video into the rectangular machine below the TV. They both look ancient. Even though the screen is small, the rest of the TV is fat and heavy looking, like something out of one of my dad’s old photos. “It was the fastest way to get them out of here so we can talk about what really matters.”

“And what’s that?”

“Your sister.”

“Why is she so important?”

“She probably isn’t.” He glances at me sideways, giving me the impression that he thinks otherwise. “But I’m desperate.”

He’s not making much sense, but I don’t care as long as I can see the video. He presses a button on the machine below the TV set.

“That thing really works?”

He scoffs. “What I wouldn’t give for a computer.” He fiddles with the dials and buttons on the old TV.

“It’s not like anyone is stopping you. Computers litter the Bay Area, ready for the taking.”

“Angels aren’t exactly a fan of man’s machines. They prefer playing with life and the creation of new and hybrid species. Although I get the impression they’re not really supposed to be doing that.” He says this last part in a mumble, like he’s talking to himself. “I’ve snuck some equipment in but the infrastructure on this rock was far from state-of-the-art to begin with.”

“The stuff out there looks pretty cutting edge.” I nod toward the window. “Way more than what was in the aerie basement.”

Doc raises his eyebrows. “You saw the aerie basement?”

I nod.

He cocks his head like a curious dog. “Yet, here you are. Alive to tell me about it.”

“Believe me, I’m as surprised as anyone.”

“The aerie lab was our first,” he says. “I still clung to the old ways back then—the human ways. It required test tubes, electricity, and computers, but they wouldn’t let me have a lot of what I needed. The angels’ resistance to human technology hampered me in ways that made that lab into some kind of 1930s Frankenstein basement.”

He presses PLAY on the video machine. “Since then, I’ve grown to like the angelic ways. They’re more elegant and effective.”

A grainy, gray picture of a dismal room appears on the screen. A cot, a bedside table, a steel chair. It’s hard to tell if it used to be a jail cell for solitary confinement or sleeping quarters for a sad bureaucrat.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Somewhere along the line, somebody installed a surveillance system on this rock. Not surprising, considering it was a busy tourist attraction. I added sound in some of the rooms. The angels obviously don’t know they’re being watched, so don’t go around a

On the screen, the metal door of the room slams open. Two shirtless angels shuffle in holding a giant between them. Even through the grainy video, I recognize the demon Beliel. He has a bloody bandage wrapped around his stomach.

Behind them is another angel who looks familiar. I can’t tell the color of his wings in the grainy video but I’m guessing it’s burnt orange. I remember him from the night Paige was taken, the night he and his buddies cut Raffe’s wings. He holds little Paige in one arm like a sack of potatoes.

Her face is uncut and her legs dangle, atrophied and useless. She looks tiny and helpless. This must be the night Paige was kidnapped.

“Is that your sister?” asks Doc.

I nod, unable to say anything.

Burnt angel tosses Paige toward the shadowy corner of the room.

“You’re sure you want to see this?” asks Doc.

“I do.” I don’t. I want to throw up at the thought of anything that might have happened while I wasn’t around to protect her.

But I have no choice. I’m compelled to watch the rest of the video.

THE BLURRY blob flying into the corner resolves into my sister again when she lands with a thud. I cringe as she bounces off the wall and crumples on her useless legs.

A tiny squeal of pain escapes from her, but no one in the room seems to notice.

Burnt angel has already forgotten about her as he lifts Beliel’s legs. They toss him onto the cot. Beliel comes down onto the squeaking springs. He looks dead. I wish it were true.

Behind them, my baby sister drags herself further into the shadowy corner and cringes there. She pulls up her legs with her hands to curl them against her chest in a fetal position as she watches the angels with huge, terrified eyes.

Beliel’s unconscious head lolls at an uncomfortable angle against the metal bar that serves as a headboard. All they’d have to do is pull him down a little and he could lie in relative comfort. But they don’t.

Another angel comes in with a plate of sandwiches and a large glass of water. He lays the food and water on the bedside table. While he does that, two of the angels exit, leaving Burnt and the delivery guy.

“Not so bossy now, is he?” says Burnt.

“I wonder how deep that cut went into his stomach muscles?” says the one who brought in the sandwiches. “You think he can reach the food?”

Burnt casually pulls the rickety table just out of Beliel’s reach. “Not any more.”

The angels give each other sly grins. “We brought food and water like we’re supposed to. Is it our fault if he can’t sit up and reach it?”

Burnt curls his lip like he wants to kick Beliel. “He’s got to be the bossiest, nastiest, most self-important reject I’ve ever had to work with.”

“I’ve worked with worse.”

“Who?”

“You.” The angel laughs as he shuts the door behind them as they leave.

Page huddles in the dark, apparently completely forgotten. She must be getting hungry and thirsty herself.

If she could walk, she could have snuck over and snagged a sandwich. But without her wheelchair, she would have had to slowly drag herself across the floor, grab it, and drag herself back. It could be done but I can see why she wouldn’t try. It’s hard to feel like you can steal something when you can’t run.

The video fades out.

When it turns back on, there’s light coming into the room, probably from a small window somewhere off camera. Time has passed. It’s hard to guess how much.

A painful growl rises to a howl of angry frustration. Beliel is awake and trying to sit up. He flops back onto the cot with a disgusted grunt.

He lies there panting, seemingly unaware of Paige still curled on the stone floor in the corner. Bright blood stains the bandages wrapped around his waist. He turns his head and stares at the water. He reaches out without leaning forward. The table with the sandwiches is just beyond reach.

However hungry and thirsty he is, Paige must be hungrier and thirstier. She’s tiny. She doesn’t have much stored up.

Beliel drops his hand and slams it against the cot. He grunts in anger and pain as the motion tears at his wound.

He lies back, trying to stay still. He gulps a dry gulp and looks at the glass of water on the table.

He takes a deep breath as if to brace himself and reaches out again. This time, he manages to stretch a little farther but not far enough. He pants through gritted teeth as he inches forward toward the water. The pain must be enormous. If it had been anyone else, I would have felt sorry for him.

He gives up with a frustrated grunt and slumps back down. His face is contorted in pain.

Paige must have moved or made a noise because he suddenly glares into the corner.

“What are you doing here?”

Paige shrinks back against the wall.

“Did they send you here to spy on me?”