Guinea Pig (30 page)

She looked annoyed, her lips pursed in irritation, foot tapping on the grass. Actually she looked like a librarian upset with an annoying patron who wouldn't stop talking. But not he thought, like a homicidal maniac. Maybe she wouldn't kill him. He had to hope for that, though at the same time he knew that she should. In her shoes that was exactly what he'd do. You never left an enemy standing.

They covered the distance between them in a shockingly short space of time, almost as if they were running, and all the while he was dangling in the hands of one of the white haired people. And that made him wonder. How could they be so strong? Bullet proof in some way and with the strength of giants – that didn't seem fair. Equally the man holding him wasn't breathing heavily as he carried him. The man had picked him up and carried him for five hundred yards at pace, and he wasn't winded in the least. That was far better than any fireman he'd ever heard of could do.

Soon though it didn't matter. They'd reached the white haired woman and he was hanging there helpless before her. He'd never been helpless before.

“Gamut isn't it? At least that's what you call yourself. But really it's Gerald. Little Gerald Stanthorpe. Or so you were named.”

Gamut went cold when he heard his name used. His own name. A name he hadn't used in fifteen years. A name he scarcely even remembered. How could she possibly know? But however she knew he still had to a job to do – although it wasn't the same one he'd started with. Now he had to survive, if only so he could come back and finish his work.

“You going to kill me? Or use me as a hostage against the others?”

The last was his best chance of survival he knew. If they believed there were others coming for them, they might keep him alive as a bargaining chip.

“Kill you? We don't do that. We don't get involved in the affairs of humans. And what value would you be as a hostage? Those who might want us harmed in some way wouldn't care about you at all. They've already killed maybe millions of your kind simply so they could kill William.”

She said it as if it was nothing, just a minor fact of no importance, and yet it left Gamut gasping. She knew who had attacked the city? She knew why? And it wasn't William Simons. He was just the target. And the entire city and half the state was nothing more than collateral damage. Then there was the fact that she seemed to be suggesting that she wasn't human. But none of that mattered when a face he knew suddenly stepped into view.

“Doctor Adams.”

It was William Simons, and he didn't look pleased to see him. But that Gamut could understand. What he couldn't understand was that what he had thought was white fur he could see growing on his massive wings was actually feathers. Small, more hairy than feathery, but still feathers. Just what exactly was he turning into? A bird man?

“I know you think -.” Gamut tried to defend himself but wasn't given the chance as he was cut off.

“Save it! I know that's not your name. And I know you've hurt and killed a lot of other people. And that if you get the chance you'll do the same to many more. I see it in you.”

Strangely William Simons didn't sound angry to Gamut. He sounded tired if anything. Almost as if he was resigned to his suffering. But his words didn't sound like those of a man filled with forgiveness. They were those of a judge about to render a verdict. And Gamut was certain he didn't want to hear what he might say next.

“What do you want -?”

The woman asked the question, and while it was better that she spoke than the freak, the fact that she seemed to be deferring to him was not good. Why was she deferring to him? Surely she should be in charge.

“- To do with him?”

The freak cut the white haired woman off, though not rudely. At least she didn't look upset. In fact it was more as if they were so close that he was simply finishing her sentence for her. But if she wasn't upset Gamut was. He knew that the freak hated him. He knew he was about to die.

“I don't think there's much that can be done. We can't leave him to continue hurting and killing others. And I don't want him harmed. I hate him, but to harm him would be to become him. I would hate that far more.”

Not harmed was good Gamut thought, surprisingly so. But he knew he wasn't about to be released and that was not so good.

“Is there somewhere you can send him?”

“Send him?” The white haired old lady asked the question that was already on the tip of Gamut's tongue.

“Somewhere where he can go, live out the rest of his days in peace, but completely alone. Never to see another human being. Never to be able to harm anyone ever again. An island maybe?”

“No! That's not -.” Gamut protested instantly as he understood the punishment he was asking for. Because he absolutely did not want to spend the rest of his life alone. But he wasn't allowed to finish.

“Fair?” William Simons stared at him, his golden eyes filled with accusations and sorrow. “Like the fairness of drilling holes into a defenceless man strapped down to a steel table? Of trying to murder him with a rifle? Of all the other terrible things you've done? The things you feel pride for?” Suddenly William sounded angry and those strange eyes of his seemed to bore into him somehow.

