Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1) (32 page)

Itishree had been looking down at Gabriel's feet since his apparition left Griffin's body. She continued to look down, Gabriel saw. He held both Itishree's shoulders and squatted down, attempting to look Itishree in the eyes.

“There is nothing more important than yours and Griffin's safety and the message you must deliver. I'm sorry Itishree, but there will be more danger. Human's have become polarized around religious and political icons. The world has become blind and turned away from what was meant for humanity,” Gabriel said through his touch.

Finally, Itishree looked up and into Gabriel's eyes. He saw she was gathering strength, at last.

“Right now, Mr. Angel, I'm afraid of you more than men with guns,” she said.

Griffin stood up straighter with those words.

“I understand,” Gabriel said. And then he passed thoughts, images, and emotions the police officers and S.W.A.T. members were thinking when in pursuit.

Itishree's eyes widened and her body froze. Itishree witnessed an officer invoke God to be able to shoot one or both of them. She felt the rush of excitement and the coldness of the weapon at his side as the officer stroked the metal and plastic handle of his side arm. She heard the thoughts of the S.W.A.T. Commander as he tallied the kills for the month, hoping to break the team record and cash in the pay bonus. Another officer hoped he would be citied for one of the kills in order to earn the mandatory week off with pay. She felt the animalistic urge of an officer who wanted to touch her inappropriately as he detained her. She saw from his mind his imaginings of how parts of her body would feel in his hands, and against his body. That officer touched himself as he drove, fighting to split his attention on the road. Then, the images, the taint, the emotions accelerated and assaulted Itishree's mind. It was a wave of perverse darkness.

In a small quiet voice, she said, “Enough.”

Gabriel stopped. Itishree gasped in a breath and covered her face with her hands.

In an instant Griffin was between the Archangel and Itishree.

“What have you done?” Griffin said showing his teeth.

Gabriel melded back into him. The passenger loading area became ten shades less illuminated without Gabriel in the open.

“What I had to. Itishree needed to experience what would have happened to you both if I had allowed those men to catch you.”

“I’m sorry,” Griffin said to Itishree as he tried to move closer to her. She blocked his arms with a downward motion of her own.

“You’re sorry! He's sorry! Everyone is sorry! How many of those men died back there?” Now, Griffin saw, Itishree was angry.

“All” Gabriel said to Griffin

Griffin seemed to deflate and stagger under those words. The weight was just too heavy. He physically crumpled.

“You killed them all!” Itishree said, knowing she was right. She turned and walked down the concourse.

Griffin could hear crying as she walked away.

“You had to kill them all?” Griffin asked Gabriel.

Gabriel did not answer.

“How am I going to turn this around?” Griffin asked no one. Well he'd hoped Gabriel would chime in with an answer.

Fortunately, far to the northeast Griffin heard the train. Within a moment he could see the train's powerful beam. In another moment the train's whistle broke the morning's silence. Bird's startled around him. They flew in many directions at once.

Griffin walked hurriedly to Itishree. She had plopped down on another bench and took on the stare again. Not a good sign. Griffin sank even more as he reached her.

“Darling, let's sort this out on the train,” Griffin said. He was squatting down next to her.

She broke her stare and looked at Griffin like he'd lost his mind.

“All right Griffin. You and I will make sense of what has happened but keep that monster inside of you.”

“That’s fair,” he said even though this entire situation was way above him and he didn't know if he could keep Gabriel in check or not.

Just then, Gabriel bloomed from Griffin and stood next to them both. Itishree and Griffin looked up to Gabriel. The Archangel shot into the sky, piercing the darkness with a shaft of light that seemed to go onto infinity.

