The cloud carried Gabriel Robertson through the warmth of the air, above his head, the sun’s smiling face sang a song from his childhood, and down below, the endless world turned onward, ignorant of his existence and his peaceful slumber.

Or so it was within his dream. But the cloud vanished, scattering apart when he heard the crash outside. His eyes flashed open and he reflexively reached toward his belt, snapping up to his feet with so much force that his thick, fluffy, cloudlike easychair toppled backward with a heavy thud.

His body went into overdrive as he looked around, and saw that there was no hole in his living room. ‘Okay, so… the house seems to be intact… so the crash was outside…’

Gabriel’s breathing slowed and his ears pricked up as he tried to grasp the direction the crash came from, he rubbed the rough brown beard and turned it over in his head. ‘I’m losing my edge.’ He rolled his eyes at himself and went across the room. ‘First I stop carrying my knife, then my pistol, and when was the last time I cleaned my rifle? Come on, get it together, Gabriel, you never know what’s out there, even this far from civilization.’ He reached up to take the shotgun off the rack where it sat cocked open at an angle and ready to be loaded. Beside the rack was a small hand carved wooden shelf on which several boxes of shells sat waiting for his use.

He held his hand out palm up in front of the boxes. “Blessed is he who defends his world, for man is the steward of his own garden of Gethsemane.” Imbued with fresh blessing, he took out two shells and slid them into the weapon.

The shotgun snapped shut with a sharp click, and for good measure he threw on the bandoleer of ready shells over his shoulder and headed for the door.

Being bare chested, the cool air hit him hard, it was crisp in the early morning, and the world outside was covered in mist still.

It wafted over him, engulfed him like smoke, the hard ground crunched underfoot as he crept around the side of his home, shotgun lowered but ready to snap up. “I heard you, if you came looking for trouble, you came to the right place!” Gabriel spat into the dirt at his feet and narrowed his eyes.

“I cry to thee O Lord, let the blind see and bless my eyes to behold your wondrous creation.” Gabriel uttered the prayer of blessing, and though the morning mist was as thick as pea soup, the shapes began to clear up. The tall pine trees came into view, as did the high mountain walls that backed his home, still he saw nothing amiss. Not even a broken tree.

His brow furrowed and a deep frown formed on his face as he made it around to the other side, a waterfall staircase ran past and formed a riverbed, thanks to the lack of rain lately, the river was, for now, more of a low creak which rushed along no deeper than his calves. The sound of babbling water was utterly peaceful, and all the world was still, save for the chirping of a few birds which sat far back from his place in their own tree bound homes.

Then he saw it.

‘What the hell…?’ He wondered, a part of the creek wall was obliterated, smashed utterly flat. Gabriel reached up and scratched his head, running his fingertips through his close cropped hair. “Did a meteor hit or something…?” He wondered aloud and looked around. The trees on the far side of the bank were all intact, and none of the rocks up above were out of place.

He took a few more careful steps forward as the hole in the ground became clearer until he’d fully penetrated the mists.

The hole was the size of an adult, and roughly in the shape of one.

Which made sense.

As there was a woman in it.

“What the f-” he stopped and looked up in the sky, he sniffed the air for the scent of burning fuel, but no transportation was evident.

“Did you fall from the fucking sky…?” He wondered and crouched down, turning his weapon aside, he stiffened as if frozen, “A collar around your neck… a chain…? And…” He clenched his jaw and silenced himself. She was wearing a camisk, a simple one piece article of clothing with nothing but a hole for the head, and which was tied together by two strings at the side, it was more a mockery of clothing than anything else, preserving modesty only if one faced straight ahead and did not move, but from the side, one may as well have been naked.

‘Human trafficking? Did she escape?’ He wondered, ‘How… where?’ She was covered in marks, scratches and bruises. ‘Are you alive?’ He wondered, and slinging his shotgun over his back, he crouched above her and put two fingers on the side of her neck. He felt the faint throbbing of her pulse.

“Alive at least.” He murmured. Then slid into the hole, ignoring the dirt that was getting on his pants, he reached down and scooped her up.

He had a hand under her knee and the other under her back and holding her shoulder, she was cooler to the touch than she should have been, as if she were out in the freezing winter and hadn’t warmed up yet.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” Gabriel grunted as he put his foot on the bank and drew himself back up, she was soaking wet from the water, and that in and of itself was bad. ‘Too cold for a person to be in for long, be glad I was here to find you and not out hunting.’ He thought and took a look down at her face. She had high cheekbones, a roman nose, and her hair was like spun together sunbeams, which hung long and tangled from her head.

She wasn’t especially tall as near as he could tell, but her body felt lean and strong, like an athlete in her prime. ‘Human trafficking doesn’t usually keep them in this good a shape, so either she’s brand new or that guess was wrong. But then what’s with the collar and chain? Could she be just some kinky chick who got lost in the woods playing with her boyfriend?’

Gabriel rolled his eyes again, that was even more ridiculous. He sighed and opened the door with his foot and slid himself in sideways while still holding her up. “Where to put you…?” He muttered, his eyes turned toward the bedroom, it was the obvious choice. ‘On the other hand, it might start things off the wrong way if she wakes up in a strange man’s bed with no idea how she got there…’

So he looked for his second choice. A beaten up old brown couch, at least forty years old, it was covered in stains, but still plush, soft and comfortable enough.

He walked her across the room and going to one knee, Gabriel set her down with her head on a pillow, her feet didn’t quite reach the end of the couch, but it wasn’t that trivial detail that caused him to stop all thought.

It was the sight of the wound in her thigh. ‘Right, she was on her side, I didn’t… of course, and there’s no smell… either she bleeds honey, or that is ichor…’

“What the ever loving fuck… is an angel doing here…? Or… is it a demon?” Gabriel clenched his jaw, his heart pounded in his chest, the shotgun loaded with blessed rounds would have been plenty for most things.

‘But you don’t want to get that close to these things. No, no you do not.’ He told himself and after putting away his shotgun and removing the rounds, he drew a key from his pocket and unlocked a small box on another shelf, the little lock clicked and the walnut top came up in silence. Under his eyes was a pistol.

The handle was a golden tan, carved from ash blessed by a norse priest, and the metal, iron extracted from the blood of the wrongful dead. He took out a handful of cursed and blessed rounds and loaded them one by one. The cylinder held ten rounds, and after picking up the weapon he alternated each one. ‘Squeeze it twice, just in case.’ He made a mental note, then he positioned himself thirty paces away and leveled the pistol at the sleeping head of the ‘unknown’, and waited for her to wake up.