Angel Reign

The world after a very different biblical Armageddon.

Jordan took short, deliberate steps as he walked through the rubble in the street.  His white long coat was buttoned up almost to the collar.  His perfectly tied, crisp, straight, Azure blue, knit scarf kept his neck warm.  A short brimmed hat that matched his long coat with a ribbon band around it that matched his scarf finished off his attire, and kept the few flakes of ash and snow that were lightly falling in the still air out of his face.  His hands were deep inside his coat pockets as he walked.  He did not own any gloves.  He obviously could afford them, he just never found a pair that fit just right.  In the distance a jet engine roared.  As it got closer, he reflexively ducked as it screeched overhead and flew off into the distance.  It was obviously flying too fast to be patrolling the streets, but just to be safe, he quickened his pace. The glow of distant fires helped guide his footsteps as he made his way through the wreckage and debris to the one remaining warehouse that still stood in this part of town.  It was small, brick, and apparently didn’t hold anything of any importance when the retribution started.  What remained of the front door had the chalk mark on it that he had come to cherish.  A circle, slightly oval in shape with a line through it.

He pushed aside the door and entered the dark shadows of the warehouse.  It was mostly empty.  Its contents were looted years ago.  Even though Jordan could barely see, he somehow felt like he knew exactly where to go.  As secret as these type of places were, they always seemed to be set up in a similar fashion. In a corner, he found what he was looking for.  A stack of pallets covering what once was the stairs to the generators in the basement.  Quietly he moved one aside, took a few steps down, and then replaced the pallet to keep the stairs out of plain site.  He walked down to a metal door that had a familiar slide window cut into it with a welcome warmth emanating from the other side.  He knocked on the door and the window slid immediately.  A pair of bright white eyes against dark skin peered at him.

“Whaddya want?”  came the rough voice that was linked with the eyes.

“I’m looking for a way to waste some time.” Jordan said in a flat toneless way as though he were quoting a text book.

The eyes looked him up and down. “We don’t have anything someone like you would be looking for.”

As the window started to close Jordan began to plead, “I’m a friend,  I just want to come in out of the cold and sit for a moment. I won’t be any trouble.”

The eyes looked him over one more time. “Sorry, you don’t look like no friend to me.”

Before he could start closing the window again Jordan snapped, “Jesus Christ!  I just want to come in and have a Goddamn drink!”

This time the eyes stared at him intently for a long moment.  “You have any coin?”

“Of course I do.” Jordan said politely but with just a bit of anger in his voice.

The window closed, a number of loud clicks were heard, and the door opened.  Jordan walked into the room.  Before he could get more than a few steps in, a large, firm hand gripped his shoulder.  The eyes pierced his very soul as they looked at him once more from the shadows. “If you are what I think you are, you won’t leave here alive.”

Jordan meet his gaze, not even blinking and said, “I am not what you are thinking, and I understand your conditions.” He held the glare for a moment longer and was then let go.

“Down the hall, door on your right. Follow the lights.”

“Thank you,” said Jordan as he let out a short sigh of relief.

The room had electric lights that were not very bright, but were bright enough for a place like this.  He was guessing by the loud hum that came from one of the doors he passed in the hallway that they must have found some gas to run the old backup generators.  The place must have been a mechanical room at one time as the smell of kerosene and oil was in the air.  At least Jordan hoped that was why it smelled that way.  Mismatched tables and chairs were spread throughout the room.  The clientele of the establishment were equally as varied.   Some wore old military uniforms. Others wore whatever scraps of clothing they could find.  Some were grey haired, withered, broken men. Others were strong, muscular, young men with bodies toughened by hard labor. One thing was glaringly obvious to Jordan as he entered the room.  They were all individuals with dirty, torn clothing that sharply contrasted his clean white attire.

At one end of the room, boxes had been set up in front of a number of shelves to create a basic bar.  He sat on one of the stools next to the boxes.  He didn’t need to get the attention of the man behind the bar wearing a flannel button down shirt and ripped jeans.  The man had been watching him intently since he entered the room.

“I’d like a drink please” Jordan said as nicely as he could.

