What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [6]
The angel cleared his throat and Cadmon snapped out of his daydream. The slight smile faded from the preacher’s face, replaced by an expression that was either pain or constipation. He gritted his teeth and glanced around to see if any of the staff was watching.
“You shouldn’t be here now,” he said. “It’s the middle of the goddamned day! Someone is going to see you!” Cadmon ran his eyes up and down the angel. He was, thought Cadmon, searching for the right word, crusty. Apart from the whole glowing thing, he hardly appeared angelic or heavenly at all. And the glow really only made him look like a Chernobyl victim. His clothing looked like a rough bed sheet or maybe a curtain. At least he’s got wings, thought Cadmon.
“There is a storm coming,” said Ezekiel.
“Yeah, yeah, end of the world. We’ve been over this. I’m doing what I can. I already told you—”
“No, I speak of an actual storm,” Ezekiel said, staring off into the unknown void. “A very large storm. One that will breach the shores of this state and those of your neighbor. Many will perish.”
“Oh,” said Cadmon, surprised. The angel had never before warned him about anything like that. At least, not in Texas. Usually, the things that happened here were relatively benign. Fucking annoying, sure, but nobody was getting hurt by a bunch of stupid bugs or toads. The really bad stuff struck far away, and earthquakes or floods wiping out brown people in some far-off country somewhere didn’t bother him. In fact, he found it helpful. A frightened flock was a good thing. A dead flock, on the other hand, wasn’t going to keep the lights on. A scary thought occurred to him. “I’m not going to perish, am I?”
The angel whipped his head around. “No,” he said.
Cadmon rubbed his chin. “So,” he said, trying to remember the weather report he’d seen, “you’re talking about that storm in the Caribbean.” He tilted his head and regarded Ezekiel through squinty, skeptical eyes. “The tropical storm? You know where it’s going to hit?”
“Yes,” said Ezekiel, “and now it is time for us to begin.”
Chapter 3. Enorma Was Round, Like Sputnik
Explosions always just seem to make people go crazy. It’s weird. And the students at Georgetown University were not the unique and individual snowflakes they’d have you believe. No, when Gaston Hall blew up, they went nuts and started freaking out just like people always do.
The Prince of Darkness paused and turned back to watch as students and staff ran around screaming, shouting, and snapping photos with their mobile phones. He wondered for a moment if he should try to look inconspicuous, but with no mobile phone of his own, wasn’t sure he could pull it off. In the end, he just decided not to worry about it – his usual approach to dealing with problems these days – and ambled off toward the parking garage where he’d left his beloved automobile.
The chaos soothed him. Or it should have. Mayhem usually did. It always had, even before the whole misunderstanding with that big, galactically-stupid, lunkheaded asswiper Michael and all those other angelic fuckwits. But today? Not so much.
The problem, of course, was the frogs. Well, no, it wasn’t the frogs. It was what they represented – or might represent. He saw one and regretted his choice of shoes for the second time that day.
What if it really were ending? What if? Was that even possible? If he wasn’t doing it – and he wasn’t – then there was no way any of this could be happening. Without him, there would be no end; no final showdown between good and evil. He was the necessary ingredient; the catalyst. He was the special sauce in God’s divinely-constructed, cosmologically-huge hamburger, and now he’d taken his evil ball and gone home.
It wasn’t that he cared particularly for the world. Except for Lamborghinis. And Star Wars – well, Darth Vader anyway. And ice cream. But the rest of the world could go take a flying leap up into a goat’s butt for all he cared. No, he’d come here to avoid being a pawn.
It had all started with an admission. He finally, after all of the years of waiting and time-biding