Judgment (15 page)

              For these last few moments I had forgotten about that. I knew we needed to leave, but something else inside me wouldn’t let me. A bizarre struggle went on in my mind, torn between leaving and somehow helping the very creature that might try to kill me. I don’t know why exactly, but I couldn’t walk away from this just yet. “They have a Judge in there, nailed to the wall.”

              “What?” Margie looked at me like I was nuts.

              “Yeah. They were…doing things to her.”

              Margie just stared at me. “Wait, you mean…? To a Judge?”

              “Yeah.” I stood and moved towards the door, the floating bits of the farmer drifting along behind me. “Stay here. I need to do something.”

              “No. Not again. I’m coming with you.”

              I couldn’t argue this time. I nodded agreement and stepped out onto the porch looking for the Judge to be returning from the field. “I don’t see him.”

              Margie scanned the sky with me, “Maybe he moved on.”

              I stared for a few more minutes, biting my lip with apprehension. Without any more words I began walking toward the barn, Margie following behind dragging a backpack and her hatchet. The sun was getting higher and hotter as we crossed the open field to the barn. The male judge never returned. Common sense would dictate that we just get the hell out of there, but something deep inside of me just wouldn’t allow it, some innate primordial sense of chivalry.

             
I’m an idiot
.

              Margie gasped as we stepped into the open barn doorway. “Oh my god.”

              The angel turned in our direction, her golden eyes scanning us without emotion. She was squirming slightly, pulling against the nails, small pieces of white feathers falling to mingle with the hay on the barn floor. She seemed to not be in pain, but wanting to be freed. I took a step forward and Margie grabbed me by the shoulder.

              “What the hell are you doing?”

              “I’m getting her down.”

              “Are you fucking insane? She’ll kill us Adam.”

              I thought about Margie’s words. I bit my lip some more, my apprehension wrestling with my chivalry. “I can’t walk away from this.” Margie just looked at me, not agreeing, but understanding. She tightened her grip on her hatchet and followed me.

              The angel stared at us as we approached, still pulling against the nails. I could see the muscles in her arms tensing, her wings undulating against their restraints. Margie stopped about ten feet away. “Are you sure about this?”

             
No.

              I kept moving past the angel, to her left side. Her head turned slowly and her eyes followed me the entire way, studying my movements intensely, and I found myself drawn to keeping eye contact. Partly from fear, but mostly her stare was simply mesmerizing and hypnotic. Once engaged it was hard to pull away from. It drew you in, soothed you, despite the potential death that came with it. It was like standing on the edge of the cliff, feeling the overwhelming urge to simply fall forward.

              Reaching towards a pile of tools on a nearby workbench, I grabbed a large pair of pliers. As I approached the angel, she tilted her head at an angle, studying me in a new way, analyzing my actions. Just arm’s length away, I swallowed hard as I reached out with a shaky hand and gripped the first nail with the rusty pliers.

              “Be careful Adam.” Margie warned, backing a few steps away, raising her hatchet to a ready position. The angel momentarily looked to Margie, but quickly disregarded her, turning back to meet my stare as I began to remove the first nail from her hand. She made no sound at all, but just silently watched me, her golden eyes never blinking. I tugged on the nail but it wouldn’t move. I took one hand and pressed it against her wrist for leverage while I pulled with the other. As soon as I touched her flesh, I felt a mild tingle run up my arm, almost like an electric shock. It reminded me of sticking a nine volt battery against my tongue when I was a kid.

              I saw the angel looking at me differently when we touched, her head tilting slightly from side to side. Then I felt her in my mind. I heard her voice, musical and poetic. Her lips didn’t move, but I heard her whisper my name inside my own head,
“Adam.”

             
Holy shit.

              I released my grip and jumped back, dropping the pliers to the floor.

              “What is it?!” Margie yelled.

              I felt the hair standing on my arms, the goose bumps running up my back. I shook it off. “Nothing.” Picking up the pliers and staring directly into her golden eyes, I went after the nail again. Once more I placed my hand on her wrist. The tingle came, the hair stood on my arms, the goose bumps raced up my back, and this time something else. Memories flooded through my mind; my life, playing out on the walls of my mind like movies. I realized as I stared into her eyes, it was her; she was reading my life.