“You take pride in doing terrible things. In never flinching no matter how terrible the deed you commit. You know what you do is wrong. You understand the suffering you cause. The trail of misery you leave behind. And you are not compelled to do it. You could say no. But you do it anyway.

You do it because you believe that your cause is more important than the lives of others. Most people who do terrible, violent things do them out of rage or fear or hurt. Even a psychopath has the defence that he doesn't understand another's pain. But not you. You simply made a decision one day that you would kill anyone, anywhere, any time. That you would rob and torture and maim. And those are crimes you have committed many times. Crimes that you will commit many more times if you can. You will not stop. And they are crimes I cannot allow.”

“Elia?” He turned back to the white haired lady his eyebrows raised in question.

“We can.” She nodded quickly, and in that moment Gamut knew his fate was sealed.

“Is there a more suitable sentence you can suggest?” For an instant hope was dangled in front of Gamut and he held his breath, desperately hoping she would say yes. But it was taken away in a heartbeat as she shook her head.

“Then please do it.”

“As you ask brother.” She bowed her head to the freak then turned to stare past Gamut at the white haired man holding him and nodded almost imperceptibly.

Instantly Gamut found himself lifted into the air and he wondered why. But then as he suddenly saw the ground disappearing beneath him he realised the simple truth. He wasn't being lifted up. He was being carried as someone flew him through the air. How was that possible? To fly you needed a plane. But there was no plane. He was being carried by someone who could fly! More than that, someone who could fly very fast.

In seconds they were hundreds of feet in the air and the cabin and the people were little more than dots on the ground. The wind was buffeting him as though he was in a racing car without a windscreen. And though he tried to say something, to object or scream out, the noise was so loud that he could barely hear anything at all except the roar of the wind.

There was nothing he could say. Gamut understood that. No one was listening to him. No one was interested in what he thought. And there was nothing he could do either. If he tried to escape and somehow actually succeeded, he would simply fall to his death.

It was bitterly unfair. There had been no trial, no due process, no lawyers and evidence. There had been no chance for him to testify in his own defence. He hadn't even been charged with anything. All the things he as an American citizen had a right to. He had simply been judged in a heartbeat and sentenced to a punishment far worse than anything a proper American court could ever give. Exile.

The enemies of America had beaten him.

Chapter Thirty Six.

Bishop Benenson sought out Elia the day after the latest attack, needing answers and not knowing where else he could get them. There was nowhere else. And even though the Walkers would not tell him much of anything, he had to ask. Again.

Though he loathed what the man now calling himself Gamut had done, he understood the fear that had motivated him. And yet at the same time he understood the hope and faith that Elijah had within him. Fear and hope, two sides of the same coin. But which was right? The hope that things would work out as well as they should? Or the fear that the world would end? Should he stand by and pray that when William's transformation was complete as it so nearly was, it would be a blessed thing? Or should he try and stop it happening somehow? Could he?

Whatever he did he had to do it fast. William Simon's transformation was proceeding at pace. Already his wings towered above him and the first knuckle or elbow was forming. From there he guessed the wings would just dive down to the ground. And they moved now, all the time. Flexing, straightening out, flapping a little, all by themselves. The small feathers danced as the air currents disturbed them. And William didn't even seem to notice them any more. At most there were days left. Possibly less than that.

The angel – and he had to assume that was what she was even if she seemed nothing like the descriptions they had – was sitting on a fallen tree overlooking the clearing, and by the looks of things enjoying the sun. Was that something common to all her people he wondered? After all, even William seemed to do better in the sunshine.

“
Elia can you speak?”

“Yes.” She sounded tired. “But what you mean is can I answer your inane questions?” She smiled weakly at him.

“Inane questions?” The bishop didn't enjoy the sound of that, though he knew it was a view she came to honestly. His questions annoyed her.

“The usual ones that seem to come out of your mouth. Is this the end of the world? Judgement day? The second coming? Is William's becoming going to lead to the world being swept clean of the wicked in a great flood? Those ones.”

“Yes.” He nodded.

