Angel hunt (rough draft)
I sat under the big maple tree in the yard, golden spots of sunlight seeped through the leaves. Birds chirped in the woods that surrounded the the yard. A yapper dog barked in the distance. All that noise would draw them in for sure. They weren't dumb, they would know a human would be near the noise.
I made sure for the dozenth time that I couldn't be spotted from the road. It's not that I'm afraid of them, but any fool knows you don't invite them, don't be a target. Those fools with the barking dog must have given up on all hope. The house at the end of the road was the last target. The demons took him and rode him like a horse.
What they did varied but it was never good for whoever the victims were. If you were lucky they didn't kill anybody while you were their body slave. You're always fully aware of what they're doing with your body, so I've heard. The evil bastards might slaughter your neighbors or your own unsuspecting family.
They took over one guy in town, small bald guy with glasses, by the end of the ride he looked more like Jason without the hockey mask than the accountant he was. Afterwards the demon walked him into the church on George Street, sat down on a pew and cut off all the fingers on his left hand with a pocketknife. Using the bowl of holy water on the pillar by the door, he dipped his hand in, and made the sign of the cross with his bloody stump. There was a priest at the alter practicing his sermon who tried to help the man, not knowing he really wasn't a man any longer. Too bad for the priest, only some people can see the demons, and he wasn't one of them. The priest ran to him and got his throat cut for his trouble. No deed goes unpunished and all that, eh father?
I heard an engine coming down the road. I pushed up my hat that was shading my eyes. The humidity was just perfect today for a nice nap outside, but I knew better than to not check to see who was coming. A old green pickup truck with a black door crawled down the road. It slowed more when it got to my house; the birds and insects went silent. I stayed hidden, not fooled like some that stick their head out, only to get caught in the demon's noose. Some called them angels. Namely God and the religious nuts. I felt a surge of self righteousness for never blindly following the mackerel snappers. Angels, what a load of shit. This tree was more angelic than the blacked eyes demons with wings that hunted humanity. As far as I knew our little town was the only one suffering the wrath of God, or God's winged helpers. And it sure is hard to relocate when you have to sell your house in a town were an angel might maul the new home owners. I wonder if they mount the heads on a wall in heaven when they kill somebody. Like some macabre hunting lodge.
To tell the truth, I liked to kill them just as much as they thrived on killing everybody in Rockford. I've never been much of a hunter, or a sociopath for that matter, so it was a mystery what made me feel so complete when I killed one of them.
I could hear the truck creep past the tree I hid behind now. I peeked out and saw one of them behind the wheel of the old truck. The people that can't see them should count themselves lucky, What they do to a person, maybe it's just their soul, is not pretty. His skin was stretched so tight over his face it looked like his eyes could fall out. Claws protruded from the ends of his figners; pointy ears broke free from his more rounded human ears. Careful to scooch around the tree to conceal my position better, then I brought the rifle my father had left me up to my shoulder.
I ducked back a fast as possible when the demon turned my way nostrils flaring. When he turned back I snapped the rifle back up and found his head in my scope. The shot would be lost soon. I took a small breath and exhaled, you don't hold it in like the movies teach. I squeezed the trigger. In the same microsecond that it took my brain to register the loud crack of the rifle, white wings sliced through the side of the truck cab. The demon could easily launch itself through the roof of the truck.
Not this time asshole. I knew how fast they could be so I aimed a bit high, predicting its escape route. The bullet tore through its temple, splattering angel brains through the passenger side window. The plants wilted where they got blood or brains on them; they turned brown and looked more like plants in February than July.
I walked over, slinging my rifle over my shoulder and pulling my .45. The angel took a direct hit to the temple; I still put one in its head with the .45. Their wings were tougher than any kevlar man could make but the head was closer to human. Not the same by any means but you could get a bullet to sail through it. Even so, walking up to a wounded angel was worse than trying to skin a bear with a mere flesh wound. Between their superhuman strength, enhanced speed and senses and their armored wings that can cut through and reinforced concrete and steel, I don't take any chances. Plus, the bastards are cunning and just damn tough.
A fellow trapped one once. The angel told him it was his grace, God's will, that made him so strong. He said it with so many curse words it made me wonder how twisted the message of God has become that people sing of nothing but rainbows and heavens when the angels hated us. He called us the ant farm and Earth was their hunting preserve. That conversation changed my outlook on a lot of things. Well I never really believed all the religious hype but now I felt justified. It turned my disdain for organized religion into righteous indignation.
I tried to warn people. From what I can tell maybe 1 out of a 100 of the population of Rockford can see angels; of those most think the angels are doing God's will and you should not interfere. Unless they are going after them of course. I met people that had their neighbors or family torn to shreds, they still held that blind faith. So, I'm a heathen, sue me.
The birds started chirping nearby as I walked toward the truck. My .45 bullet didn't quiet them like the predator behind the wheel had.
The angel sat behind the wheel, his white wings were still reaching through the truck cab. Six inches of steel had been sliced and ripped three inches wide when it started to escape. I turned off the truck, careful not to touch any blood or brains. Then I went to work.
Sweating and tired, I opened the shed door where I kept the mower and some garden tools. A gnome smiled at me from each side of the door, next to some flowers that were blooming in the sunny location. I heaved the feathery white wings that could slice through just about anything when they angel wore them onto the pile of wings from previous angels. They all looked unique, having their own features. I wasn't sure what the plan was as far as God was concerned; as for me, I'm ready to play the game. Send more of your demons and I'll do my best to add them to my collection. I shut the door, wet back to the tree in my front yard, leaned back and lowered the brim of my hat to block any sun getting through the leaves
It sure is a nice day to be outside.