The bartender set a somewhat clean glass on the bar and reached back to one of the bottles on a lower shelf, never taking his eyes off of Jordan. “You’ll have to show some coin before you get something.  This ain’t no charity event.”

“I don’t want any of that local brewed stuff that might make you blind.” Jordan said rather bluntly. “I want some of the good stuff.”

The bartender stopped reaching for a bottle. If he was offended by Jordan’s accusations, he didn’t show it.  “That will cost quite a bit mister.”

Jordan reached into his pocket and pulled out a solid gold coin that he set on the table.  It had a flaming sword in its center surrounded by a pair of wings.  The unearthly letters forming some unreadable language that circled the edge of the coin were impossibly sharp and crisp.  The overall detail of the coin was superb.  It almost seemed like the flames around the sword moved and licked at the blade as you held it in the light. You could pick out the individual feathers on the wings, and if you happened to have a microscope handy you would have seen the veins in those feathers.

“I think I can cover it.”

The bartender didn’t  so much as reach for the coin.  He looked at Jordan with a blank expression for a moment, and then took down a bottle from the top shelf.  One that had a label on it.  He poured half a glass for Jordan, capped the bottle and put it back.  He looked over Jordans left shoulder, then his right, and generally sized him up.

“I don’t see no wings, no glow about you, certainly no halo, and your eyes are a nice normal brown.  Ya ain’t one of them, so where did you get that?”

Jordan had long ago learned that honesty worked best in situations like this.  Even though the bartender did not want to hear what Jordan was about to say, it was far better and easier than trying to make up a convincing lie and then making up lies to cover lies.  He grabbed his glass, took a deep heavy breath and said, “I got it as payment . . . I work for them.”

Before he could lift the glass to take a sip, the bartender put his hand over it and got right in Jordan’s face.  In a slow, steady, angered voice he said, “As you can obviously tell by the type of business I run, I ain’t very fond of your employers. If you’re an informant, I’ll have that rather large individual you talked your way past at the door tear your limbs off.”

Jordan had heard this exact same speech many times before and he had his practiced responses ready.  Without looking up at the bartender he said, “I’m not an informant.  If I was do you think I would be stupid enough to come in here dressed like this and pay with a coin like that?”

The bartender didn’t move his hand from the glass. “Well if you work for them, then why are you in here asking for a drink?”

Jordan looked up at the bartender and as plainly as he could he said, “Have you ever worked for an angel?”

The bartender frowned for a moment, nodded knowingly, and took his hand off the glass.  Jordan thanked him, and took as large of a gulp as he could from the glass.  It burned all the way down, as he held his breath for a moment, then felt like it set his mouth on fire as he exhaled.  He was glad he had asked for the good stuff.  As Jordan took a second, more cautious drink from his glass, the bartender took the coin off the table.  He placed it on a small piece of I-beam that he had on the floor behind the bar.  He took out a strange cross shaped tool and a hammer.  He squared up the cross on the coin and used the hammer to neatly cut the coin into four equal bits. Jordan saw a small spark come from the coin as the hammer cracked down on it.  He was certain he was the only one that saw it.  The bartender picked up the four pieces, pocketed one, and slid the rest across the bar top over to Jordan, one piece under each of three fingers.  Jordan reached for the pieces, but the bartender didn’t take his hand off of them until Jordan looked up at him one more time.

“I ain’t no thief” he said and then took his hand off the bits of coin.

“Of course you’re not.” Jordan said. “It’s a fair price.  Last place I was at didn’t have anything this good.”  He took two of the bits off the bar and put them in his pocket leaving one out in the open. “Think I’ll have another when I’m done with this one.”

The bartender smirked, “You know, I just don’t understand how they get off making drinking illegal.  I mean they kill and maim whoever they want. They destroy whatever they want.   Why just the other day I heard they fired some missiles into a daycare for unwed mothers.  Killed eight children, three of them babies,  and the volunteers that were taking care of them.  They do all that s**t in the name of God, but they forbid anyone from drinking.  Why do they think they can do that?”

Jordan looked deeply into the last swallow of alcohol in his glass.  The knowledge of hundreds of thousands of atrocities walled up behind his eyes in the deepest parts of his memories.  “Why do they think they can do any of the things they do?” he quietly asked no one in particular as he downed the rest of his drink.