He simply sidestepped and stabbed the blob’s leftmost edge with enough force to pin it to the floor. The fight was officially over but the pinned Froku still lived. As its white lifeblood squirted from the non-fatal wound, the parasitic alien shrieked in agony. Voker pulled a whiskey flask out of his torn jacket pocket and shrank back into his Voker persona as he took a sip. He winced as he slapped his left hand over his stomach and applied pressure to the wound, which he knew would heal in a matter of minutes.
He then poured the rest of the whiskey onto a wooden pew, lit a match, and dropped it. The fire caught and began to spread. Voker turned toward the helpless Froku with a sadistic grin.
“You’re probably wondering why you’re still alive,” Voker said. “Well, I wouldn’t mind getting off this miserable world. And I think your brood mother has a ship stashed around here somewhere. Where is it?”
The Froku screamed a shrill response in its native tongue. Voker shrugged and turned back to the growing flames.
“Curse me all you want, you pile of cold shit. Tell me where the ship is and I promise I won’t leave you here to burn,” Voker said with a lying smile.
HEAVENLY DRAFT
“Welcome to Heaven, you sorry sacks of meat!”
Sgt. Avery Dawson must’ve been a drill instructor in his past life – probably Army. A Marine DI would’ve said something cooler. Still, the grayish-brown buzz cut, the way he yelled, and the downright meanness of his face could only come from a DI. Even though Dawson was short and loud, he wore a really cool uniform. He had mix of modern-day olive-drab fatigues, black combat boots … and silvery armor on the shoulders, torso, ankles, and wrists. His choice of weapons also caught my eye: a Colt 1911A pistol holster to his left hip, a gleaming longsword sheathed on his right hip, and a modified M-16A rifle slung across his back.
Then, of course, there was the fiery halo atop his head. But he didn’t have wings. It reminded me – and the long, long line of recently-deceased – that we were all, in fact, dead. My last memories were of running through a back street in Fallujah, at the head of my squad. Wertosky was warning us to keep an eye out for snipers. It figured I’d be the one who saw the gleam off a sniper scope right before the world went black.
And now I’m here in a white robe and brown sandals, just like all the other new arrivals – minus a halo or wings. Dawson paced down the long row of us, the angelic dead. I tuned out most of his rant and fingered the blank pair of silver dog tags around my neck. Everyone else had them too. I looked around and realized that we stood under a beautiful blue sky, complete with pleasant white clouds which moved to a gentle breeze. The sky reminded me of the picnics I had taken with Carrie Ann –
I jerked my mind back into the present. I was dead and she wasn’t.
We stood in front of Dawson on some kind of paved parade ground, with dozens of barracks on the other side. My guess was that recruits ended up there. The buildings beyond were those found on any modern-day base: administrative offices, warehouses, training grounds, et cetera.
Farther on was a massive plateau, upon which sat the largest, most beautiful urban skyline I’ve ever seen. The architecture was so futuristic that the place could’ve been out of a comic book. The buildings seemed to rise thousands of feet high and gleamed so brightly that they actually served as the source of all daylight in the place. Then I looked into the opposite direction – away from the screaming drill instructor.
Holy shit!
We were standing with our backs to a cliff. I could literally take a step back and enjoy a very deep fall. None of my fellow dead had bothered to turn around, yet. I gulped at the sight. Way, way, way at the bottom of the cliff was an enormous white wall – probably some heaven-based fortification. I saw countless little haloed figures pacing it. Beyond that was a red desert-like landscape with cracked, dried ground. On the other side of what looked to be miles of red desert was a huge mountain range with three distinctly-huge passes running through it. The clear, blue sky abruptly stopped halfway over the hellish desert. Dark, crimson clouds took over and ran clear across to the mountain range and beyond –
Dawson’s gauntleted hand suddenly snatched me by the chin and roughly jerked my face toward him.
“Are you paying attention to me, maggot?!”
“Sir. No sir,” I calmly replied, not surprised that his breath reeked of cigars.
The folks next to me looked at me like I was nuts. Odds were the “recruits” next to me had been regular folks who lived regular lives and died in rather plain ways. They must’ve been too scared to back-talk to one of God’s own.
Screw that.
I’ve seen friends and strangers die in a wide variety of violent and sadistic ways. And when I forgot about their deaths, I had my nightmares to remind me. Frankly, I didn’t scare so easily any more. Maybe that’s why I slapped Dawson’s hand away and shoved him back. Even Dawson looked surprised. But he quickly regained his composure and got right back into my face again. I ignored the heat from Dawson’s halo and glared down at this asshole.
“Let me get this straight: we force ourselves to be good and live by the rules. And then we die and end up in Heaven. But instead of eternal rest, we get to go through divine boot camp and then fight some damned war?!”
“That is correct!” Dawson yelled. “I’m glad you didn’t daydream through my entire speech –“
“Actually, I did,” I interrupted. “But I’ll guess the rest. We‘re fighting a defensive war against Hell. If we lose, Heaven and Earth come crashing down. But we can’t win, can we?”
Dawson folded his arms, unsure of whether or not he would belt me now or belt me later.
“And why do you figure that, you daffy piece of muleshit?”
“Because the war’s lasted this long,” I countered, surprised by my clarity. “How badly are we outnumbered?”
Dawson hesitated.
For all his bluster, he’s not used to shutting people up. Frankly, my old DI would’ve put me in the hospital if I said one word that threatened morale - especially with stakes like these. But I once made the mistake of hopping into a war on faith alone. I wouldn’t make that mistake twice.
“Hundreds-to-one.”
The other recruits started looking around. Audible whispers began as they noticed the hellscape behind them.
“Have you ever launched an all-out attack on Hell?”
“That would be stupid and futile.”
“Why?” I asked. “God’s got our backs, right?”
I could tell that Dawson wanted to lie to me. But for some weird reason, he couldn‘t. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s on the side of the angels.
“God’s not here right now,” Dawson admitted.
“Come again?”
“God’s left to create other planes of existence. This war is a test. If we can defend the gates of Heaven until his return, humanity will evolve to a higher level. If we fall, Hell spreads into both Heaven and Earth.”
“When will he be back?”
“We don’t know,” Dawson scowled. “It could be tomorrow. It could be thousands of years from now.”
“Why does Hell give a shit about conquering Heaven?”
Dawson