Afterworlds: The Book of Doom. Barry Hutchison
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was a sound like silk tearing. A sudden pressure across Zac’s throat stopped him moving any further. The blade of the sword felt uncomfortably warm against his skin.
“Make another move and I slice,” Michael warned.
“What difference does it make if I’m already dead?”
“Oh, there are many worse things than death,” Gabriel said, still smiling. “I can think of at least a hundred off the top of my head.” His smile widened and his blue eyes seemed to darken. “Would you care to pick a number?”
He waited a moment, until he was sure his point had been understood, before gesturing to Michael to step back. The man in the golden armour hesitated, then removed the blade from Zac’s throat and slid it back into its sheath.
“And the whole fate-worse-than-death issue is precisely why we wanted to talk to you, Zac,” Gabriel continued. “You see, what with all your exploits – stealing and whatnot – I’m afraid you’ve booked yourself a place in Hell.”
Zac rubbed his throat. He could still feel the heat where the sword had touched his skin. “Hell?”
“Yes. You know, fire and brimstone; demons poking spikes into places you’d really rather they didn’t; etcetera, etcetera. It’s one of the Four Suggestions, see? ‘Thou Probably Shouldn’t Steal’.”
“Four Suggestions? What are you talking about?”
“The Four Suggestions,” Gabriel said again, as if that explained everything. When he saw it didn’t, he continued: “That God gave to Moses on Mount Sinai.”
“You mean the Ten Commandments?”
“Ah, of course, I forgot. You’re a human,” said Gabriel, giving himself a tap on the forehead. “That was an error in translation. Much of the Bible’s spot-on, of course, but sometimes the authors took a few liberties, or just missed the meaning completely. God doesn’t give out commandments. What would be the point in that? Ordering people around all the time? No, it’s not His style. He’s quite laid-back, really.”
“But He does make suggestions,” Michael added. “And if you don’t follow them, you’ll burn for ever in the fires of Hell.”
“Doesn’t sound very laid-back,” said Zac.
“I said He was quite laid-back,” Gabriel replied. “I didn’t say He was a pushover.”
“If I’m going to Hell, how come I’m here?”
“We decided to intervene,” Gabriel told him. “We snatched you away before Hell could claim you. We wanted to offer you a chance to—”
A smaller gate, built into the frame of the larger one, swung open. A man in a grey robe, with matching grey hair and beard, strolled through, whistling below his breath. He had a newspaper under one arm and carried a takeaway coffee cup.
The man walked towards the desk, then stopped when he realised he wasn’t alone.
“Oh, erm, hello,” he said. “I just popped out for a quick bite to eat. Wasn’t gone long.” He looked from Gabriel to Michael. “Nothing’s happened, has it?”
“Nothing you need concern yourself with, Peter,” said Gabriel, turning the full force of his smile on the newcomer. “Be a good chap and give us another five minutes, would you?”
The man in grey looked like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Well, I suppose I could find some paperwork to be getting on with,” he said, playing it cool. “Filing an’ that.”
“Wonderful. That would be splendid,” said Gabriel.
Peter backtracked towards the gate he’d come through. “Right you are, then. I’ll just go and eat some... I mean file some, um...”
Michael growled and fixed Peter with a furious glare. Peter’s face reddened and his brow became shiny with sweat. “I’ll go file some... some... sandwiches,” he blurted, then he bit his lip.
“Very good, Peter,” said Gabriel. “Peace be with you.”
“Peace be with you,” said Peter, bowing ever so slightly. “Peace be with you, Michael.”
Michael growled again. Peter gave a final bow, darted through the gate, and let it close behind him. Zac couldn’t see the man through the gaps in the metalwork, even though common sense said he should be able to.
“So, that was Saint Peter?” he asked.
Gabriel gave an approving nod. “For a non-believer, you know a lot.”
“I’m an atheist, not an idiot,” Zac said. “And you’re Gabriel and Michael, the archangels, right? So where are your wings?”
With a sound like a flag flapping in a hurricane, a pair of wings unfolded suddenly from Michael’s back.
“Satisfied?” asked Gabriel.
Zac blinked. He felt he should’ve had some sort of snappy and sarcastic comeback, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of one. He just nodded instead, and Michael’s wings tucked back in out of sight.
“As I was saying,” continued Gabriel. “Your decision to ignore the Third Suggestion means you are – alas – doomed to an eternity of pain and suffering in the fires of Hell.”
“Unfortunate,” said Michael.
“Most unfortunate,” Gabriel agreed. “However, we may be able to, let us say, pull some strings.”
“And why would you do that?” Zac asked.
“Because we have need of your unique talents, Zac Corgan, and I believe we may be of mutual benefit to one another. If you were to scratch our backs, then we would gladly scratch yours.” Gabriel folded his arms and rocked on his heels, his smirk wider than ever. “So, shall I arrange for someone from down below to come up and collect you? Or would you care to hear what we have to say?”
Zac sat on the back seat of the car, looking out through the tinted windows. The two angels were sitting across from him. Michael looked a little more relaxed. His angry scowl had become merely an irritated sneer. Gabriel’s smile, on the other hand, looked to be just hitting its stride.
There was a darkened screen between the back of the car and the front, meaning Zac couldn’t see the driver. Then again, with everything that had happened in the past hour, he couldn’t even be sure there was one.
Zac tried to take in the sights of the city around them. Every building was like a palace, each having more marble columns than the one before. The striped lawns in every garden were a vibrant, almost neon, green. The flowers too were more vivid than any Zac had seen. It was as if they had been coloured using crayons from a child’s art set, where reds were red and blues were blue, and pastel shades didn’t get a look in.
“The streets,” said Zac, as they passed another palace. “They’re proper streets. They’re not wispy like at the gate.”
“Ah, yes, the cloud effects. That’s just for the tourists,” Gabriel said. “Costs us a fortune in dry ice, but then where would we be if we didn’t keep up appearances?” He gave Zac’s black clothing a very deliberate glance. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
There