Dark Angel Big Bang - "Apocalypse Now and Later" - Chapter 2b
Chapter 2 (con't)
“Alec, no. You can’t.” Max stood in the doorway of his bedroom, arms crossed and legs braced.
“Huh, really? I know you’re sort of the leader here, Max, but I also thought we were trying to stop the world from ending.” He balled up a shirt and tossed it into a blue duffle bag.
“I’m more concerned about our world ending, as in this one, the one with transgenics! Ours!”
“Yeah, and from everything they’re saying our world’s gonna end a whole lot bloodier and faster if we don’t do anything. So I’m going. And if it means that as a bonus I’ll get my relatively dreamless sleep back at night, too, I’m okay with it.” He zipped up the duffle and slung it over his shoulder. Max didn’t move. “Would you mind?”
She didn’t move. “Come on, Alec. I need your help here. Who is going to keep the supply lines open? Who is going to make sure Josh has paint?”
Alec rolled his eyes. “My scroungers have a hierarchy to follow, and they all know their jobs. I already talked to Spruce, and he’s taking the lead to keep track of everything, and Dalton’s going to keep the teams organized. And Joshua is actually a big boy, and he can take care of himself. Now will you move?”
She tried to glare at him, failed, and dropped her head and stepped out of the way. “What if you don’t stop this whole apocalypse thing?”
“Then you’re still here and will be able to get the Ordinaries and the transgenics to work together to beat it. I’d suggest having Logan start looking into ways to stop angels and demons, along with political policies.”
She followed him out of the apartment, through Command and out to the courtyard, where the Winchesters stood waiting by their car. She didn’t say another word, but Alec could feel her gaze boring into the back of his skull as she tried to will him to change his mind. It didn’t help the steady waves of fear and uncertainty that washed over him. He might have agreed to help, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared.
Alec had tried to keep the whole thing from going public, but with as small as the community was, it was difficult to do. Most didn’t know why he was leaving, but they knew he’d be gone. So there was a line of people waiting to wave goodbye or offer a handshake and a wish for good luck, along with a small crowd talking to the Winchesters and inspecting the car. Dean looked ready to take off heads, but Sam chatted easily with everyone around him, a genuine smile on his face. Standing next to him was Joshua. Alec grinned despite everything. Between the height and the hair and the expression of a well-loved Labrador, the two looked like they should have shared DNA.
Alec joined Dean at the driver’s door. “You sure I can’t take my bike and just follow you?”
Dean snorted. “Yeah right, and risk you getting snatched by some nasty the instant I look away from the rearview mirror?” He glanced at the duffle bag. “Toss that in the trunk with our stuff. But don’t poke around in there.”
“Why?” Alec couldn’t help but ask as Dean handed him the keys.
“My car, my rules.”
Before Alec could retort, Sam turned, rested his arms on the roof of the car and called, “You ready over there, Dean and Mini-Dean?”
“Christ, Sammy, don’t even say that out loud - with our luck you’ll activate some sort of curse or jinx or something and we will have a mini-me running around.”
Alec grinned and tossed his duffle into the trunk and slammed it shut again. “I’m not a mini anything, I’m in fact genetically superior to both of you.” Without looking he tossed the keys. Dean grabbed them out of the air without thinking and just scowled Alec.
Sam’s eyebrows climbed towards his hair line and he sputtered out a surprised laugh as Dean just glared and tugged open the driver’s door. “Let’s go!”
Still struggling to recover a straight face, Sam turned and shook hands with Joshua. “When we get back, I’d like to see all of these paintings of yours.”
“Some are sold, but not all. Kept some of my favorites,” Joshua replied, head bent a little so his hair covered his face, apparently embarrassed by the interest.
“Alright then, we’ll have to talk art theory.” He turned to Max, who was still standing behind Alec, arms crossed and expression dark. “Max, tell Logan thanks again for all his help. And we’ll get Alec back in one piece.” He smiled at her and offered his hand.
She took it and said, “You better.”
He just smiled again, but it was wan and then he climbed into the car as well. It left Alec still on the outside. He sighed quietly and turned to face her.
“Seriously, Maxie, you don’t need to worry. I’m a big boy.”
She gnawed at her lower lip before bursting out. “I can’t let you go alone. Take Mole or someone, at least.”
“I’m not going alone,” he gestured to the car. “And besides, you’re going to need all hands on deck. I’m not taking anyone else along into this.” He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll be fine Max.”
He stepped back and reached for the door handle again, but before he could turn fully, Max grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a short, rough hug. “You better come back. I’m not dealing with all of this by myself.”
“Okay.” He blinked a few times in surprise and then opened the door and slid into the back seat just in time to interrupt an argument between the brothers.
