Free After the Fall by William Meikle Page B

blackness. The thing drew itself up to its full height, standing some nine feet tall. It carried Dick Jones in one arm, as if he weighed no more than a baby.
    ““Put him down you bastard,” McLeod shouted again. He fired a warning burst over the thing’s head.
    The black wings beat, twice, and suddenly it took flight, heading up into the sky above them.
    “No!” McLeod shouted.
    He fired a burst after it.
    Dick Jones’ body fell with a dull thud at his feet.
    Overhead the black wings thwupped .
    Then all was silent.
     
    ~-o0O0o-~
     
    The squad was in turmoil, all speaking at the same time, all asking questions to which Rogers had no answer.
    Not yet anyway .
    He bent to check on Jones.
    The squaddie was dead.
    Then again, he was dead when I checked him earlier.
    Sammy Brown came and stood beside him.
    “What the hell was that thing Sarge? Ain’t never seen anything like it.”
    Rogers didn’t want to speculate. To do so would open doors to fears he was afraid to give rein to lest they sent him screaming.
    He silenced the rest of them with a shout.
    “Right lads. The plan hasn’t changed. We’re moving out, headed West. Chalmers… you’re on point. Sammy and I will bring up the rear. Move it guys.”
    McLeod couldn’t take his eyes from Jones’ body.
    “We can’t leave him here Sarge.”
    Rogers started to walk away.
    “He’s not going anywhere. And I’m not hanging around to wait for that winged bugger to come back. Now move soldier. That’s an order.”
    Their training took over. As a unit, the squad moved out.
     
    ~-o0O0o-~
     
    They walked for nearly an hour before Sammy mentioned something that Rogers had already noticed, but kept quiet about.
    “Where’s the road Sarge?” he whispered. “We should have reached it ages ago.”
    Rogers had been trying not to think about that. What with the stars being out of position, a winged demon torturing an already dead man, and the fact that there seemed to be no other living thing apart from his squad out here, he was storing up a lot of things he’d rather not think about. He was saved from answering this one by a call from Chalmers up ahead.
    “We’ve got something Sarge. A building of some kind.”
    Rogers joined Chalmers on a ridge above a long valley. On the valley floor, in what looked to be a long-dry riverbed, a squat white building sat next to an ancient dead tree. There were no lights visible.
    “It’ll be dawn soon enough,” Rogers said. “And we can’t walk far in the heat of the day. That looks a good place to hole up. Take point again, we’ll be right behind you.”
    They followed Chalmers down what seemed to be a goat trail and reached the building several minutes later. Rogers had the squad stand, quiet, but there was no noise from within. He silently motioned Chalmers forward. The man gingerly opened a warped wooden door and slipped inside. They heard him moving around, then he cried out.
    “Sarge. Get your arse in here. You need to see this.”
    He left McLeod and Scott on guard and with Sammy at his back went inside. He thought he was prepared for any eventuality.
    He was wrong.
    Chalmers stood just inside the door of the only room. His face was pale, eyes wide with shock and, something else… something that looked like awe.
    An angel lay spread-eagled on the floor at his feet.
    At first he’d taken it for another of the winged things they’d seen earlier. But where that other had been dark, this one was light, almost luminescent. The body itself was over eight feet long, but thin, even anorexic. The wings, long feathered like an eagle, lay beneath it. It… or he, for the gender was also obvious in his nakedness, had taken a blow to the head. Blood matted the blond hair and pooled on the stone floor beneath it.
    “Is it… is he… dead?” Chalmers whispered.
    Rogers bent to check.
    A pulse beat rapidly at the angel’s neck, and it was breathing, rapid and shallow. He checked the eyes and found they were rolled up in