“Bishop I like your people. I really do. I've walked among them for over a thousand years, and you have many wonderful traits. But you seem to have among them all one terrible failing. An inability to see beyond yourselves.”

“On the personal level you see it everywhere. The killer who attacked us – he did it because it was his belief that this was his responsibility. That he had to do it because he had failed. Not because thousands of others have died or were imperilled, but that he had done or not done what he had to do. Their deaths were secondary. Merely proof of his failure. And Doctor Reginald, though he is finally learning, is driven too much by guilt. Guilt for what he did, not because he cares for the suffering of others as he should. That has been his mistake all along. It was always about him.”

“And as a people it is the same. Once you believed that you were the only creation of the Father. That the universe was built for you. The same still holds true. And now again you show that failing when you believe that what is happening is for you.”

“Why would you imagine that this entire mess has anything at all to do with you?”

“Doesn't it?” That seemed wrong to the bishop. Very wrong given everything that had happened. Yet she had said it before.

“No. You have a saying, probably spoken mostly in jest but still incredibly wise. Shit happens. Sometimes it happens to people and places and even worlds. Things go wrong. And sometimes you just have to accept that that's the price you pay for living in a universe with free will and chance. Shit will happen from time to time, and this is one of those times.”

“This is a very big universe and yours is a very small world and you are a very small part of it. And a lot of things happen that have absolutely nothing to do with you. This is one of those things.”

“A lot of people have died already. A lot more are at risk. Surely that makes it something to do with us?”

“That part does, yes. And I and my brothers and sisters are sorry for that. But in the end, those things are all what the doctor would call side effects. The true illness is of my people.”

“Angels?”

“Yes.”

At least she'd said it, and he was grateful for that. She'd said it before and each time he'd heard it he all but gasped with wonder at the thought that he was with an angel. Until he'd looked and seen a white haired woman of advancing years. It just didn't seem right. He'd asked before and been told that he saw only what he expected to see, and comprehended only what his mind was capable of comprehending. But that didn't really feel like an answer to him.

“They don't feel like side effects. They feel like prophecy. The nephilim is reborn, that which all angels fear, and the wicked are being swept from the Earth.”

“You really don't get metaphor do you Bishop?” She stared at him looking slightly vexed. A teacher with a difficult child. But at least her hands weren't on her hips and she wasn't waving her finger at him

“William is not a nephilim. He never was. And no one would care if he was. I wouldn't be here. A war wouldn't be raging between the Fallen and the Walkers as you would call us. Between those who refuse to obey and those who obey but can't quite commit themselves to unquestioning obedience. William here is far more dangerous than that – though not to you. To us. William is human. He will always be human no matter what happens to him. He is a chooser. He is the first of your people to be able to see the path and choose which road to take. And that is what scares my siblings.”

“Look, long story short as you say. My kind travel three paths. There are those who obey without question, those who refuse, and those who want to obey but can't quite commit themselves to absolute obedience. The Choir, the Fallen and the Walkers in your terms. I am a Walker.”

“The Choir obey and so we see little of them as they carry out His work. They're busy. On Earth though there are mostly only the Fallen and the Walkers. Walkers like myself obey, but we cannot overcome our doubts completely. Our goal is simply to live our lives in peace and happiness, much like most humans. But the Fallen refuse to obey. They do not like laws and restrictions of any sort. They like total freedom. In your terms I suppose they would be like one of your motorcycle gangs. Rebels. Still, most of them also just want to live their lives in peace and happiness.  And they only need one thing to do that. To know that they are right not to obey. In their minds that is everything. And that's what this is all about.”

“It has nothing to do with power or the end of the world. There will be no floods. It also has nothing to do with the Father's wrath. He doesn't do wrath. It is only about showing the Fallen whether they made the right decision to refuse Him or not. Whether their choices are based on innate wisdom or false pride.” She seemed very certain on that point. In fact she almost seemed to be telling him off. Or perhaps she was just lecturing him. That was the kinder interpretation.

“So eight hundred years ago more or less Raphael came to Earth and gave an artist a lock of his hair for inspiration. The Choir does that sort of thing. They seek to inspire and lead from a position of loving authority. They seek to obey the Father's wishes absolutely and without question.”