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, Sammy, that you two had a lot in common. He’s even more of a gigantor than you, the dog loving thing is probably in your DNA somewhere and just turned into reality…” he waved his hand, “and he’s even artsy-fartsy like you. But if your hair ever gets that long, I’m coming after you with a freaking chainsaw or something.”
“Dean, you’re an ass.”
Alec coughed quietly. “We going to Canada anytime soon?”
The brothers glanced back at him and Dean started the car. “Freaking Canada.”
Sam smirked. “You’re just jealous I had the better set up. House, money, hot wife…”
“Whatever. Shut up. At least my DNA clone bloodline kid is a guy, not a girl. The sooner we get out of this city the better.”
The car roared out of the courtyard, through the gate that Mole barely had time to open, and out into the streets, Dean flashing the high clearance passes at every sector check point they passed. In less than an hour they were out of the city and on the highway heading north.
The brothers continued to bicker and shoot barbs at each other, though they’d glance at the rear view mirror at Alec every few minutes. Whatever they were talking about went over his head a majority of the time; even after all the discussion of angels and demons, he had no idea what they meant about salting and burning bones, or chopping heads off bloodsuckers. Or, maybe he did actually have an idea; he just didn’t want to think about it. His life was weird enough without getting any further involved.
Dean turned on the radio, couldn’t get a decent signal, snarled and shoved a cassette tape into the deck. A warbling, somewhat British accented voice rose over the guitar notes.
“I’m gonna keep on ramblin’!” Dean bellowed out with the radio.
Sam sighed and turned to glance at Alec. “Sorry. Dean doesn’t always remember he can’t actually sing.”
“I’ve sat through Joshua’s impromptu concerts. I can deal.”
Dean continued to bellow out the song, while Sam pulled out a map, worried that the roads might be different. Alec found as comfortable of a spot in the backseat as he could and settled in for the ride. Face tilted against the window, he watched the road roll by, traces of the city disappearing by the mile, turning to fields and small towns. Outside of Seattle, the world didn’t look as depressed and ruined, and the thought that the transgenics should set up camp someplace out in the country ran through his mind.
The music eventually changed to something softer and more ballad like, though the singer was the same. But the gentle sounds wove together with the soft roar of the engine. He felt his muscles relax and his mind slowed to a crawl, thoughts lulled by the monotony of the road.
Oh dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.
His eyes slid shut and slumber claimed him in slow grey waves. He wasn’t sure where the reality started and the dreams began. And for once, he didn’t care.
*
Angela rolled to a halt and stared at the entrance to the cemetery. It was old, the granite headstones weathered, crumbling, or toppled over. A simple fence of three strands of iron chain strung between five foot poles marked the boundary. A rickety iron gate stood in front of them.
“This is it? Why did you bring us here?” Angela demanded. She had followed Meg’s precise and often snarky directions without question tirelessly, and neither of them needed sleep; and that was another worrying element to Meg’s genetic makeup. There couldn’t possibly be anything here that was worth having or seeing. And since she had taken the hex bag from Meg, the silver in her mind - the voice of the Morningstar, Meg had called it - had faded to a background hum. She couldn’t be sure that she was going the right way or doing the right thing anymore, but it still felt right to listen to Meg. Even if she was an annoying little shit.
Meg swung off the bike, adjusted the satchel strap on her shoulder and patted Angela on the back. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it has what we need.” She pointed. “Right there.”
Angela turned and followed the line of Meg’s finger. In the center of the cemetery there was a single large crypt of dark stone. Or it might have been a tiny chapel at one point. But the doors were closed, and a pentagram inside a circle enclosed the entire opening.
“I said we needed to get you ready for the ball. That’s where we start.” She walked to the gate and glanced back at Angela. “You coming sometime this week?”
With a snap, she put down the kickstand and left the bike. Meg grinned, but made no move to open the gate.
“Well?” Angela demanded. “What are you waiting for? Lead on, you’ve got all the answers here.”
Meg shrugged one shoulder. “Kinda got a metal allergy. Don’t really want to have a reaction to touching the gate.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Then use your sleeve or something.” She fiddled with the latch for a moment and swung the gate open.
“Why, thank you, princess.”
Once past the gate, Meg wasted no time hurrying to the crypt, barely acknowledging the rows of graves she stepped on with her spiked heels. Angela followed with more care, skirting in between the rows of headstones. By the time she joined Meg at the doors, the satchel was open and a strange assortment of objects were spilled across the dirt.
“Okay princess, I need you to stay back there,” Meg pointed at a large headstone about ten feet from the door of the crypt. “This is delicate, and neither of us can afford to have it messed up.” She grabbed a glass jar, opened it, and dipped a black feather into it. The wind kicked up as she bent to paint a strange symbol across the door, blowing the scent of the jar straight into Angela’s nostrils.
She gasped. “Is that blood? What the hell are you doing?”