Blood and Regret

Two hours later Arthur Graves stood amongst carnage he could have never imagined. Around him were a half dozen police cruisers smashed flat with their officers inside. Two S.W.A.T. vans were both smashed and ripped apart. Assault weapons were strewn about like the toys of an ungrateful child. The 279 corridor to downtown Pittsburgh was closed and would remain closed into tomorrow. Arthur didn't know where to begin. He allowed himself a few minutes of unabashed grief. Or was it the impact of sheer horror. He stood next to Joe Diclaro's unmarked car. He had watched as the fire-rescue team had cut the roof off the sedan with giant pneumatic scissors. As if Joe's twisted and broken body had not been enough of an assault on Arthur's reality, next to Joe was a pulverized body that remained unidentified until the morgue had their turn at the evidence. Arthur was certain it was one of the young analysts Joe had on his team. What was once the front passenger compartment of the sedan was now awash in darkening blood and worse. The rescue team was removing the analysts legs, which were the only identifiable human remains in the sedan after Joe's body had been removed.

Arthur broke himself away and looked for the Fire Captain who would be supervising such a catastrophic event. Less than a minute later he found the Supervisor’s S.U.V. and then the supervisor himself. Fortunately, the Chief was standing next to the supervisor.

“Chief?” Arthur asked, extending his hand in a painfully regrettable fashion. The Chief took the gesture and both exchanged sorrowful glances.

“Arthur Graves, Homeland Security, Regional Director,” Arthur said, introducing himself to both the supervisor and the Chief. The two men nodded at Arthur and then looked at each other.

“What caused this...this, mess?” Arthur asked. He was unable to control his distaste for everything around him. This was far worse than the fighter pilot cleanup, Arthur thought.

“Too early to tell, Mr. Graves. It will take hours before the state troopers process this site,” the Chief said.

Looking out over the freeway, the supervisor said, “Most likely we'll know something by dusk. This is the ugliest thing I've every seen.”

Both men had looks on their faces as if expecting Arthur to say more, while sharing expressions of pity for him.

“How many bodies are here?” Arthur asked. He had made a gesture with a pen he had pulled out of his jacket pocket.

“Twenty two,” the Chief said coldly. “We had to pull in emergency vehicles from across the county.”

“Two of them are mine,” Arthur said.

“I’m sorry sir,” the Chief said.

The supervisor's sickened look drooped further.

“Have you removed any camera data from these cruisers?” Arthur asked.

“Yes sir. We…” the Chief made a gesture to the supervisor, “we removed those boxes while our crews looked for survivors. Those boxes were taken to P.D.P. over an hour ago.”

“Thank you Chief. I'll focus my investigation there after I've had a closer look around.”

The three men exchanged grim handshakes and Arthur Graves turned and pulled out his personal device and opened a note taking application. He walked to the passenger side of Joe's doomed sedan. A smear of blood ran off to his left for over forty yards. Arthur paced it off and made a note on his device. Next, he looked closely at the sedan reduced front end. There was some damage here. From his first assumption, Arthur guessed the sedan had collided with at least one other vehicle just before or after it was crushed. He was disappointed seeing the roof had been over turned as it was discarded by the emergency personal after being cut free.

Continuing his circling the wreck, Arthur scrutinized every inch of the vehicle's periphery. He could see the influence the emergency responders had made on the scene. Multiple boot prints were in the blood, ash, and burnt concrete. Glove prints had removed silt and ash from the exterior of the vehicle. Arthur froze mid step. Between boot tracks were a set of standing bare feet prints. Without thinking, he squatted down and placed his suit knees onto the highway surface. Inside the foot prints the concrete was perfectly clean. The prints were free of scorch marks, blood, and debris. They appeared washed through a template, except the edges were irregularly transitioned. If not for that one clue, Arthur would swear the foot prints were fake.

Further off to his left he saw another foot print: a left foot impression. Clean as the first pair. Arthur began to crawl parallel to the path the three impressions had made. He found a partial right foot print three quarters of a stride away. This print had been marred by emergency personnel. Burned debris had been dragged across the center of the impression. He found another left-right combination spread across a larger stride distance. Clearly, whoever had made these prints shortened their stride as they approached the smashed sedan.

