Angel Fall + 12 days

Jericho listened to the arguments for what seemed like the hundredth time.

The tiny office was cold and lit by candles and a battery-powered LED. Like most of New Orleans, the room had seen better days. Though before, it had served as an accountant’s office, now it was the de facto headquarters of a group of survivors who were struggling to survive and to help others survive with them. Jericho wished the place didn’t smell of water and mold, but most places did. At least it was warmer than outside.

“You’ve got to come with us,” Cassie said. The beautiful woman’s pleas were the ones Jericho was leaning towards the most. Though if he was being honest with himself, it had more to do with her pretty face, tawny brown skin, and enticing curves that made him want to agree with her.

“He can’t,” Trevon said with a scowl. The older man was a fatherly figure, with a paunch and his short hairs turning white but his wisdom carved in the lines of his dark brown face. “What happens if more people see him do his thing?”

Cassie stared up at the older man. “Then people know we’ve got a real, live superhero fighting for us. Then people will have to listen to us.”

Trevon tutted and waved his hands at Cassie. “Girl, you know damn well that ain’t what would happen. They’d send the FBI or CIA or ATF and they’d shoot him.” He glanced over at Jericho. “Or worse,” he added.

“How? We’d all be there, they couldn’t just take him.”

The old man shook his head. “You’re young. You ain’t lived through many protests, I can tell. I remember the Miami Riots, the LA Riots, and Katrina, not to mention all the recent ones you probably are familiar with. This is America, baby girl. Ain’t nothing going to stop ‘em going after our boy here if they want him.”

Jericho rubbed his forehead. These two were giving him a headache. “Don’t I get a say in all of this?” he finally asked.

The bickering pair looked over at him, as though remembering for the first time that he was in the room with him. After a moment, they both mumbled, “Sure.”

Jericho took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, taking up his full height. “Look, I know you are both trying to look out for me, and I really appreciate it. Shit, I don’t want to get snatched by cops or the government or whatever. I hate to say it, but I agree with the old man.”

Trevon smiled and stood a little straighter.

“But c’mon man,” Jericho continued. “People are starving. You said it yourself, this is way worse than Katrina was. The city is wrecked. With angels attacking all over the place, ain’t nobody gonna come here, or if they do it's gonna be after a lot of people starve. What am I supposed to do, just sit it out? Let people go hungry?”

“What do you think you gonna do, young man? You just one guy, even with those fancy powers. Powers which you don’t even know how to use, I might add.”

Jericho frowned and crossed his arms. He couldn’t disagree with the old man. He was way stronger than he’d ever been, and that didn’t take any education to figure out how to use. But the water trick? That was harder. It lay in his veins, curling through him like his blood. It was just beneath his skin and he tried to get it to come out again like it had when he’d saved those people. All he got were ripples. Oh, this morning he’d managed to fling the icy droplets off his skin after his frigid shower.

Despite his earlier capabilities, it now seemed he was as powerful as the average dog.

But people knew, people had heard. The Magic Man, some were calling him. Mr. Frost, he had to admit he kind of liked that one. Having weird powers would have, he thought, made him a pariah or a freak. Instead, among the poor and the tide of homeless, the fact he discovered his powers saving 6 people from drowning made him a local hero. A few of the locals who claimed to be voodoo practitioners said he was ridden by Agwe, or just was Agwe himself.

Jericho wasn’t so certain how he felt about being ‘ridden’ by a spirit, especially a dude. Despite years of Sunday School and getting dragged to Baptist Church, Jericho had never been overly religious. Sure, he went to Church as his momma wanted and he went through the motions, but deep down, it had never really mattered to him the way it did to his mom and grandparents.

Then the angels came. Any chance he had of ever being religious went right out the window then. Now that he was...different... he didn’t know what to think or believe. Where did his powers come from, exactly? He’d probably never know.

“Son, you with us?” Trevon asked, snapping his fingers in front of Jericho’s face.

Shaking his head, Jericho said, “Sorry, got lost there for a second. Look, I don’t want to fight with the cops. But people around here seem to look up to me, for some reason.”

“Cause you’re a goddamn hero, that’s why,” Cassie interjected.

Jericho smiled, trying to hide his embarrassment. Rubbing his hand over his bald head, he said, “Well, yeah, that’s what they think. Not so sure I agree about that to be honest.”

“I’d be dead if it weren’t for you,” Cassie said, all humor leaving her eyes.

That was true. Jericho met Cassie after he woke from using his powers. She was the woman that was brave, or crazy, enough to crawl into that flooding basement and try to help people out. She was his most fervent witness and spread the gospel truth of his actions to anyone she trusted and who would listen.

“Shit, Cassie,” Jericho smiled, rubbing his head even harder. “I told you to stop it with that. It happened, let’s let it go.”

“No sir, I will not. Not until you get it in your head that you’re...special. I don’t know how or why, but you’re gonna do great things.”

“Not from behind bars, he ain’t.”

“Enough!” Jericho’s voice rang out in the office, silencing the pair.

“I’ll go,” he said, looking at Cassie. “But, I’ll keep my head down and try to stay out of the front lines. I’ll wear a hoodie and glasses, all right?” he asked Trevon.

The old man scowled and shook his head. “All right, you gotta do what you think is right. I just hope we don’t all regret it.”

“Okay, so what’s the plan, Cassie?” Jericho asked.

She turned to the city map that was spread out on the accountant’s old hardwood desk. “Refugees and survivors are mostly here, here, and here,” she said, pointing at the Superdome and various convention centers. “It was five days before they got any food and fresh water that they hadn’t brought themselves. And no one got enough, what was brought in ran out a few days ago. But, here, in fucking Audubon, there have been several deliveries and larger police and national guard presence.”

Jericho grunted. Fucking figures they’d send help to the rich part of town and leave the rest of us to rot.

“They’ve done the same in the Garden District, but because it was closer to the angel’s attack, they’ve evacuated most of those residents either to the north or west. They have some police there, to deal with looters, but not a lot.”

“But that’s not the target?” Jericho asked.

“No, we are going to march with anyone that can come, down St. Charles, straight to their front doors. Demand to know why they aren’t feeding everyone. Make ‘em answer us.”

“No looting,” Trevon said.

Cassie shot him a withering look. “Of course, no damn looting. But at this point, if a hungry family wants to nip into a convenience store, I’m not gonna give ‘em a hard time.”

“How many people do we have?” Jericho asked.

“Over two hundred are fit enough to go with us. I’ll be honest though if we don’t do this now, and we don’t get some more food and water, that number is gonna decline sharply by the day.”

“All right, let ‘em know I’m coming. Get as many as we can. We do this peacefully, no throwing rocks, no busting shit up. They have food, they need to share,” Jericho said.

Cassie nodded. “Will do,” she said, grinning broadly before leaving.

Jericho couldn’t help but watch her leave.

Trevon sighed.

“Oh, come on, old man,” he said, elbowing Trevon gently.

“We’ve survived an angel attack. It can’t possibly get any worse.”