Harry nodded. “Thought so.” He eyed up the line of Angels, wondering which one he should go for first. He decided to do as he did last time and aim for the middle, but before he had chance, a pillar of fire zigzagged towards him, sending him into a sideways dive. The snow cushioned his fall but was still jarring enough to knock the smut-handled broom from his grasp.
Harry looked up just in time to see another wall of flames arcing in his direction. He rolled over, barely managing to dodge the burning death, but found himself even further away from his only weapon. ”Lucas,” he shouted. “The broom.”
Lucas nodded, searched the snow, located the broom, and then went for it. He was too slow though and Kath got to it first.
“Great,” said Harry. “Throw it here.”
Kath drew her arm back and looked as though she was going to hurl the broom in his direction, but then she didn’t release it. Instead she held it in front of herself and started to examine it. “Without this, you have no way of defending yourself, right?”
“Yes,” said Harry. “That’s why I need it, now!”
Kath walked away from him and, incredibly, started making her way over to the row of Angels. Specifically, she approached the one in the centre, the one that Harry had intended to attack. She held the weapon in front of herself, keeping the Angels at bay despite the fact that none of them moved an inch. “You just want Harry, right? What will you do for me if I give him to you?”
She waited for an answer from the thing, but received none.
Kath jabbed and wiggled the broom in the Angel’s face, not getting close enough to hit, but making her willingness to do so clear. “I asked you a question, so have some manners. Remove your hood and answer me!”
Harry was in shock. Firstly, that the woman was betraying him, but secondly that she was addressing an Angel like an impolite five-year-old. It was surreal. Even more surreal was that the Angel did as it was told. It removed its hood.
Beneath the old, grey cloth was something Harry had not expected. Maybe if he thought about what an angelic stereotype would look like it would have been less surprising, but seeing the beautiful face appear from beneath the tattered hood was not what Harry had expected. The Angel had shining yellow hair that fell in thin tresses across a flawless complexion. His eyes were a breath-taking cyan and the darkness seemed to light up around their gaze. The Angel’s piercing blue orbs were currently studying Kath.
Kath was immediately mesmerised and Harry could see the same shock in her face that he no doubt had on his. She still held the broom out in front of her, but it was slowly lowering as though the weight of it was becoming too much.
Lucas moved up beside Harry, “That would be Lord Michael himself.”
Harry considered for a moment. “You mean from the bible?”
“No, I mean from real life. That is God’s Field General himself, Archangel Michael. My brother, the Angel of death.”
Harry looked at Lucas. “If he’s your brother can’t you make him stop?”
“You really don’t understand family do you, Harry boy? One thing about Michael is that the only person he listens to is his Daddy. That’s why he was always favourite. Bloody eejit!”
Harry didn’t have time to play agony aunt, something was happening up ahead. The Angel in front of Kath – The Archangel Michael. Jeez! – was producing something from within his cloak. Something long and metal that ignited in flames as it was pulled free.
”There she is,” said Lucas. “The beauty herself. You know that back in the day that sword belonged to me? Bastard took it from me during the Holy war. Still, I guess it looks better on him anyway.”
Harry shook his head. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“The fiery sword of damnation. The very sword that turned Sodom and Gomorrah to ashes.”
This is really it, isn’t it? The end of the world. God has finally called last orders and I’m stuck here facing down the Angel of Death with his flaming penis extension. If it wasn’t so goddamn insane, I think I’d be laughing my ass off.
Harry watched as the Angel raised his sword, burning the cold air and changing it to a thick, acrid smoke. Kath was still mesmerised and Harry wondered if she was under some kind of thrall or if she had just gone into shock after finally realising the situation she was in. The answer was unimportant as Michael brought down his flaming sword in a vicious snap. It hissed and spat as Kath’s blood congealed on its shaft, turning to black powder and peppering the snow. Somehow Kath managed to turn around and face Harry, and for a moment he thought he had only imagined the sword going through her neck.
Then her head started to tilt forward, independent of the rest of her body. Harry saw that the blade had indeed gone through her, so seamlessly that she obviously hadn’t felt a thing. Kath’s head fell to the snow, spewing it’s fluids into the air like a decorative garden feature. Her body remained standing however, gushing blood more heavily, spraying it into the air like a gory water cannon. The cracked end of her spine pocked from her neck, flapping its severed spinal cord like an agitated cobra. Harry winced when Kath’s lifeless body finally fell forward and buried itself in the snow and turning it red.
Despite the fact Kath had clearly been a bitch, Harry suddenly felt very isolated by her loss; a lone man surrounded by callous Angels and a wisecracking Devil. He needed Steph more than ever. If this really was ‘the end’ then he wanted to be with her.
Harry ran for it, leaving Lucas behind and not seeing any reason to ask him to follow. He ploughed through the snow with all his energy, kicking and clawing with one thing on his mind: Steph! He had no idea where he was going and only hoped that it was towards The Trumpet and not away from it. With the apocalyptic freeze, as well as an apocalyptic army of beautiful Angels trying to send him to Hell, Harry knew that the rest of his life was most likely measured in minutes rather than hours. For so long Harry had wanted nothing but to die, to leave the world and all of its pain behind, but right now staying alive long enough to get to Steph was the only thing on his mind.
The snowfall seemed to increase every second. It was up to Harry’s waist and still rising. Before long, there would be no world left. No buildings, no roads, no rivers. Nothing. Just unending snow, rising. Rising. Rising.
Harry struggled onwards, each step seizing up his calves and stabbing the tender muscle with icy daggers. If only he could go back and do the right thing. He knew back then that killing Thomas Morris was wrong, knew it hours before he had watched the glistening light of life leave the man’s eyes. He knew it was wrong even more when he saw the regret and the sorrow in the man’s eyes just before he died. Thomas Morris killed Harry’s family, but at the moment Harry started to murder him, he knew that the man was sorry. He knew because Thomas never struggled. He accepted the punishment for what he had done and even seemed happy about it.
Now the whole world was accepting punishment for what Harry had done. He imagined the billions of people that had frozen to death in their homes already or that had been callously reaped by the Angels. He wondered how many people were still alive also, trying to convince their children that the snow would stop soon and that everything would be okay, that it was just bad weather. Harry started to weep, but wiped the tears away. He had to keep going; didn’t deserve time to stop and cry. When the Angels finally sent him to Hell he would welcome it, because that was where he belonged, but not now. Not yet.
Up ahead, Harry saw the dark rectangle of a building up on a hill. It had to be The Trumpet, looking down at him from its elevated resting place. With renewed vigour, Harry began to dive and leap through the snow, sinking and wobbling with every step. He was going at a snail’s pace, he knew, but gradually the building was coming into view and it did indeed turn out to be the pub.
“Thank God,” said Harry, before considering the words he’d spoken. “Actually, screw that and screw God.”
He reached the bottom of the hill and looked up at the pub. It was dark, deserted and lifeless. A dead building in a condemned world, but inside could be the only person Harry cared about anymore. He started to wade through the snow and up the steps, feeling the broken brickwork beneath his feet. Inside his stomach, butterflies rioted.