Excerpt - When the Angels Turned Their B

My friends, neighbors, and family –

When the sins of mankind had finally gone too far, God and his angels chose to save only those they deemed righteous enough. The rest of the world, the rest of us, burned. The Earth cracked open, and Hell ascended. The demons fell upon us with punishment and torment. The Horsemen rode, spreading pestilence, war, famine, and death.

For years, we thought those who had died quickly to be the lucky ones.

But we held on. I remember a line from an old movie. An alien, of all things, spoke to a man and said, “Do you want to know what I find beautiful about you? You are at your best when things are worst.” We did more than hold on. We persevered, we banded together, and we carved out our place in this damned world.

Today is a great day. No, a momentous day. We stand here amidst the ruin of the world. Eight thousand three hundred twenty-two souls who have worked together towards a common goal – our mutual survival, to bring civilization back to the Infernalands, and to allow mankind the chance to flourish once more.

We’ve turned this series of crumbling neighborhoods, Deer Park Hills, into a glorious example to all mankind of what could be. We drove out the demons, the sinful, and the damned. We’ve erected walls, upon which our valiant soldiers remain ever vigilant for threats from the Infernalands. We’ve made contact with other settlements, other people who share our vision. And we will continue to push outward to reclaim the world from Hell itself.

My friends, we are incredible. We are indomitable. We are divine. When the angels turned their backs, we created our own Heaven from Hell.

- From Mayor Grant Stephens’ speech on Founding Day

Chapter 1

Sulphurous rain drizzled from toxic clouds, sizzling when it struck the cold cracked asphalt. It filled the air with the dreadful scent of rotten eggs, but Lydia Halloway hardly noticed it. She was only six when The Emergence occurred, her brother a newborn, and she grew up in the infernal world that followed. Fire, brimstone, and the screams of people tortured for their sins became normal, commonplace. Lydia’s parents taught her to keep her head down and survive, exactly what she was doing now as she headed to work.

Yes, she worked. Everyone had to work. A thirty foot wall surrounded what had once been sprawling suburbia, and uniformed guards with rifles sat in nests atop it. Protection from who, and what, dwelled in the wasteland wasn’t free, and the sweaty, fat tax collector that came by her home once each month reminded her of that. Every first Tuesday, she saw him coming, and she rushed to count out the money to avoid paying in other ways.

Sometimes when she was alone, she still tasted the essence of him on her tongue and saw his lascivious leer grinning down at her, his thumb caressing her cheekbone. It made her skin crawl and her stomach roil. The way her called her, “Good girl,” when she swallowed.

A car rolled by, an ancient and boxy thing that rumbled and smoked. It was called an Oldsmobile, and like all of the motorized vehicles left in the world, it hailed from a time before The Emergence, when everything ran on these magical boxes called computers. Through the windows, Lydia caught a glimpse of Dr. Dev Singh on his way to the hospital. He flipped her a wave and may have smiled in that sad way he smiled at everyone.

Oh, to have a car. To not have to carry plastic over her head when it rained. To be able to travel the width and breadth of Deer Park Hills in just minutes. Or to even leave altogether and drive to one of the other settlements, crossing the Infernalands without fear. She could never afford such a thing or the costs of keeping it running.

Mom used to tell her and Jason both of a time when everyone had one or two or three. The crumbling, collapsing dwellings of Deer Park Hills were clean, new, and beautiful. People had things called lawns, vast green yards of grass with lush bushes and even flowers. The kind that didn’t spray acid or try to eat you. Compared to now, even the poor had everything, and everyone had one of those tiny computer things in their pocket that allowed them to “call” anyone in the world or “search” any piece of information ever known by people.

Before she died from The Wasting Disease, two years after Dad, Mom said the world was once that way, and it would be again. One day. Lydia came to a halt and stared across the potholed road at her place of work, Santangelo’s, and doubted if it was ever true. Especially, when people had to work in places like this just to pay the tax collector and put a little moldy bread on the table.

She supposed it was better than the hard labor Jason had to do. Only nineteen years old, and the poor kid got on a big yellow bus every morning to go work in a mine outside the gates. She’d heard of the attacks that sometimes happened out in the Infernalands, seen the wagons that returned with the deathly reek of a charnel house, blood soaked blankets covering whatever they could bring back.

Santangelo’s glared back at her, buzzing with electric sex in the rain. It was an old shop with a glass facade that had been covered with black paper to keep gawkers from seeing inside. The name was painted in a red script on a huge wooden sign that had once been white. Two electric signs (neon she thought they were called) buzzed away, one offering girls and the other nude dancers. Anthony must pay a fortune to keep those on. The front door was a brown stained, wooden replacement for the long shattered glass one and had a green tarnished kickplate and push.

Lydia sighed and crossed the street, her work black boots splashing in the noxious puddles.

She pushed through the door and into the already smoke filled interior. The twenty or so rickety wooden tables filling the place were mostly empty, but a few early birds crowded the stage where Sunny strutted and teased their eyes with her tender flesh. At least their greasy gaze was fixed on her.

Scarlet curtains hung in a doorway on the far side, pulled wide to reveal the darkened private lounge.

“You’re late,” Anthony shouted from behind the bar.

With a crinkle of plastic, Lydia removed her makeshift poncho, careful to avoid getting the burning water on her skin or hair. It dripped and puddled on the floor around her.

“And you’re making a mess!”

“I’ll clean it up.”

“You better.”

“Don’t I always?” she asked. “Besides, I’m not late. My shift doesn’t start ‘til five. I have six minutes.”

“Late for being early,” Anthony said, coming from behind the bar.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“You look good tonight,” Anthony said as he came close, his eyes roaming over her fit body.

Of course, she looked good. Skin tight leggings, a formfitting tank top, knee high boots – all black of course. It paid to look good when you worked in a place like this, even if you were only working tables for the night, like tonight. She hated the nights she had to be on stage, or worse, entertain in the lounge.

Tony brazenly grabbed her left breast. Heat flared where his rough fingers kneaded her through the thin fabric, shame burning hotter when her nipple betrayed her, stiffening against his calloused thumb. “You want off tables tonight? I got big news. Mayor Stephens is gonna be here with some big wigs from another settlement. A chance to make some real cash in the lounge. You know how much he likes you.”

She gritted her teeth at his touch, at the fact her nipple hardened, but fought to keep a smile on her face. She needed the job, and his offer… Well, his offer would keep her and Jason fed and taxes paid for two months. She could rack up quite a savings, maybe let him take some time off work in the mines. Just as quickly, the thought of what they’d do to her…

“I’ll even give you tomorrow off to… celebrate,” Tony offered, pinching her traitorous nipple.

Celebrate? Rest. Soak herself. Cry was more likely. Maybe the money was worth it. Maybe she could take something, one of those tonics Anthony kept behind the bar for the girls and lose herself in the hedonism. She forced another smile and said, “Let me think about it, okay?”

Tony shrugged and released her, turning to go back behind the bar. “Don’t think long. They’ll be here at six.”