Angel: Scene 9

19 September 2054

        The same insistent Call echoed through her mind. The mountain valley over which she flew was more heavily settled, several houses visible below. She tried to ignore the Call but she couldn’t. Someone was dying, their soul crying out for help, unwilling to leave their body.
        Someone needed her!
        Now!
        Helplessly she turned, following the pull.
        She landed in front of a small but neatly kept farmhouse. A German shepherd came charging around the side of the house in a clamor of barking. His challenging barks changing to whines of delight, tail wagging frantically as he neared. “Good dog,” she said, patting him briefly, then ran up the steps to the porch and knocked on the door.
        It was opened by a middle aged woman with a rifle. She gaped at the sight of Alaina’s wings. “What … what do you want?” she demanded, keeping the rifle centered on the young woman.
        ”Please. Someone in your house is dying. I need to go to him or her.”
        The woman shook her head. “No! He’s not dying! He’ll get well.”
        ”He’s dying! I can help him. Please! Let me go to him.”
        ”You’re a mutant. Why would you help us?” the woman demanded. A teen aged girl came up behind her mother, holding an axe.
        ”Being a mutant doesn’t make me any less human! I’m a healer; I’ve got to go to him! Please!” she begged.
        ”Ma,” the girl said, “look at Shep.” She pointed to the dog, cavorting behind Alaina, tongue lolling in a grin, tail wagging. “He trusts her.”
        She hesitated a moment, then lowered the rifle. “He’s upstairs.” Alaina pushed past her and ran for the stairs. “His axe slipped. He’s in there,” the woman said, following her up the stairs and pointing out one of the doors.
        A man in his late forties lay on the bed. He tossed deliriously. She pulled the blanket back. His right leg was swollen, a deep, angry red. Lines of red ran up his thigh. Alaina gently lifted his leg, unwrapping the bandage to reveal an ugly gash, biting into the bone and severing the muscle in the front of the leg.
        ”You may stay if you want, but do not say or do anything to distract me,” Alaina said. She put her hands on his leg and closed her eyes. The blue nimbus formed around her hands, spreading up her arms and across her body as her concentration deepened.
        The infection. An angry red fog encompassed her, mindlessly hostile. Smooth it away. In the wake of her fingers, white blood cells swarmed, revitalized, multiplying at a tremendous rate. Foreign matter — remove it.
        The woman watched, holding her husband’s hand. The mutant’s hands wandered aimlessly across his leg. And in their wake, the swelling subsided, the color faded. The mutant’s fingers probed at the gash, digging. The woman started to protest, then subsided as the mutant’s blind probing brought up a dark, pus-covered splinter of wood almost three inches long.
        Alaina focused deeper, healing the cut in the bone and the severed muscle. Cells multiplied, filling the gash in the leg. Then she opened her eyes. “Cover him,” she whispered, and collapsed bonelessly to the floor.
        Several hours later, she stirred and sat up. She lay in a bed, covered with a soft quilt. She rose and walked to the door. Opening it, she looked out. The hall was empty, but she could hear muted speech in the living room downstairs.
        As she reached the bottom stair, she could see the man she’d healed. He was sitting on the sofa, his arm around the woman. His daughter was asleep, her head pillowed against his other shoulder. He saw her. “Jenny, wake up” he said softly, kissing his daughter’s forehead. The girl blinked and sat up. He stood. “Thank you, whoever you are. My wife told me what happened. Thank you. What can we do for you in return?”
        She shrugged slightly. “Nothing. Don’t tell anyone about me.”
        ”There must be something we can do,” the man protested. “You’ve saved my life.”
        ”Are you hungry?” his wife asked.
        ”Yes.”
        “Then that is how we will repay you,” she replied. “Sit down and rest yourself.”
        “Thank you.”
        As his wife and daughter went into the kitchen to fix food, he introduced himself. “I’m Jeff Tucker, that’s my wife, Denise, and my daughter, Jenny.”
        ”I’m Alaina Hazelton.”
        Jenny came out of the kitchen. “Do you like biscuits, Angel?”
        ”Her name is Alaina,” Jeff said, but Alaina shook her head.
        ”Other people have called me Angel. I’m beginning to get used to it. Yes, I like biscuits.”
        They ate and talked for a couple of hours. At last, Alaina stood. “I need to leave now, and find a place to camp before it gets light.”
        ”It’s almost dawn. Why not stay with us until this evening, you can sleep here.”
        She hesitated, then agreed. That evening, the air was almost cold, a frontal system coming through while she slept. The Tuckers followed her outside as she prepared to leave. Jenny shivered and looked at Alaina’s bare arms and light clothing. “You’ll freeze, Angel!” she protested.
        Jeff nodded agreement. “Stay with us a little longer, why don’t you? At least ‘til it warms up. We have an extra bedroom. It’s the least we can do for you.”
        Alaina rubbed her arms. “I wish I’d held on to those flannel shirts. I didn’t expect it to get so cold down here! I’ll take you up on your offer as long as you don’t mind my flying out every once in a while. If someone gets hurt, I really can’t ignore their pain.”
        She stayed the winter with the Tuckers, going out every night to exercise her wings, weather permitting. Occasionally, the Call would summon her down to heal a critically sick or injured person. By mid-winter, the legend of an Angel, dropping out of the star filled sky to heal and fly away again, began to grow.