Free Armageddon by Thomas E. Sniegoski Page A

toher boyfriend’s chest. She watched the flashes of energy that coincided with the beating of his heart. The device made her nervous, but if it was going to help him . . .
    The healing ring suddenly brightened, pulsing rapidly as Aaron’s body began to twitch.
    Is he waking up?  Vilma jumped to her feet to summon help, but there was no call button. It wasn’t really a hospital anymore. She hated to leave his side, but she had no choice.
    Vilma bolted from the room. “Hey!” she cried.
    The Unforgiven sentry who usually sat at the old reception desk was gone. The entire floor appeared to be empty.
    “Is anybody here?” she shouted, but there was no response.
    Vilma turned back to the room, watching Aaron’s body twitch and shudder. He needed help. She ran back down the hallway and into a darkened stairway. She had no idea whether she should go up or down. Her panic escalated. She leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to calm herself.
    There were scrapes, digs in the paint and stone, as if something—or someone—had rubbed up against it repeatedly. The image of the Unforgiven, their mechanical wings furled upon their backs, immediately came to mind.
    They must use these stairs, she thought.
    It was as good a theory as any.
    And without a moment’s hesitation, Vilma headed down the stairs, hoping that help awaited her somewhere below.
    *   *   *
    Aaron suddenly realized he’d been staring at the pulsing, geometric shapes on his computer screen.
    Well, that’s time well spent, he thought, rubbing his burning eyes.
    He tapped his keyboard, and the screen saver vanished. He hadn’t quite finished the Saint Athanasius School’s income tax preparations, but better to finish it in the morning, rather than risk a mistake.
    He saved his file, then noticed the time at the bottom of his screen.
    8:36 p.m.
    “Shit.” He had no idea it had gotten so late. He thought of calling Vilma, but decided it would be better to just head home. He didn’t want to waste any more time when he could be on the road.
    He pushed back his chair, reached beneath his desk for his satchel, and stood. No one else was burning the proverbial midnight oil at Mallus, CPA, except for a cleaning crew. The sound of a vacuum cleaner could be heard coming from an office down the hall.
    Aaron headed for the elevator, wondering if Jeremy would still be awake when he got home. Their four-year-old son had been having some difficulties sleeping: recurrent dreams about goblins, trolls, and an armored, winged giant with a huge, vibrating sword.
    Aaron smirked. Jeremy was his kid, all right—what animagination.
    The elevator doors parted and he stepped into the empty cab, beginning his descent to the garage.
    Aaron was exhausted. He had started working for Mallus, CPA, five years ago, after getting his business and accounting degree from Northeastern University. It was pretty much the job he’d hoped for: decent pay, providing an adequate life for his wife and child, even allowing for a small savings toward the house they wanted to purchase.
    He was lucky.
    No, he corrected himself. Not lucky. He’d busted his ass for the life he had—the only luck he’d had was in meeting Vilma.
    Aaron’s heart fluttered and flipped whenever he thought about his wife. He still had no clue as to why she’d ever agreed to go out with him, let alone marry him. That was luck.
    The elevator reached the basement and shuddered. The doors began to part, then stopped. What the hell? Aaron thought. He tried to push them apart.
    Peering out to what should have been the well-lighted parking garage, all he saw was darkness.
    Total darkness.
    Aaron stepped back, unnerved.
    He wondered if there had been a power outage, but the elevator’s lights were still on. And there should have been emergency lights above the rows of cars.
    He grasped the doors once more and, grunting with exertion,shoved them apart. Standing in the doorway, he couldn’t make out anything, not