Angel Fall +4.5 Days

Jericho woke screaming.

Or at least he tried to, but instead, he vomited a brown stream of muddy water.

His abdomen clenched and unclenched as a seemingly endless amount of the stuff poured from his mouth. But finally, his spit only contained bile.

Jericho laid his head against the hard concrete beside his cocktail of Mississippi water. Everything hurt. Taking a ragged breath, he filled his searing lungs, feeling them expand with the long-denied air he so desperately craved.

The fuck? He rolled on his back and stared up at a dingy grey sky. Where was he? What happened…

Oh. He remembered it all in a sudden flash. Gingerly, he touched the side of his face. It felt puffy and inflamed, but where was the bullethole? Had the cop missed?

No, he remembered the pain distinctly. That asshole shot him in the face. Dammit, he needed a mirror. Wait, hadn’t they also been shot in the back?

Jericho sat up. He was wearing his water-logged coat and was a bit cold. Shouldn’t he be freezing? He realized he was sitting on a roof. Puddles of water collected everywhere around him, as did debris. Jericho stood, and gazed out at the scene around him.

Below him, the Quarter was flooded with a few feet of water. Buildings that had stood for decades were caved in or at least severely damaged. Down the river, he saw the large hotels missing half their river-side balconies or worse. In the distance, he could see paramedics and, he imagined, rescue crew working in the city. Near him though, were few buildings were standing, it was eerily quiet.

How am I still alive? He hobbled over to the edge of the roof. All around, he saw water and debris. The whole place stank like a sewer. Good thing it’s winter, or it would be even worse he imagined.

His lungs burned when he took a deep breath and his head pounded. Worse, his stomach started rumbling and now that the vomit was well and truly gone, his mouth was beginning to feel like sandpaper.

And he was soaking. That’s not good. I might freeze to death if I don’t get somewhere warm. He still didn’t feel that cold, which he thought was probably a bad sign, wasn’t it?

There was a waterlogged, narrow tree on the river-facing side of the building. Other trees once lined these shops but they were now broken and lying through the glass of shop fronts. Maybe he could jump down to the tree, catch some branches and get down? Seemed risky, but so did staying up here.

The problem was the tree was about ten feet from the building. Well, at least the trunk. The branches were closer and maybe he could grab those? All right, he thought. Fuck it. I’ve got to do this. Psyching himself up, he tried to lower himself over the edge of the building. He gripped the edge of the building and tried to get some grip with the soles of his shoes, so he was pushing against the wall with his feet and holding the lip of the roof with his hands.

Jericho reached out with one hand for the tree. Damn, that’s far. Sweat was running down his face. The ground looked so far away, though he guessed it couldn’t be much more than ten or twelve feet. It wasn’t that far. If I tried jumping, I would probably be okay, he reasoned. Just my fucking luck, though, I’d break my damn leg. Shot twice, drowned, frozen, starved, and then a broken leg to top it all off.

His stomach dropped and his skin tingled all over. Didn’t know I was afraid of heights. Well, shit, I’m just afraid of falling. That’s reasonable.

Fuck it.

He pushed off with his legs as hard as he could and threw himself towards the tree. Jericho flew towards the branches, trying hard to grab something, anything with his hands. Branches snapped as he grabbed them. They slapped his face and hit his sore body as he crashed through them. Abruptly he stopped as he crashed into the trunk.

The joy he felt died quickly as he heard the sharp crack of wood and the tree gave way.

“Fuck!” he managed to exclaim before the whole thing broke and sent him careening towards the sidewalk.

Branches snapped and split and he hit the water. Somehow, his arms and legs were wrapped around the trunk of the tree.

Well, that could have gone better.

Pushing himself up, he floundered to the surface. He’d somehow made it the ten feet to the trunk, broke it in half, and rode it down to the sidewalk. Other than a few new bruises, he felt okay, which was surprising.

Sloshing through the ruined streets, Jericho marveled at the devastation. Shops and buildings he’d seen all his life were gone or severely damaged. Windows were shattered, walls were collapsed, everything was drenched. In an alley, he saw a car turned over, half-submerged in the water. The smell was awful, dead fish, rot, and sewage combined into a choking bouquet.

The water only came up to Jericho’s knees, but judging by the mud and stains on the walls, it had been much higher originally. Why did the angel attack the city, and why did it use the river to do it? Hell, they can control water now? He’d heard rumors of angels exploding or just cutting people down, but nothing like this.

He did not know how long he meandered through the ruins, but eventually, he saw another group of survivors down a street. People were coming out of a ruined store, carrying bags and boxes. Okay, looters were not who he wanted to get mixed up with first. Crossing into a side street, he moved two roads up and then continued on his way. It was convenient that the Quarter was built in such a straight-edge pattern.

Then he saw a group of service vehicles. Two ambulances and a police car. He wasn’t too keen on the cop car, but getting checked out by an EMT sounded about right. Stumbling into the group of care workers and other victims, he blended into the sea of injured faces.

It was a wait to get seen by one of the EMTs, but a kind-faced girl brought him a hot cup of coffee and a blanket. He almost burst into tears. All around him, old and young survivors looked on blankly at the devastation or wailed for what they’d lost. Everyone was covered in wet filth, shivering beneath metallic blankets.

When the harried doctor finally checked him out, he said, “You’re a lucky kid. Other than some light bruises and scratches, you look fine. If you are willing, we are taking volunteers to help look for other survivors. We could use a big guy like you if you are up to it.”

