Thomas Sniegoski - A Hundred Words for Hate

Remy flew up and over the security fence into the actual compound. He could not pull his eyes from the sight before him. Where the dome had once stood, growing out from the desert floor, now there were only the shattered, broken, and burning remains of the home to the Sons of Adam.

Remy stepped around the charred, twisted pieces of metal that littered the ground on his way toward the jagged, broken hole in the side of one of the walls that still managed to be standing. He peered inside, the stink of burning flesh and chemicals assailing his heightened senses. Remy recoiled from the stench, stepping back to again assess the damage. There had been a powerful explosion from within, he imagined. He imagined the beastly form of Zophiel releasing his Heavenly might within the facility, the unleashed power of Heaven tearing the biodome asunder.

Scanning the ruin for survivors, Remy could find only the burned and broken bodies of the dead. The Sons of Adam had the gift of longevity on their side, but it was nothing against the power of Heaven released.

He was about to leave this place of death, to continue with the mission he’d accepted, when he heard what sounded like a cough. Remy stood perfectly still, expanding his senses just to be sure. Was it possible? Could somebody have actually survived, or was he just hearing the final death sounds of the installation?

Standing at the edge, he looked down into the smoldering crater, the first level having collapsed and given way to levels beneath. Again he heard a sound, soft, but distinct, and flew down into the remains, searching for signs of life.

Remy guessed that he’d reached what had once been the man-made garden, the broken shapes of colorful birds strewn upon the charred floor.

“Hello?” Remy called out, eyes scanning the rubble for any sign of movement.

It sounded like a gasp for breath, but nonetheless it was a sound of somebody or something still alive in the remains of the biodome, now rendered a tomb. Something shifted beneath a felled section of the garden wall, and Remy flew above the broken concrete, searching for the source of the sound. There was scraping beneath the rubble, and the angel touched down beside it. He grabbed a huge piece of concrete, and in a display of supernatural strength hauled it up and tossed it aside.

Beneath he found a body. The remains were badly damaged. There was no way that the sound could have come from him, but Remy again heard something: this time a muffled cry.

Rolling the corpse over to one side, he found what looked to be a metal stretcher. Something stirred beneath the stainless steel, and Remy lifted it up to reveal the shape and the still-living body of a man covered in thick dust, dirt, and blood.

Reaching down, Remy carefully took hold of the man’s arm and pulled him from the rubble. Despite the destruction around him, the survivor appeared to be unscathed other than some minor burns, cuts, and bruises.

“Are you all right?” Remy asked, kneeling beside him.

The man turned a dirty face toward him. “You’re going to need to speak up, Mr. Chandler,” he said.

Remy was startled, even more surprised when he realized that the survivor was the man called Jon.

“What happened here?” Remy asked, remembering how it had once looked, but now seeing only devastation.

Jon crawled across the rubble to the body that had lain atop him. He knelt beside it, taking one of its burned hands in his. “I was going to bury him,” he said. “In the garden . . . when I found them all dead.”

Remy realized that the corpse belonged to the volunteer, and his belief that Jon and he had been more than friends was affirmed by the intensity of the man’s emotion.

“All dead?” Remy asked.

“Something got into the dome and killed everybody. I only survived the initial attack because I was dropping you off at the plane. I came back to bury Nathan. . . .”

Jon stared at the broken and bloody corpse again, stroking its hand. “That was his name. . . . His name was Nathan.”

“Stay with me, Jon,” Remy said. “What did you find when you returned?”

“The place was unusually quiet. . . . It was when I entered the garden that I found the bodies.”

“Did you see who did it . . . ? Was it Zophiel? The Cherubim?”

Jon shook his head. “I don’t know. . . . All I heard was a laugh, and then there was this horrible fire and—”

“What happened to Malachi and Adam? Did you see either of them?”

Jon thought for a moment before answering. “No . . . no, I didn’t see them.”

“Then they might have survived,” Remy said. “Escaped before they could be hurt.”

“Yes,” Jon said as he started to rise, nearly falling over as the rubble shifted beneath his feet. “I believe Adam still lives,” he said. “I think I’d have felt it if he died.”

“Then there’s still a chance of getting this done,” Remy said. “Of finding the key.”

“Do you still have the map and drawings?” Jon asked. He was still gazing down at Nathan’s body.

“I was attacked, as well. Zophiel brought the plane down,” Remy said. “The map and drawings were lost.”

Jon looked to him with a nod. “I see,” he said, and then walked closer to Nathan’s remains. “I’d like to bury him before we go,” he said.

Remy stared, not entirely understanding what was being said.

“We?” he questioned.

Jon nodded. “I’m the only one still alive who saw what he did,” Jon said, pointing at Nathan’s corpse. “You’re going to need me to get us where we’re going to find the second half of the key and open the Gates of Eden.”

Remy now understood completely.

“But before we go anywhere, I need to bury my friend,” Jon said, going to the body. “Will you help me?” he asked of him, as Remy nodded.

It was the least he could do for the man.

Zophiel . . . I am Zophiel.

The Cherubim floated above the Earth in the cold vacuum of space and continued to remember. Splintered pieces of memory came at him from every side and he snatched at them, eager to put the imagery together . . . eager to know what had happened to him.

Eager to know what had yet to be done.

Invisible feelers trailed from his drifting form, leading from his armored body down to the planet below.

Zophiel knew the answers were there, and he would find them. All he needed was patience.

The feelers drifted across the surface of the Earth, telling him much about the place to which the Almighty had taken such a shine. It was a special world filled with a myriad of life, and bountiful resources, and so much more, but the answers still eluded him.

The Cherubim felt his anger begin to spike, and he resisted the temptation to descend upon the planet, laying waste to its vast cities until the answers to the mysteries in question revealed themselves to him. It was an option that he was seriously considering when he felt the first twinge.

Like a spider in its web, Zophiel felt the thrum of an ancient power through the tendrils of webbing that trailed from space to the planet below. It had not been there before, but now it was.

Just a hint of something that had once been hidden.

A taste.

The Cherubim drifted in the cold of space, ready to act upon the next sign. And it came again: another faint tremble in the ether, vibrating up through the invisible line from the earth below.

Zophiel squinted his many eyes, following the connection from space, down through the atmosphere and clouds. It was there that he would find what he was searching for.

Spreading his massive wings, the Cherubim dropped from the stars in search of answers.

Heaven help any who dared stand in his way.

Steven Mulvehill pulled up in front of Fernita Green’s house a little after six, and again considered what he was doing.