Natural Born Angel (Immortal City 2)
The cement tunnel was about three metres high, overgrown with algae and mould, and absolutely filthy. Putrid sewer air wafted out at him as Sylvester peered into the tunnel’s gaping mouth.
Garcia’s eyes grew wide as he saw the tunnel. “Are we going in there?”
Sylvester nodded. He wiped his glasses with his shirt. “I am. You don’t have to come, Bill. I’d understand.”
Sergeant Garcia put a hand on the detective’s shoulder. “If you think I’m letting you go in there alone, you’re crazy.” He drew his service revolver.
Sylvester put his hand in the pocket of his overcoat and gripped for comfort the King James Bible he had. Then he, too, drew his pistol.
He turned on a small torch, cutting the darkness with a delicate white beam, and, trembling with anticipation, stepped carefully into the tunnel.
Water sloshed around their feet, and the smell that drifted up to his nose nearly made him gag. Still, they pressed on. The splashing of the water echoed in the tunnel.
Something was different about this tunnel. Something unusual. As he made his way deeper into its stinking blackness, he realized the air was getting . . . warmer. The cold, dark air of the river was quickly becoming hot – startlingly hot – and muggy. Beads of sweat jumped out on Sylvester’s forehead and he wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket. His glasses were becoming fogged, difficult to see through. Steam thickened in the air with each step until it was nearly too painful to breathe. Finally, just as Sylvester was thinking about turning back, he saw that the tunnel opened up into a larger, cavernous space, like a large concrete box.
Sylvester put his arm across Garcia’s chest. “Stay here, Bill.”
One step, then another. Sylvester crept towards the open cavern just ahead. He held his breath and stepped forward.
He shone his light into the cavern. The stark beam revealed a steaming charnel house. Sylvester gagged. All around were the filthy rags of the homeless men, their grisly, rotting carcasses somehow stacked into the walls and ceiling, dripping. Half-eaten skulls, rotting limbs, a severed foot still in a shoe. There were dozens upon dozens. A mass grave.
They’d been feeding.
Garcia had approached behind Sylvester. He looked at the scene. The sergeant quickly retreated, stumbling backwards away from the shocking, gory sight. The detective could hear him retching down the tunnel. After finishing, the sergeant walked back to Sylvester.
“They’re not fresh. Couple days, at least,” Sylvester said.
Punctuating the walls were smaller tunnels, all draining their contents into a shallow pool at the bottom of the room. Although the heat remained, there was no sign of the demons. And something in Sylvester’s gut told him they were gone. Had been called. For something else.
“They’re gone?” Garcia said.
“Yes, they’re gone.”
“Maybe they went away for good?” Garcia said.
Detective Sylvester shook his head slowly.
Before turning to leave the tunnel, he crossed himself. “May God help us all.”
CHAPTER 37
All across the Immortal City, the streets were nearly deserted, as both humans and Angels stayed inside. It was only a matter of time before the war would begin. A war no one would have imagined in Angel City even a month before. A war between humans and Angelkind.
A few stalwart tourist shops on Angel Boulevard remained open, selling “I WAS SAVED IN ANGEL CITY!” T-shirts to the occasional tourist who braved the eerily empty famous streets. Word was that the mayor was going to call a curfew at dusk, and that ACPD and National Guard units would be patrolling throughout the night. Up in the Angel City Hills, Angel families hid quietly behind their gated luxury homes, watching their best and brightest prepare for the unthinkable and join forces against the very humans they had once sworn to protect.
On the networks, normal programming had been pre-empted, and the news was running non-stop. In the diner, as Tom turned the channel to a local Angel City affiliate, the female anchor was serious and grave. He walked closer to the TV.
“Reports are coming in this morning of elite Angel forces manoeuvring in the desert outside Angel City. And word has come to us through confidential sources that if war breaks out, none other than Jackson Godspeed will be leading the Angel powers on the ground and in the air. It looks inevitable, with neither side willing to back down. Across the country, police and military are on full alert, with all active National Guard units called up and readying to enforce the international ban on Angel activities. Experts are unsure of what an Angel-versus-human battle could even look like, but some are saying the Immortals possess supernatural weapons that humans have never seen. President Linden is taking no chances.”
In a sight that seemed out of some surreal nightmare, the screen showed footage of tanks rolling down Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills, palm trees waving above them. The tanks settled outside the NAS headquarters, which the military had isolated and surrounded with weaponry and troops.
“And just an hour ago, Madison Montgomery Godright, the half-Angel, half-human who sparked the final stage of the human-Angel crisis and who has become a symbolic leader of this movement against Angel corruption, finally made a brief statement on the front lawn of her uncle’s house. In addition, Tom Cooper, U.S. Navy pilot, was with Godright during her statement.”
“Maddy, here you are,” Tom said, watching the TV. She stood up from the booth and looked at the screen.
At first, it showed stock footage of Maddy on the red carpet at her Commissioning, Jacks at her side. A knife of ambiguous pain plunged into Maddy’s heart. But the footage quickly cut to video of her statement an hour earlier.
The screen showed Maddy walking to a makeshift podium in Kevin’s front garden, under the morning sun. The podium teetered under an improbable number of microphones as news agencies around the world eagerly awaited word from America’s sweetheart. Behind her stood Uncle Kevin. And just off to the side, Tom stood stoically in his service dress uniform.