Angel: Scene 11

23 February 2055

        She awoke to the sound of angry voices and hard, cold flooring beneath her hands. Vaguely, she remembered a jolting ride in the back of some hard sprung vehicle that spewed acrid fumes of burnt oil and gasoline. She remembered trying to protest, trying to explain that she couldn’t kill anyone, but every time she made a sound, someone knocked her out again.
        She kept her eyes closed and held herself motionless, trying to determine what was happening. The voices were in the next room and it didn’t take long to realize that she was in the hands of a mutant hunting mob. She listened as one man spoke with such charisma the others practically echoed every word he spoke as he told them of the evil called mutants. That man now held her life in his hands.
        The sound of hard leather heels clacked across the tiled flooring.
        ”Good morning, Demon Spawn,” the charismatic voice greeted cheerily. “Did you sleep well?” She didn’t move. “I know you’re awake,” he added, “you’re holding your breath. Your wings aren’t moving.” He chuckled.
        She carefully pushed herself to a sitting position and glanced around herself. The room was a simple concrete walled box, about ten feet square, with one window and one open side, both blocked by heavy steel bars — a jail cell.
        She rose and sat on the edge of the cot standing against the side wall of the cell. Once seated, she turned her head and looked at the owner of that silky-smooth voice. The man stood a little over five feet tall–only slightly shorter than herself, slender, with delicate hands. He reminded her of the pickpockets and con men she had dealt with as a lawyer’s assistant.
        ”What were you doing at Jim Bram’s farm?”
        ”Trying to heal his wife.”
        ”How did you know about her?”
        ”I was flying overhead and her need Called out to me, so I came.”
        ”Do you mean that you can feel their pain from a distance?”
        ”Not quite, but close enough.”
        ”Where were you living?”
        ”Do you think I would tell you? You must think me a fool.”
        ”How did you get to the farm?”
        ”I told you, I flew.”
        ”What reason did you have for killing Jim’s wife?”
        ”I didn’t kill her! I can’t kill!”
        For the next hour, the man threw questions at her, trying to trick her to reveal hiding place and into admitting to the murder of the dead woman. She finally stopped answering his questions entirely, realizing that no matter what she said, he would believe what he wanted to believe and nothing she said would change his mind.
        After a few minutes of her silence, he called through the bars, “Get me two pairs of handcuffs!” Walking to the gate of the cell block, he collected the handcuffs and returned, using a heavy key to open her cell door. She tried to evade him, but he managed to corner her easily and locked a cuff onto one of her wrists. Picking her up with ease, he slammed her against the bars of the cell, latching the open bracelet onto one of the bars. Grabbing her other wrist, he wrenched her arm back and bound it the same way, the cuffs now holding her spread against the bars.
        “Since you won’t answer my questions willingly, I guess I’ll have to beat them out of you,” he growled. “I really didn’t want to do this, but Satan and his kind only understand pain. Maybe you’ll tell me what I want to know if I give you a little of your own.”
        He unbuckled his broad leather belt and pulled it off. Using the heavy, western-style buckle as a grip and wrapping the leather once around his hand for a better hold, he swung the belt hard across her belly. “Where have you been staying?”
        ”I won’t tell you,” She yelped as the leather cracked through the thin fabric of the gown.
        ”Where were you staying?” The belt cracked again, eliciting another cry of pain.
        “No,” she cried back. “They’ve done nothing to you!”
        “You’ll tell me,” he replied. “You’ll tell me and be glad you did!”
        After several minutes of flogging, she cried, “Alright! Alright, I’ll tell you! I’ve been camping in a cave on a mountain about thirty miles southeast of here.”
        ”How can I find it?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he swung again, as hard as he could. She writhed and screamed as new trickles of blood joined the others.
        ”A paved road runs around the bottom of the mountain, I don’t know the name. It runs over a stream,” she sobbed, hanging against the bars of the cell.
        ”Are there any other mutants there?” he asked.
        ”No!”
        The man smiled. “That’s what I thought.” He raised his voice to the men waiting outside the cell block. “Bud, get five more men who know the mountains. After we finish here, we’ll go get her friends.” He unlocked the handcuffs, letting her fall to the floor, locking the cell door behind him as he left. After a few minutes, the cuts and welts faded. She crawled up onto the bed and covered herself with the rough, wool blanket. At least the Tuckers are safe, she thought. These people won’t think a Normal family housed me over the winter.
