Angel Of The Seventh Day

Milan looks at her, for the first time he sees her without arrogance. He doesn't need a light for that.

Then he calls Stevan on the roof. He answers and promises to come down soon.

The wall clock shows half past twelve. Bogdan opens a new bottle of beer and invites Milan to join him. The women are sitting with their heads on the table, dozing off. George is in the kitchen looking for food, probably taking inventory.

"I'd love to have a beer with you, but I don't think it's wise. We don't know what tomorrow will bring."

"Come on, have a drink. It's got me all mixed up, man. My family is in the village, I should have gone to them after the shift." He slurs slightly drunk. Milan can't help but notice the fear in his voice. He does him the favor. He takes a bottle from the refrigerated case, opens it at the edge of the table and sits down opposite. He certainly had nothing to do, and sometimes it's good to give in to the craziness then to keep it in chains.

"You're weird, Milan. You don't talk to anyone, you run away from people, and you'd rather play around with junk than work in a fine garage. What's wrong with you?"

Milan is aware that the alcohol has loosened his tongue and he suspects that he is being gossiped about in all three shifts, but he doesn't care. He's sure he's considered a strange person and the reasons why- are nobody's business. Bogdan is unrelenting, but he doesn't resent it:

"Do you have anyone at home, maybe a wife, kids? We don't know anything about you."

"I live alone. I don't like people because they're mostly bad. That's what I've learned."

"In that war?"

"Yes, in that one. Let's drink, Mr. Cvetković is paying. Cheers!"

Despite all his worries, Bogdan beams a smile. They toast and drink. Milan enjoys the beer and likes that he opened up, even to this man with a simple mind and a big heart. It has long been clear to him that they both come as a package.

George comes out of the kitchen and joins them at the table. He has not failed to cover the women with blankets he found in the pantry; the autumn cold has crept into the little restaurant.

He puts a piece of paper on the table with a list of foods:

"Here, that's it. I guess about twenty days. We still have to list the store, but there's only candy, drinks and other nonsense in there."

"Do you think we'll be stuck for that many days? Come on!" Bogdan speaks incredulously. But the alcohol has not completely overwhelmed him, he is after all a hundred kilos man.

"I don't believe it, but it's good to know what kind of rations we have." Milan responds and praises the initiative of the inventory, adding that they certainly have no other occupation and that it is good to spend time doing something in these circumstances.

The door opens abruptly, making everyone cringe. Stevan rushes in, smiles urgently, and says:

"Did you forget about me? So here's the thing. All this time I'm watching a truck in the stop lane with binoculars, a guy was moving around him, it looks like the truck is broken down, I couldn't see very well, but I think it's probably the one you're waiting for. Nothing would be strange to me if the army hadn't come and stopped next to him, two trucks and a jeep. When darkness fell, they stayed there, next to the truck, as if they were afraid to go on in the night! I stayed there to see if I could see a light, a lamp or something like that, but nothing! As if the night had swallowed them up. I won't see anything before dawn! I'm freezing, can I have a blanket and something to drink?"

George satisfies him and Milan adds another riddle to the already long list. The television signal is finally interrupted. This doesn't surprise him, as he had guessed, but the question remains why.

He knows it would be wisest if he slept now and someone stood guard, but there is something he must do first.

"I'm going to the trailer, I'll be right back."

Milan heads out into the night; it's not the first time he's wandered in the dark, but it's the first time without headlights and large neon signs on the roof of the building. The moonlight illuminates his path to the trailer, making the stacked wrecks of cars less creepy. Every step echoes off the concrete and every breath is harder for him to take. He'd be crazy not to feel fear and even crazier not to contain it. This is his kingdom, and the trailer is the castle where he keeps all sorts of secrets.

Finally he reaches the trailer, steps inside, turns on the light and finds what he was looking for. An old military radio station as a useless relic of the past inspires hope. He's maintained the thing as best he can and is sure it still works. The radio station's battery is charged and there is a large and noisy generator behind the trailer. Fuel is plentiful; he suspects the power will be out soon, if he's not mistaken about the war theory. The final range is twelve kilometers, and that will be enough for him to eavesdrop with a little luck. He's sure the Army still uses the VHF range for communications.