“Now maybe he should have taken the hair back afterwards, or maybe not. I don't know. It's not given to me to know. But I know that even the Choir are only human for want of a better term. They do as they are told and they do the best they can. But they don't always get things perfectly right. They're only angels after all. We all are.”

Only angels? The bishop nearly choked as he heard her say that. It almost sounded like sacrilege. And yet logically he knew she was right. There was only one perfect being.

“Now roll the clock forward eight hundred years. The doctor here lost his wife and conceived his insane plan.”

“He is a perfect example of your kind. Lacking in knowledge, limited in understanding, but still dreaming. Sometimes dreaming dreams so large that they consume him. He also has free will – the one thing in the universe that can make even a mortal man of limited knowledge unpredictable. And often infuriating. It can stuff up the lives of everyone all around.” She smiled once more, as if suggesting it was some sort of joke. But it didn't sound very funny to him.

“So anyway he dreamed his mad dream and William began his transformation.”

“When William did that every angel knew it. Whether of the Choir, the Fallen or the Walkers we knew. We always know when a brother or a sister is conceived. It happens so seldom that when it does it's a big thing. We are in the end, one giant family. But in this case the conception was wrong, twisted. And we all knew that too. We felt the unnatural nature of it.”

“So curious and close by I went to see. So did some of my disobedient brothers.” That stopped the bishop in a hurry as he realised what she'd just said, and what it meant.

“The Fallen just went visiting? Shouldn't they be in hell? Locked away?”

“Why?” She stared at him as though he was asking another stupid question. “Are they criminals of some sort?”

“But -.” He tried to object but he couldn't. He didn't know how to explain to an angel that she was wrong.

“They aren't demons from your movies. They don't possess people and cause wide scale death and destruction. Your people can do that for themselves. Those that do will be held to account by the Choir and they know that. We have laws that we must obey. Laws that some of them have broken. They will be held to account for what they have done here. But most have committed no crimes. They have simply refused to obey. And that is not a crime. It is a failure. People, even angels are allowed to fail.”

“Oh!” The bishop was floored for a moment, not knowing what to think. But then he realised there was nothing to think about. The faith wasn't about angels, fallen or otherwise. It was about the Son of God. And what she was saying went well with what some of the saints had said about evil. That there was no such thing. It was just the absence of good. And so maybe the Fallen were just those who had an absence of obedience. It was something to ponder when he had some time. But for the moment he just had to listen.

“When they realised what William was, and more importantly what he could do, my brothers grew frightened. Fear is often one of the most powerful emotions. And they knew the fear that William would choose the Choir. That he would choose obedience over freedom.”

“That frightened them because if he did that, if the first human being to have that choice chose against them, it would undermine them. It would be like seeing the truth in the eyes of a child and knowing your words to be a lie. It would show them that their choice not to obey had been a mistake. It had been wrong. And at the heart of all those who refuse to obey is the belief that they are right not to. That their freedom to choose their own destiny separate from the Father, even going against his wishes, is the right one. Not one based on false pride and arrogance.”

“That would hurt them in a way that I don't think you can fully comprehend. But imagine the outrage that a bike gang member would feel if his son when he reached maturity suddenly decided to turn his back on the open road and freedom, rejected everything he stood for, and decided to become a policeman. The shock and humiliation would be overwhelming. Then assume that this would be a hundred times worse.”

“So they struck, creating a sink hole and hoping to end the threat before it began. They would rather live in ignorance than risk hearing the truth.”

“I was there too, drawn by the conception, and for a while I didn't know what to do. I was curious about him and I felt the bond of kinship but I didn't know whether William should be saved or not. If he could be. I didn't even know who he was. And in any case there were many others who needed help and I could not stop my brothers' evil. So I left his life in the hands of fate as I tried to help as many as I could. He would escape or he would not. He would come to me and I would help him or he would not.”

“And then chance or the Father intervened. I have no knowledge of which. As I was helping others to safety in the corridor, the building shifted, and I was thrown into William. It was a surprise to finally meet my new brother. But the true surprise was when he, thinking that I was the frail one, tried to help me. Instinctively he reached out and held me to him as he ran. And in that moment I knew that the Fallen had a very great reason to fear his decision. And I knew I had to save him. He is my brother.”