Finding the van proved pretty easy, despite my fears to the contrary. Unfortunately, this time it was not on a deserted part of the parking lot. In the distance, I could see people milling around outside the stadium. Smokers probably. They could not see me, not clearly anyway, which was just as well. I hoped that by the time they did notice me shooting a van full of bullets, it would be all over.

I’d considered calling the police again as I moved towards the other van, but then I thought, what would they do if they thought they had been rumbled? Would they blow the van early? That was no good. I didn’t see how I had any choice but to do this alone. That was bad news for everyone because I had no idea what I was doing.

I crept up towards the van, using the other vehicles for cover and trying to not look suspicious while I did it. Not the easiest things to do at the same time, especially as I was carrying the submachine gun and had no large coat to conceal it. The darkness helped, and I tried to stay out of the circles of light cast by the light poles overhead.

When I got to a point I could observe the vehicle, I crouched down behind a flashy sports car. From where I was sitting, I could make out the nondescript white van. The two vehicles could have been twins; cruising ‘paedo mobiles’ from the look of them.

“Ok, Peri,” I said to myself, “Now that you’ve found it, what are you going to do about it?” Hell, I did not even know what kind of explosives these were. What if a stray bullet set them off? Great job, Peri, good way to psych yourself up.

I looked down at the gun. This was not what I joined the army for; I had little desire to kill people. Ok, that was a lie, I wanted to kill people all the time but I never followed through with it. It was something we were trained to do, but I always viewed that as a runner up to fighting angels. They trained us to fight people because they did not know how else to train us. Was I prepared to kill these guys? I did not see any other way to stop them, especially if they had the triggers in their hands.

Come on girl, get a grip, I told myself. You are doing this to save hundreds of lives, people like Debra who are just trying to enjoy themselves in a world gone nuts. What if that angel had been a person and you could have killed her and saved Debra, wouldn’t you?

Hell yes.

Thanks, Debra, I’m glad you are still looking out for me. This is for you.

Moving in a low crouch, I crept across the distance between us. Sweat trickled down my back, and I felt that eyes were watching me from the van. I was sure I’d been spotted. My heart thundered in my chest. But I made the final distance to the rear of the sedan parked next to them.

Risking a glance around the side, I spied the side view mirror of the van. A guy was sitting upfront. It looked like he was turned around, talking to someone in the back. Well, now I knew where they were. I checked the action on the gun as quietly as I could and again checked the clip. There was no way around this, I had to do it now. Aww, crap, what if it was the wrong vehicle? Looking around, I could see there were no other vans or vehicles that looked capable of doing what the terrorists were planning close to the front of the stadium.

And there was a strong chemical smell, like gasoline but not quite. That kind of cinched it.

I had only one chance at this, and if I screwed up, that was me. My heart continued to boom in my ears. Why could I go up against an angel and yet a bunch of douches with a bomb were scaring me shitless? This made no sense.

All right, here we go.

Jumping around the edge, I crossed the distance to the side door. If it was like the other van, the front and back would be separate, with just a window between them. Adrenalin surging, I gripped the edge of the van door, set my foot against the body, and pulled with all my might. To my surprise and delight, the metal shrieked and tore back, the lock breaking and letting the van door slam back out of the way.

Inside the van was a horror show; vats of chemicals sat against the walls of the van. Metal boxes with wires leading out of them and into the chemicals sat on top of the vats. I did not recognize what the homegrown explosive was, but there was a hell of a lot of it.

Sitting on the floor, where he had fallen back from the opening door, was a young-looking guy. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and looked normal, with shaggy brown hair and a bit of facial hair, not like a nut-job at all. Except for sitting in a van full of explosives, which was kind of a dead giveaway.

We stared at each other, just for a second, his eyes white with fear. What must I look like to him, I wondered? A tiny girl with pale skin and long midnight hair, pointing a gun the size of the world straight at him. Everything I was wearing was tight black from my bloody jeans to my t-shirt. Were my hands and face still bloody from when I tried to stop the bleeding in my leg? Did I look undead or maybe like a ghost? Did he think I was an angel or a demon perhaps?

Don’t move, I implored him with my eyes. Don’t make me do this.

Then he was moving, scrambling to the left, reaching for a box and the button it contained.

My gun sprayed bullets, guided by an arm I did not feel attached to, stitching red blossoms across his body. I swept the gun to the right, sending a hail of death into the cab. Without being able to see the other guy, I had no choice but to hope I incapacitated him the first go. Spent shell casings hit the pavement, a fistful of coins paying a terrible price. The gun fired until I heard the firing pin click against empty space. I’d fired the remainder of the clip into the front of the van.

The silence after was louder than the thunder I’d called down. Smoke curled like a serpent from the barrel of the gun. It clattered to the ground while I ran to the front of the van.

A man sat in the driver’s seat, a metal box with wires and dials lay next to his hand on the seat. He looked peaceful, sleeping almost, except for the ruin and gore that ran across the front of his clothes. Upholstery and bits of foam from the ruined seat still floated in the cab, tiny flakes of snow drifting towards the ground.

The boy in the back was not dead yet, I discovered when I went to double-check my handiwork. He was gasping and struggling for air. I knelt in the car with him and took his hand. It seemed like the right thing to do. He gazed up at me, but I could not tell if he was afraid anymore. Swallowing, he tried to talk, but I could not hear what he was saying.

Leaning close, I felt his breath on my ear. “Please,” he said, “I don’t want to die.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks. Why were you here if you didn’t want to die? I wanted to scream at him. How were you going to set off a car bomb without going with it? But he was so small and frail, so empty. I stroked his brown hair. “It’s Ok,” I lied. “You’ll be Ok.”

“Will I go to heaven?” he asked.

No, of course, you won’t you idiot, you bastard, I shouted in my mind. You don’t deserve heaven. If there was anything, you deserve hell. If there is anything though, then God and heaven want to wipe us out. They do not care about the likes of you and me.

Instead of saying any of that, though, I said, “Don’t talk like that, you’ll be Ok.”

A coughing fit wracked his body for several moments before he was finally peaceful again. “Thank you,” he said.

I did not understand. “For what?” I asked, brushing his hair back from his face.

“For sending me to heaven without having to kill anyone. I never really wanted to hurt anyone.”

And then he closed his eyes.