Page 59 of Metatron

They made it across the room to the other door without being accosted. However, they had a long way to go before they reached safety. In good news, the chaos and panic meant no one paid them much mind. The few that did try to step in their path did not survive. Metatron confiscated the sword from one and used it to menace any that thought to get in their path. Francesca kept pace with him despite her injury. Her pallor and stumbling let him know that, while he’d stemmed the flow, she’d lost much blood. He had to tend to her, but he didn’t dare stop, not with the way things cracked around them. Gaaya’s release had caused a concussion that appeared to be having a dire effect on Hell’s shoddy construction.

The tunnel held many demons fleeing the lower areas to the outer. Some carried belongings; others shoved and pushed in panic. It led to some falling into the chasm that suddenly opened in their path, the edges of it jagged, the hot air puffing from it promising the magma to come. Some hesitated at the rift too wide to leap. A few wingless beings tried to jump and failed. The smarter ones waited their turn to cross a makeshift bridge. Those with wings flew across. There were fewer of those than expected, and in their selfishness didn’t pause to help those caught on the other side.

Metatron fluttered over, only to be confronted by a demon in guard’s livery. The fool dared to bluster, “You’re not supposed to be roaming around, angel.”

Metatron grabbed the demon and toss him into the rift rather than waste time arguing.

It led to those who noticed giving him a wide berth as they fled. He held Francesca’s hand as they rushed past the marketplace with its screams and desperation as vendors shoved their wares into sacks and crates. The forge loomed quiet and empty when they ran through, unlike the bay with its clamoring people, lining the stairs to the gangplanks that gave entrance to the vessels. Everyone wanted to board, but those that could take passengers appeared full. It led to much anger—and desperation.

He totally understood. He didn’t know how he and Francesca would escape, especially since the vessel Metatron sought didn’t appear to be where he’d left it, the empty spot indicating it must have left.

Here.

The single thought hit him, and he eyed the empty docking clamps still in their locked position.

“This way,” he murmured to Francesca. As they made their way, him shoving to create a path, a few turned desperate faces. Alien but not demonic. Beings he and the other angels had failed. They’d all been duped.

As they climbed the steps to the gangplank, ships began to leave, lifting off with shapes clinging to their sides. Not for long. The force of departure sent them tumbling to die below, even killing some they landed on.

“Where are we going?” Francesca asked as he coaxed her onto the gangway extending into nothing.

“Can’t mount a rescue without an escape,” he murmured. The camouflage of the scout ship shivered as the door to the vessel suddenly appeared in front of them. It didn’t go unnoticed.

Someone yelled, “There’s another ship.”

A desperate mob would ignore the fact it wasn’t a big one. Metatron could take a handful, no more. He prodded Francesca for the door. “Get inside.”

“What about you?”

“I need to do something first.”

He stood on the gangplank as a male stepped foot on it, brandishing a bundle.

Metatron opened his mouth to tell him to stay back, only the male thrust forth the fabric in his hands to show a tiny purple face. A babe.

“Please. Take my child. Don’t let her die.”

The selflessness of the request hit him hard.

“Let me have her.” To his surprise, Francesca had emerged from the safety of the ship and stepped forward to reach for the baby. “What’s her name?”

“Shira.”

More children were passed up, the youngest being offered with thankful tears that wrenched his heart. These parents made the ultimate sacrifice as Hell crumbled around them. Seeing the good that could exist even in this dark place hurt. That they would try to save their young spoke to him. And he wished he could save them all.

But they had room for only a few. He closed his ears to the wails as they had to close the door to the ship. He tried to not feel the guilt that he couldn’t do more.

Francesca stood by his shoulder, a babe in the crook of each arm, as the living scout lifted, the many-armed pilot Keeko still at its console, offering him a simple, “Where to?”

When he floundered, Francesca murmured, “Take us home, to Earth.”

Chapter 18

As the scout lifted from Hell, it offered us a close-up view of the chaos we left behind. The milling and screaming of those who didn’t make it aboard a ship. The smoke that began to spiral as equipment caught fire, either from strain or sabotage. More chilling, the chunks of the—what could I call it? Hell didn’t fit in the box of planet, meteor, or spaceship, although the latter might be closest. Whatever the definition, pieces of it broke away, spinning off to become space debris. I had to wonder how many contained people remained trapped inside. It chilled to realize it could have been me.

In more positive news, more than a few vessels were speeding away from the wreckage that used to be Hell, some headed for Earth, others to who knew where. Maybe back to the homes they’d been stolen from.

“Sit down,” our pilot advised. “It’s going to get rough.”

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