“I don’t understand,” Jericho said. “I was shot.”

The doctor turned away from his clipboard. “What? Where? I didn’t see an injury like that.”

Jericho reached around and touched his tender back, where he could feel the torn shirt. The doctor looked at his back. “No, so, just looks like something tore your shirt. You’ve got a big bruise, so maybe you hit something? But you’ve not been shot. There’s not even a scar.”

“Oh,” Jericho said. He knew it happened, as sure as he knew he’d seen the angel destroy the French Quarter. But what could he say? He’d seen enough shows to know what was going to happen if he kept insisting on something he couldn’t prove.

A shout caught both his and the doctor’s attention. Some people ran towards the crowd, yelling for help. “What’s going on?” Jericho asked, hopping off the gurney. The doctor shrugged and walked towards the people. Some of them were in city uniforms.

A tall man, wearing a muck-stained firefighter’s coat, approached. “We need help, we’ve found some people in a basement over on Royal Street. The basement is filling with water and if we don’t get them out quickly, they are going to drown.”

Several able-bodied people stepped forward, Jericho among them. “All, right,” the fireman said. “Everyone, come on.” The crowd moved as quickly as possible through the waterlogged streets. Everywhere they went, Jericho saw more wreckage. Down one street as they passed, Jericho saw a bloated body floating face down.

At the ruined building, several other people were lifting rubble. The cries of those trapped inside could be heard half a block away. Jericho’s heart sank when he saw the crumbled buildings, their upper stories partially or completely collapsed in on the lower floors.

“All right people, listen up,” the fireman said. “We need to try to dig a path to these people. Be extremely careful of nails and broken glass, it’s all around. Try not to lift something if it might cause something else to fall, got it? But work fast.”

Like the rest, Jericho marched over and started shifting rubble. Adrenaline was running high, he thought, as he lifted big chunks of masonry and shifted them aside. The work was mind-numbing and slow. All the while, the voices of those trapped below, their begging cries rose like the wails of the damned. He could hear children.

The work was so painfully slow. Several times workers had to leap out of the way of a shower of debris they almost brought down on themselves. Sometimes a collapse would set them back to square one. Anger was rising in Jericho, rage at their ineffectual progress, pain every time a voice quieted from the rubble.

A small woman crawled into a hole they’d managed to shift in the debris. A few minutes later, she brought out a muddy nine-year-old boy. Everyone burst into cheers. Dropping off the boy, she was back in the hole without pause.

“Momma,” the boy cried, reaching towards the hole and those he’d left behind.

Then disaster.

A section of wall, weakened by the disaster and only supported by the other debris, gave way. The only warning it gave was a sound of stone grating against stone, like the gnashing of a giant’s teeth. Someone yelled, “Get back!”

And the brick wall collapsed over the escape hole, breaking into several large chunks, each bigger than a person. Several of the rescue workers screamed as they were hit by slabs of stone because they didn’t move quickly enough.

People screamed and ran, trying to help the injured. Jericho reached the wall that covered the woman’s escape path. All he could think of was that it wasn't right, that such a brave person should get trapped, should drown because of blind bad luck. He grabbed the wall and moved.

“Wait,” the fireman called out. “That’s too damn big. We’ll all try and lift it after we get the injured out of the way.”

Jericho ignored him. Heat burned through him, anger like he’d never felt before. The rock wall was bigger than him, but he didn’t stop. Lifting, he pushed and pushed, driving through the resistance of the wall until it shifted. With a hiss, he put his hands underneath the lip and pushed after he’d managed to lift it to his middle. People gasped around him. The wall rose until he pushed it up above his head.

“Get...out,” he gasped through gritted teeth.

Seconds passed. Surprised onlookers ran up and put their hand on the wall to help hold it. “Don’t,” Jericho cried. “I’ve got it. Get those other people out.”

“You crazy, boy,” an older man said before obeying him.

Finally, the woman crawled out of the hole, helping another woman as she did. She wasn’t out before she yelled, “There are more people in there. The water’s filling in too fast.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

The boy ran to the new woman as she crawled away.

God damn it. Cops, angels, fucking concrete. He hated everything. The world was not right. It was rotten to its core, and good people were going to die because of….because of nothing they’d done to deserve it.

The water. The angel had used the river against them, something they’d tamed centuries ago. How dare it do this to them? How dare these monsters come and wage war on them like this.

Ripples formed in the water.

“What’s going on?” someone shouted

The water agitated more fiercely.

“Get away from the building! Something is about to happen,” someone cried.

People ran, leaving Jericho behind, leaving a few workers trapped in the rubble.

With a roar, Jericho pushed the wall up and away. The heavy chunk of stone fell to the side and shattered into pieces.

This wasn’t right. Jericho wasn’t going to let these people die.

The water around him frothed like a dying thing. He felt it in his veins, somehow. Droplets rose in the air around him and he could feel them too.

“No,” he told the water.

And the water rushed away from him, exploding like a tidal wave around him, gushing from out of the basement, fleeing in all directions.

In an instant, Jericho and the building were dry and water poured away forming a wall that kept the other water at bay. He reached out his hands and told the water to stay. It froze in place, forming a wall of ice around the building.

He turned back to the crowd who stared at him with a mix of horror and awe. “Save them while it holds,” he said.

The rage, anger, and sense of injustice crawled out of him, hollowed him out. He sagged, everything catching up to him at once.

Then darkness claimed him.