              Oh my God, she’s judging me.

              I tried to keep my composure, focusing on the nails. The first one slid out, slowly, with no sign of blood. The wound seemed to close up instantly. Like pulling a stick out of water, the surrounding area rushed in to fill the void, leaving no trace of the hole. Another, then another, I slowly pried the nails loose and slid them out. Her stare never wavered, no emotion showed on her face. She simply watched me, her eyes seeing into me, my memories jumping to life in my head every time I touched her.

              The moment came when her left wing and arm became totally free. As I reached across her to start pulling nails from her right side, her free arm suddenly reached out towards me. “Adam!” Margie yelled, and I quickly stepped back. Instead of reaching for me though, the angel reached across her chest and began pulling out the other nails with her own free hand. Her fingers gripped the nails and pulled them as easily as the pliers had. Her haunting gaze never left me the whole time.

              “Look at her pull those nails. She’s strong.”

              “She’s going to be free in a minute Adam. C’mon, let’s get the hell out of here.”

              I found it hard to break away from her stare. I felt Margie’s hand grip my shoulder and tug, spinning me around. “Hey! Let’s go.”

              I glanced back at the angel pulling the last few nails out of her wing. I realized I had done what I needed to, and now I had put Margie, both of us, in danger. “Yeah, let’s go.”

              Margie took off in a fast trot, the hatchet in her hand and the backpack bouncing off her shoulders. I followed closely behind as we took the shortest distance back into the woods as quickly as we could. Faintly I heard the flapping of wings back towards the barn, but I never looked back.

              That evening as we hunkered down for the night, Margie gave me crap for what I had done, for the danger I put us in. “What are you helping them for? They want to kill us.”

              I didn’t have an answer for her really. I wasn’t sure myself. Yet there was something inside me that simply couldn’t walk away from someone, or something, being victimized. Was it because it was a woman? Was it because it was an angel whom we’ve all been taught since childhood are good beings? I fell asleep knowing that in spite of everything, that was simply my nature; that there was good inside of me that couldn’t be broken or removed no matter what was being done to me. Maybe God hadn’t gotten it entirely wrong after all. Maybe Father Donovan was right; it wasn’t the tools that we were given, it was what each had chosen to do with them.

Chapter 10

The Coming Of Evelyn

“Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.

She shall be called woman”

~
Genesis 2:18-25

              It was hot. Stupidly hot.

              A few more steps went by, and Margie still hadn’t spoken. “Hey,” I said a little more firmly, poking her in the shoulder. “You still with me?”

              Margie was stumbling along next to me, Steve and his sprained ankle trailing slightly behind. Everyone was feeling weakened, the food runs having been unproductive for the last several days. We were headed to Suicide Bridge, to cross it and hit the gas station about a half a mile further up the road. We named it that because it's the place where many that didn't want to be judged took their own lives, leaping off the overpass to their deaths on the concrete road forty feet below. It’s a horrible place.

              Beneath the bridge the bodies just lay there in the road, rotting; the stench of human fodder carrying for miles. No one has jumped in a while though, not since they realized what was happening to the others.

              I still couldn’t quite understand why God refuses to allow them to die, and they remain alive forever no matter how broken their bodies. They just lay there under the bridge with broken backs and cracked skulls, suffering, being eaten by bugs, until the earth finally reclaims their flesh, no matter how long it takes. I guess we all make our own hell, even in trying to avoid it.

              It was probably only around 11am, but the sun was already pounding us with summer heat. We were hungry and tired, but life went on, such as it was. Margie wiped her brow on her sleeve and reached for my backpack. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just give me a little of the water.”

              We stopped just short of the bridge. I was so used to the smell of rotting people now I hadn’t even noticed it. Perhaps the constant coating of dust in our noses was beginning to limit our ability to smell. I dropped my backpack to the ground and Margie rummaged through it for a water bottle. The first sip was always to rinse and spit out the dust. The second was swallowed, and then she tossed the bottle to Steve.

              Before he drank, Steve suddenly cocked his head funny, turning an ear towards the road. “You hear that?”

              I didn’t hear anything, but we all became silent, listening. Margie jumped to her feet. “That’s a car.”