Meg paused, the feather pressed against the stone and lazy drops of red oozed down from the line she had just drawn. “Yes, it is blood. This is a spell, and I can’t be interrupted. So keep your oh so enlightening thoughts to yourself for a while, okay?”
Angela froze in terror. For a heartbeat, Meg’s eyes had turned completely black, spilling from the pupil outward until no hint of even white could be seen. “What are you?” she whispered.
“Honey, I’m awesome, but not as awesome as you will be,” Meg replied, her eyes returning to normal.
She drew sigils on and across the door, and then tossed aside the blood and feather for a chisel, which she attacked the metal pentagram with. A few sharp blows to get the blade under the ring of metal and then a tug to rip it away from the stone, and the circle was broken. A strange, twisting chant began syllables of Latin and a harsh language that Angela did not recognize filled the air. The wind increased again, a low roar to accompany Meg’s chanting. Arms raised and fingers spread, Meg stood in front of the crypt and bellowed one harsh word.
The wind died immediately, and Angela staggered from the abrupt change.
Meg half turned to look at Angela, an excited smirk on her face. She lifted her arms to the sky head tilted back and shouted one last phrase.
For another heartbeat, nothing happened. And then the crypt doors rattled. Then they boomed, as if something inside was struggling to get out. The ground started to shake, the doors began inching open. Angela felt the earth heave like a wave under her feet and she fell against a headstone. And the door of the crypt burst open.
A shock wave of power exploded out, and Angela ducked behind the granite slab just before it hit. She heard Meg’s laugh twisting up through the roar. A boiling cloud of black smoke rocketed out of the door, filling the air with darkness and a high pitched squeal of pain and power. It enveloped her, filling the entire cemetery. The stink of sulfur filled her nostrils and she gagged as it caught in her throat; she was being choked.
“NOT HER!” Meg bellowed. “DON’T YOU KNOW WHO SHE IS? WHY I GOT YOU OUT?”
Immediately the stink and pressure eased, and she got to her feet, panting and shaking.
“Sorry,” Meg said as she walked over to Angela and got a hand her elbow to steady her. “My friends just got a little excited. They haven’t been out in a while. Forgot their social skills.” Her eyes had turned black again; Angela looked away.
The heaving cloud of black smoke still filled the cemetery, roiling. Angela thought she could see individual snakes of black making up the mass, the long thin shapes twisting through the air, coiled with power and energy, but held back by something.
Meg jogged her elbow a little. “Remember when I said I had a metal allergy? Same thing goes for my buddies.”
“What? Oh.” Angela glanced back over her shoulder; the gate had blown shut during the tumult. The smoke coiled closer to her; small tendrils brushed across the backs of her hands, ran through her hair. “What is all of this?” she whispered.
“Well, if you’re Cinderella and the glass slipper, think of me as your fairy godmother. And all of my friends - the mice, birds, pumpkins and whatever - to get you ready for the ball and get you there.” She grinned. “So how about opening that door so we can get started?”
She was terrified. There was no explanation that she could even begin to fathom to explain Meg’s powers, her black eyes or the strange smoke. Yet there was something familiar to the whole thing. The waves of power, the high pitch squeal that echoed through the cemetery - all of it resonated like the silver voice. It wasn’t the same, but it was close enough. And every moment she stood surrounded by the waves of black, she could feel the power in her growing, the silver song howling in her veins.
“Okay,” she said finally. And she opened the gate.
The cloud rushed out, roaring past her, the reek of sulfur filling her nostrils and the crackle of energy rushing over her skin like electricity. Meg came up behind her and smiled.
“Good job. Now we better jump on our version of the pumpkin carriage and hurry to where our little helpers are getting things prepped for your ball gown.”
“You’re going to explain everything on the way there,” Angela said, finally locking eyes with Meg; they were no longer black, but they were bright and wild.
“Oh of course. Never worry, the Prince won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. You have to agree before he does anything. I just am here to make sure you look and feel your best before you meet him.”
*
As promised, Meg explained the situation on the road, between navigating them towards Flagstaff. But the explanation was far from enlightening.
“Listen, princess, you’re pretty damn special to begin with, what with your unique background, but you are going to need an extra boost before saying hello to the Prince. Think of it as your vitamins. My friends are going to help, but they need some…specific supplies as well.”
They rolled into a little flyspeck of a town about an hour later, the kind that had appeared after the Pulse, when people didn’t want to live alone in the country or packed into the cities and thus had banded together into small communities. Angela was still puzzling over exactly what the hell Meg had meant, when they came to the road block. It was hardly surprising - the small towns were just as guarded as the larger cities. The two men leering at them from behind the barrier were also not surprising. Angela got that a lot, especially in the small towns; it had been one of the reasons she had locked herself away when Steven and Johnny had left. Not that she couldn’t have handled the threat; she just didn’t want to deal with the attention.