        She rose to her feet and stared out through the tiny, barred window at the bustle going on in the town square. As she watched, A backhoe drove in and dug a deep hole while several men with heavy rakes cleared a large circle around it. A truck carrying a short, thick pole arrived a few minutes later. A couple of the men dropped their rakes and hooked the pole to the bucket of the backhoe, setting it into the hole and packing it tight with dirt. A team of carpenters then built a small wooden platform at the foot of the pole. By the time they finished, a fifteen-foot tall stake stood in the courthouse square with a heavy iron ring nailed about seven feet above the platform, its intended purpose obvious to everyone.
        As the day wore on, more and more people entered the square, anticipating a spectacular show. Just as the sun touched the horizon, the silk-tongued orator returned from his hunt empty-handed, his voice quickly raising them into a bloodthirsty frenzy as he railed them about the demon-spawn’s lies and other imagined evils. Finally he called them to silence. Without another word, he stepped off the platform and walked over to the jail followed by two larger men. Entering the jail, he unlocked her cell door. The men slipped past him into the cell, grabbing her arms and lifting her off her feet.
        They carried her out of the jail, squeezing so tightly through the narrow doorways she felt they would crush her to death even before she got to the stake. Once outside, they moved apart again, giving her a chance to breathe. She rode along helplessly, relaxing in their grip as they carried her towards her doom. Just as they reached the edge of the mob, she screamed and twisted wildly, beating her wings with all her strength. Writhing and twisting in their grip, the wind from her pinions stirring up dust from the dry ground into her captors’ faces. She lifted, slipping through the grasp of the burly men as they sneezed and choked on the dust, their grip loosening in their distress. She flapped harder. Nearly there … Almost … Her left arm was free! She kicked, surging upwards, pulling hard to escape the second man’s weakened grip. Just as her wrist slipped free, arms came from nowhere, wrapping themselves around her legs and dragging her back to the ground amid the cheers of the enthusiastic crowd.
        ”Got you, you Mutie!” snarled the hunter’s voice. “You’re not going to get away!” Giving the two men a chance to recover their sight, he growled, “Hurry up, you fools! Tie her to the stake before she tries again!” When they grabbed her arms this time, they gripped so tightly she felt the bones start to give. They slammed her back against the pole with bruising force. “And tie down those damn wings! You want her to fly away?”
        One of the men held both her arms together while the other tied her wrists with a length of nylon cord. He then lifted her arms high over her head so the cord could be tied to the ring.
        ”Strip her!” came a cry from the crowd, echoed an instant later by dozens of other voices, both male and female. The hunter grinned. Stepping up onto the platform, he grabbed the neckline of the already ragged gown and yanked downward, ripping the thin fabric from her body. The crowd roared with glee, their victim hung naked against the pole, her toes barely touching the rough boards of the platform.
        “Here she is, ladies and gentlemen,” the mutant hunter crowed. “Satan’s own succubus! See how the Devil does his Evil by looking fair! Here is the creature that sucked the life out of Jim Bram’s lovely wife!” The mob roared their approval.
        “Build the fire!” he cajoled. “Bring wood! Bring oil! Let’s show the Devil how we send his servants home!” As he called and entreated, boards, branches, wood of all sorts were thrown against the base of the stake. One by one the mob filed by, each one cursing her as they added fuel to the pile.
        “Demon!” they cried, “Beast! Hellspawn! Go back where you came from,” others shouted. Over it all, the chant of “Burn. Burn. Burn,” echoed from the brick wall of the courthouse before which the stake stood.
        As the last board was added to the pile, the hunter raised his hands, calling for silence. “Citizens!” he purred softly, “is this a woman tied to this post?”
        ”No!” they roared.
        ”Is this a Human?” he asked, a little louder.
        ”No!”
        ”What is she?”
        ”A Demon!”
        ”What?” He called.
        ”A Mutant!”
        ”And what are you?”
        ”Normal!”
        ”And what do Normals do to Mutants?”
        ”Burn them!”
        They broke again into cheers, the clamor lasting for several minutes. Gradually the chant of “Burn. Burn,” rose over the noise. He let it continue for almost five minutes before he raised his hands again. Quietly, he spoke.
        ”Fellow Normals, it has been over a year now since the alien warships were destroyed. You all know what happened when they arrived, don’t you? They blasted New York City off the map! They destroyed Los Angeles. And what did they leave for us when they were done? They left their radioactive poison behind and created Hell on Earth. They gave us Mutants! Creatures no longer Human!