              In the distance I saw a cloud of dust moving along the road. The cloud was swirling, moving, as if alive; a miniature sand storm rapidly coming towards us. Then came the screaming of an engine pushed beyond its limits. Within seconds we could see the small blue car, bearing down on us with an eruption of steam escaping from under the hood.  Close above it were two Judges, their great wings racing them forward to keep pace with the car, chasing it. A third was clinging to the windshield. Steve involuntarily dropped the water bottle. “Holy shit.”

              The car, the judges, and the cloud of chaos were almost on us.

              “Run. RUN!!” was all I could get out, and we turned and ran towards the bridge. Twenty Yards, ten yards, almost there. “Down the slope…under the bridge!” At the edge of the slope I looked back. Margie was next to me, Steve and his sprained ankle were several yards back, struggling to make it. The car was just seconds away, careening from side to side, almost losing control.

              Margie screamed. “Steve!”

              The bridge was a bottle neck of abandoned cars, with no room for another to cross. I expected the blue rocket to hit the brakes and take a sharp turn down the side road. Instead came the tremendous bang of the car hitting the concrete pylon at the entrance of the bridge. Only a few feet away, the sound was deafening and the mini sand storm engulfed us. On my back, looking up, I watched the car flip, fly over us, and then roll down the embankment, landing upside down on the road below.

              A few seconds passed as the stun of the moment slowly cleared from my head. As the dust faded I saw Margie laying next me, trying to get up. I couldn’t see Steve anywhere. Looking down the embankment, I saw the car upside down, still rocking back and forth on its mangled top. A Judge was standing on it, looking down over the side towards the driver’s window. Noticing movement near the back of the car, I saw Steve there. He was squirming on the hot asphalt, blood all around him. He was bent funny at the waist, like his back was broken. A bone protruded through the skin of his leg, and a large portion of flesh had been scraped off of his head and face revealing much of his skull.

              Seeing me, he reached an arm up towards me, beckoning, as he dragged himself along the road not far from the cursed rotting bodies that were doing the same. Before I could even contemplate the horrible realization that I could do nothing for him, I felt the breeze on my cheek. I heard the flapping of wings as a large shadow moved above me, blocking out the sun.

              The Judge landed directly behind Margie as she was just getting to her feet. He looked at me momentarily, his golden eyes tearing into my soul, then he turned back towards Margie. I yelled out, but he was already reaching for her, grabbing her just as she stood. She struggled furiously, and turning to look at me, her eyes were unnaturally wide with panic. For a brief second we held eye contact, just before a wing came around her and she disappeared into a mass of feathers. Without thought, I instinctively ran to her, shoving the Judge hard in the back with both my hands. I felt the mild electric shock as I touched his skin, but he didn’t move an inch. I punched him as hard as I could, and a second later his wing came around and knocked me to the ground like I was nothing.

              Stumbling back several feet, I knew there was nothing I could do for Margie no matter how hard I tried or wanted to. Within his winged grasp, I could only see her sneakers and the bottom of her legs. They were motionless and limp, her judging underway. Quickly glancing down towards the road, I could see Steve still trying to drag himself across the asphalt to my side of the embankment. The second Judge, still on top of the car, was looking down at the driver, who hung limply upside down from the seat belt. It was a woman, the blood from her face painting the air bag red. She didn’t look like she had survived the crash. I saw the judge look briefly at Steve and then take flight. I knew they would come for me, and I had no choice but to run.

              I looked quickly towards Margie as I struggled to my feet. I saw the glow. I watched the dust fall. I felt an odd sense of closure as I caught a brief glimpse of her soul rising upwards as I turned to run.

             
Now you’ll find peace.

              My adrenaline drove me up the slope and onto the road near the edge of the bridge. There I found the third Judge that had been clinging to the windshield. Caught between the speeding car and the concrete column during the impact, he was now just a mashed up pile of mangled body and feathers. There was no blood, but his skull and body were crushed almost beyond recognition. There was no movement, no sign of life. I guess fire isn’t the only way to kill them.

              Without looking back I ran onto the bridge, moving through the traffic jam of abandoned cars. Seeing the flying Judge near the far end, I ducked down and crawled beneath a car to hide. Even underneath the shade of the cars, the concrete road of the bridge was punishingly hot. The car itself, its metal parts heated by the sun, burned against my back. Sweat fell from my brow as I tried to push away the cockroaches that sought shelter from the sun beneath the cars.