What Arthur found next confused and startled him further. A partial left print at where the third stride should have started. The print wasn't molested from the arriving emergency crews, nor from the investigative teams now milling about the wreckage. The print was only half there. The heel section of the foot was missing. It was as if the foot had stepped down from out of the sky, Arthur thought. Ice ran down his spine. Arthur hadn't even noticed when he'd stood. But now his eyes darted all around him. He looked to the trees. Arthur spun in circles, checking the surrounding hillsides made from when the highway was carved. He checked distant roof tops. Nothing.

The alien. The alien had walked up to Joe's dead or dying body. Arthur straightened, reigned in his fright and walked quickly to his car. His keys were out of his pocket and in his hand halfway there. Arthur couldn't control his racing thoughts. Actions he needed to take collided with fears he was exposed, out in the open, on this highway. His eyes darted about again. Sweat blossomed over his face. Before he knew it, Arthur was sitting in his agency car fumbling to press the ignition key home. The engine hit and roared. The sedan jolted as Arthur sped away.

Arthur wasn't aware of the time that had lapsed after his phone rang. He had been running through those same scenarios and actions he needed to take once he was back in his office. Once he was safe, in his office. His phone rang. The bleating coming over his sedan's speakers. He steadied himself and pressed the answer button on his steering wheel.

“Sir?” came the voice over his speakers.

“This regional director Arthur Graves. Who is this? Identify yourself,” Arthur demanded.

There was a pause. Even while driving, over the noise of the road, Arthur could hear the sounds of the caller moving around. He thought he heard the caller let out a quiet grown.

“Sir, this is field technician Melissa MacLeod,” the female voice said. “We haven't heard from our direct supervisor, Special Agent Joe Diclaro, nor our technical lead, Bryce McCormick. They are overdue to check in by five hours. Given the sensor feeds we are receiving from I-279, sir I must ask, who is in command of our task operation?”

“Ms. MacLeod, you are now Senior Field Technician and task operation technical lead. I will be supervising your team from now. Be at my desk in twenty minutes. I'll need a report and all data intercepts from the last thirty six hours.”

“Yes sir. Mr. Diclaro and Bryce?” she asked.

Arthur disconnected the call, pulling into the parking garage off of Grant street. Nervously, he left his vehicle, rode the semi-private elevator up to the upper lobby and made his way through security. Moments later he ignored his assistant and slammed the door to his office. Arthur sat at his desk and blew out a volumetric breath. In that moment he had made his decision to proceed. Logging into his computer, Arthur found the application that managed his physical desk and entered the six digit code followed by the characters 'L' & 'R'. He heard the 'click' of the lower right hand drawer unlocking, and the drawer sliding outward on its bearings.

Arthur stumbled for a moment recalling the name of the folder he had placed the plain card. A folder with “Small Emergency Response” written across the ribbon insert caught his eye. There it was. The business card was white, plain, the word “Pittsburgh”, followed by the email group name “Viable”, then a code number, was on one side. A phone number on the other.

Arthur opened his agency email application and created a new email. He entered the group name into the address header and pressed the enter key. The group resolved and its remaining fully qualified name was added, “ViableRegionalEmergencyOption”. In the subject line Arthur typed “Active”. In the email body he wrote out the code and checked it against the card. Another breath. Send.

He picked up the receiver of his desk phone and dialed the number. It only rang twice.

“Where?” the voice was perfectly between the sound of sand paper and gravel.

“Market Square, blue tie,” Arthur said and hung up. He placed the card back into the folder, wondering when he would ever use it again. Locked his computer and his desk and walked out. Marcy was at her desk, back straight as ever. Arthur knew that she knew when shit was on the wind.

“Escort and a car, if you please, Marcy?” Arthur said, pleasantly. It was the most control he was able to enact since seeing the carnage on I279.