        ”This creature you see displayed here is not a human any more! If we allow her to live, her bloodline will destroy us! They will take over our homes and destroy the human race! They will take our world from us! Can we allow that to happen?”
        ”No!” the crowd roared.
        He jumped down and grabbed a torch, prepared ahead of time by tying rags on one end of a broken broomstick. He signaled for his accomplices to pour kerosene on the rags. He dipped the end of his stick into the stream of liquid, and then stood back and waited for them as they poured the oil all around the base of the stake.
        Terror filled her as she looked over the mob. Staring down on the sea of upturned faces, she saw no hint of sympathy or regret. Nothing but hate and lust. Not the healthy, sexual lust of a man for a woman, but a blood lust, a lust to hurt, to maim, to destroy; a sick lust, that wanted to see her naked body writhing and blackening in the fire. The mutation that had created her healing ability and given her wings had also taken away the plain, overweight girl she once had been, giving her the beauty of the Angels for which she had been named. The lust she felt from the mob frightened her even more than the nearness of her own death.
        The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette lighter. He flicked the thumbwheel and applied the small flame to the dripping rags on the end of his torch. He waved the torch around his head and called out. “What shall I do with this creature of Satan?”
        ”Burn her!” the crowd roared, bursting again into cheers.
        “No!” an even louder voice commanded from overhead. A blinding strobe of blue-green lightning speared through the torch wielder, dropping him before he could even raise his head in the direction of the sound.
        ”This is FORCE,” the voice bellowed, overpowering Alaina’s scream of pain as orange and green strobes flashed over the crowd. “Surrender now!” A single aircar now stood visible above and behind the stake
        Out of the mob came the rattle of gunshots, sparks flying as bullets struck the armor and ricocheted into the darkness. For every shot fired, a laser lanced out, impaling the shooter before he could fire a second round. Within seconds the shooting stopped.
        With each death, she cried out yet again in pain, the Call trying to drag her from the stake to their aid. She struggled against the ropes, writhing as she tried to free herself and stop the deaths.
        ”Last warning!” the voice commanded. “Surrender now or suffer the consequences!” At that, the mob broke and ran, scattering in all directions. Within moments, the square stood empty, except for Alaina, crying helplessly on the stake.
        The aircar hissed as it settled softly to the ground. A lone figure, garbed in black, emerged from the driver’s compartment, features hidden by a helmet with its visor down. The helmet turned back and forth as the deputy scanned the area. A heavy laser pistol lay ready in the figure’s hand while around the waist rested a belt carrying several pouches. The helmet turned again, the deputy using its sensors to probe for hidden snipers. Finding none, the deputy shoved the pistol into its holster. The deputy, features still hidden behind the face shield, approached the stake and drew a combat knife. Cringing with terror, she watched as the anonymous deputy approached with the deadly weapon, certain that this mysterious being intended to finish what the mob had started. She closed her eyes and nerved herself for the end.
        She felt movement and the cord binding her wrists to the stake let go, letting her arms fall before her. She fell against him, her legs unable to support her.
        ”Thank you,” she whispered.
        ”Just doing my job, Miss,” a deep, soft voice replied.
        ”Who are you?” she asked, opening her eyes and peering into the reflective face shield.
        ”Deputy Paul Johnston, Miss. Of the Federal Office for Research and Control of the Enhanced. FORCE. I saw your little party here and decided to cut in on the fun.”
        ”Some fun,” she said faintly.
        ”Oh, I don’t know,” he returned. “I seem to have a pretty woman falling all over me.”
        ”What are you going to do with me now that you have me?”
        ”Well, I thought I’d take you back to FORCE, so we can find out what you can do. After that, it will be up to you.”
        ”Oh? And I suppose I’ll have to serve FORCE once they’ve found out what they want to know?”
        ”That depends on you, too.”
        She pushed away from him and bent down to retrieve the remnants of her dress. She carefully stepped through the open back and pulled it up, tying in place as best she could.
        ”Where are the others? The men that are with you?” she asked as she peered around the abandoned square.
        He gave a low, mirthful chuckle, “There’s no one else. Just me.”
        He escorted her to the aircar and helped her into the passenger seat, gently guiding her wings into the free space behind the seat. Then he slid into his own seat, throttled the engine up and lifted off. He hovered close to the roofs of several surrounding buildings to recall the remote speakers he had dropped. Within moments, they were on their way north east, to Arlington, Virginia, and the national FORCE Headquarters.