“Hey there pretty ladies,” one of them said, and his buddy chuckled.
Then their eyes flashed black.
“Boys,” Meg said as she got off the bike. “We got everything ready?”
“Yep. The volunteers are over in the diner, getting everything prepped,” the first man said, his eyes turning back to their original brown. He opened the barrier.
As Meg and Angela walked through, the second man asked, “Isn’t the stuff better fresh, straight from the source? You know, got the best kick?”
“That’s with everything, jackass. And it’s still gonna be fresh. But we don’t really want to overwhelm on the first date, you know? Come on, princess.”
Meg led the way to the diner the men had mentioned. Inside, it was quiet and still, with only a handful of patrons scattered throughout. The smell of sulfur hung heavy in the air, and Angela wrinkled her nose.
“What’s wrong princess?” Meg asked with a grin as she plopped down in a booth and gestured Angela to take the opposite side.
“Nothing,” she replied, sitting down cautiously.
A waitress appeared and smiled. “What can I get you ladies?” she asked. Her name tag read Britt.
“I’m fine, but princess here will have the special,” Meg replied.
Britt grinned at Angela. “Coming right up.”
“That’s one of my friends. Damn good cook, of sorts,” Meg said.
Angela just nodded. The whole situation continued to be stranger than she wanted to admit. Yet she couldn’t extract herself. The silver hum continued somewhere between her mind and her blood, and after the months of solitude and her years at Manticore, the sense of reverence and plain excitement that she sensed from Meg and her cohorts was pleasant.
Britt reappeared with a vegetarian omelet and a tall chocolate shake. The sulfur smell only increased and Angela eyed the food nervously. She had a pretty strong digestive system, but she didn’t want to have to deal with getting sick off of bad eggs.
“If you’re not hungry, go for the shake. It’s got the vitamins I was talking about. Pretty damn filling by itself, I’ve heard.” Meg winked up at Britt.
“It’s excellent - my own special recipe,” Britt added.
She nodded in return, and saw a spot of red on Britt’s white sleeve. “You’ve got something on your arm.”
Britt glanced down and then laughed dismissively. “Oh, yeah, cut myself earlier. Must be bleeding through the bandage. But go ahead, try the shake, let me know what you think.”
Of the two options, the shake did seem to be the lesser of two evils. She picked up the glass and raised it to Meg and Britt. “Cheers.”
It was thick and somehow more bitter than sweet on her tongue. Yet as soon as the first drop hit her mouth, she couldn’t stop drinking. With every gulp, the desire for more surged through her, and a low hum filled her ears. It was like the silver voice, but lower, darker, all edged in red and black. It was beautiful in a completely different way than the silver voice had been. It pulled out the animalistic side of her, the side that had been funneled into being a solider, and the side that she had to hide when she play acted human. It was her power, her own personal power.
She licked up the last drop off the rim of the glass and set it down so hard it cracked up the side. Her head was swimming with the waves of power, limbs screaming to move, blood burning for the hunt, for prey. She sprang to her feet, lips lifting in a snarl and a growl bubbling out of her chest. The quiet little diner fell silent; waves of fear and excitement radiated out from the patrons. The snarl turned to a smirk.
“Let’s play a game,” she said. “You run, I chase. Whoever gets left behind, I eat. I’ll even give you a head start. Ready, set, GO!”
Pandemonium broke out in the diner. Screams and, strangely cheers, filled the air. People scrambled out of booths and over tables and raced for the door. Angela let them get outside and start scattering across the streets before she blurred to the door after them. The sulfur smell that had turned her stomach just minutes before now burned in her nostrils like a drug, and she raced after those who carried that scent.
Meg got out of the booth and walked to the door but didn’t open it. Britt joined her. Screams from the street worked their way through the glass.
“Is… its it supposed to do that?” Britt asked, her eyes flashing black.
Meg raised a shoulder, head cocked to one side as she walked Angela blur up to one demon, kick out the man’s knee, and then attack his throat with her teeth as he fell. “I wasn’t around to see Sammy Winchester get hopped up on the blood, but I heard stories. But I don’t think he ever went this nuts even at his worst. He’s methodical, and had a hell of a stubborn streak to keep him on what he thought was the right path. This girl, though… when I say she’s an animal, I don’t mean that metaphorically.” She shrugged again and grinned. “Just means she’ll be ready sooner, and we can see our father again.”
Out on the street, Angela straightened, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. Blood coated her face and dripped down her neck. It left a blossom of scarlet on the high collar of her white shirt. She glanced back at the diner, grinned, and raced off down the street again, looking for all the world like a panther on the hunt.
“I like this girl,” Meg said. “A bit messy for my taste, but damn, she’s got some moves.”
Chapter 2a
Chapter 3