              Looking forward I could see the feet of the second Judge land at the far end of the bridge. Just as he began to walk towards my direction, there was a loud thud and the car I was under shifted violently on its rusting shocks. The Judge that had grabbed Margie had landed on top of the car and was standing just above me. I felt the fear begin to rise within me. My sweat fell into little puddles on the concrete and I held my breath without even realizing it. The car rocked again as the Judge jumped off and onto the next one. He moved from car top to car top, while the other Judge walked in between them, crossing the bridge in my direction. They were searching for me. I could feel a bug crawling on the back of my neck. Steve sobbed and moaned on the road below, his sounds mixing in with several of the maledicted that crawled and dragged themselves alongside of him.

              For a moment I thought about just coming out and ending it. I was alone now, and that made me more afraid than I had ever been. What was I going to do? Keep running? Keep hiding? What if I ended up like Steve? Perhaps if I just gave in, if I just surrendered to the inevitable, my judging would go well and I would end up with Margie in Heaven. I felt the bug now crawling down my back underneath my shirt. I heard Steve calling out my name as I began to slide out from under the car.

             
I’m done. I’m just fucking done with this.

              Several gunshots suddenly erupted from somewhere up the road, towards the gas station. I saw a car several yards away rock on its springs, and the second Judge’s feet suddenly lift off the bridge. The flapping of their wings faded slowly into the distance.

              Standing in the middle of the bridge, the only Judge I saw was the one smashed into the concrete column. The other two were far down the road, chasing the sounds of gunfire.

             
I can’t even die when I want to.

              Steve was still yelling from below. Suddenly I heard the sound of a car door creaking, and the several bangs it took to pry it open. Looking over the side of the bridge, I saw a man crawling out of the passenger side of the wrecked car. He was a middle aged man, with a long ragged beard and the clothes of a mountain man. I called out to him, waving my arms up in the air. “Hey! Up here!”

              He looked around in several directions before finally seeing me. Facing me I could see the blood running down his face from his forehead. He gave an attempt to wave back before collapsing to his knees. I quickly turned and raced to the edge of the bridge, past the crushed angel, and down the embankment towards the car. As I reached the road below, the man had gotten up again and moved to the driver’s side door, attempting to pull the woman’s body out from inside. “Is she alive?” I asked as I approached.

              “I don’t know. Help me, please.”

              Rushing to his side, I supported her weight as he unbuckled her seatbelt. She collapsed into my arms as the restraint released. She didn’t move at first, but as we laid her down upon the grass beside the road she began to moan and reach for her throat. The bearded man began frantically talking to her. “Evelyn! Evelyn, are you alright? Are you hurt? Evelyn, look at me!”

              I saw the woman open her eyes, and it appeared as though she tried to speak but could not. I could see on the front of her throat a huge welt and bruise rising up. It seemed she had hit her throat on the steering wheel. Slowly, and clearly in a lot of pain, she tried to sit up. “Easy girl,” the man urged, “take it easy.”

              They were both in bad shape. He was bleeding heavily from a knot on his head and cuts on his arm. She had a nasty injury to her throat and a several other bruises and bleeding cuts.

              The woman kept clutching her throat, every attempt to speak or swallow causing her severe pain. “Can you walk?” I asked her. She looked at me for a second, but with a dazed and confused look in her eyes. “I think she has a concussion,” I told the man. He continued to hold her in a seated position, doing his best to attend to her wounds.

              Steve’s calling pulled my attention away, back towards the wreck. I saw him now between the upside down car and the bridge. He was dragging himself towards us, not far behind him was a writhing pile of maledicted. “Wait here,” I told the man, and I walked over towards Steve.

              Steve was a horrible vision of mangled person. His back and leg were broken. Half his face and head were skinned raw as if he had been caught between the ground and the car and dragged along underneath it. His bleeding was slowing, his skin growing pale gray, giving the impression he had already almost bled out. As I knelt down beside him, he tried to speak, but his missing teeth and broken jaw made his speech awkward.

              “Help me,” I think he said.

              “I don’t know what to do Steve. I don’t know what to do.”