In front of the pub the transmitting equipment is put into operation, the attachment of the long rod antenna does not take much time. George comes out and joins him in the night chill. Clouds obscure the moon, making the surroundings eerie and treacherous.

"I didn't know these things still existed."

"Everything can be found in junk." Milan replies and adds:

"Pray to God we catch something, anything!"

"What can I ask of him, when he lifted his hands from us long ago. Are you done?"

"Yes, I am."

Orange reflections tear at the sky. Surprised, they lift their eyes from the device and look fascinated at the celestial spectacle. One by one, the reflections alternate in the east. A clap of thunder catches up with them.

"Artillery," whispers Milan, catches the next orange flash and counts the seconds, fourteen are there until the next thunder in four to five kilometers distance. "Let's go into the house!"

He grabs the radio station and enters the pub.

Jelena and Maria, awakened, look at him in amazement. Bogdan snores at the table and Stevan shakes him by the shoulder.

"What is this now?" Maria asks incredulously.

"An artillery attack. I wonder who from. Turn out the light, it's breaking through the tablecloths. Now!"

Jelena jumps up and darkness swallows the room.

"Someone light me up, it's high time to turn on the radio station to find out something!"

A cell phone screen illuminates the faces of the small group of people around the radio station, displacing the darkness that lies ominously over them. The flashing does not stop and the following thunder grows stronger.

Milan flips the switch and adjusts the channels. Finally, voices emerge from the receiver, the first voices in eight hours that do not belong to the employees of the Cvetković gas station complex. They listen intently to the officers' orders and their soldiers' reports, but cannot comprehend who they are fighting. Gradually the voices decrease, several units do not answer. Milan realizes from the military terminology that they are suffering heavy losses and prays that the others do not understand. Ignorance is often a salvation from despair. Especially in this world.

Gunshots can be heard coming from the radio station and then outside the complex. Milan estimates it's about two kilometers away. He looks at his coworkers, searching for any traces of panic or desperation on them, but he doesn't find them. In the dim light of the cell phone, he can clearly see sobriety in their faces, including fear, hope, and anticipation. Just as he recognized in himself. In this situation, he doesn't need the added burden of someone's panic. Or his own. Bogdan lifts his head from the table. He's been keeping an eye on what's going on the whole time, feeling no need to add to the tension:

"You hear that?"

Milan shuts down the system, banging continues in the distance. The intensity of the gunfire indicates the ferocity of the fight.

The sound Bogdan pointed out grows louder, the ground beneath them trembling slightly. The roar of the engines can also be heard.

"Tank!" Stevan shouts and rushes to the front door.

"Stop, you idiot!" Milan jumps up and chases after him. He grabs him at the last moment and drags him back to the restaurant:

"Turn off the lights on the phones!"

"What's wrong with you, this is our army, let's go to our boys!" Maria is desperate.

Stevan is kicking and Milan is trying to restrain him. Their peace was shattered to pieces by the arrival of the convoy.

Jelena's scream fills the room; the pushing stops:

"This is the end of it! We're in the combat zone, for God's sake, they don't know who we are! They can kill us!"

"But they're ours! We're in our country! Let's go out and stop them!" Maria cries, driven by desperation.

"Stupid cow, how do you know there are our soldiers out there!" Jelena's threat is obvious by her clenched fists.

They look at the woman with wide eyes. Reason overcomes them again, they understand Jelena's words and make sense of them. Milan doesn't miss the fact that Jelena is retaliating against Maria. Under other circumstances this would have amused him, but not in this one.

Stevan's grip loosens, an apology is in his eyes. Milan doesn't care about his recklessness, he understands him completely.

The radio is switched on again. A hand covers the dim light it emits. Unconnected voices reach the staff.

Silently, between the hung tablecloths, they watch the convoy moving along the highway. It does not move slowly and at a distance, as military vehicles should, but in a strict formation; they realize that the armored unit is rushing into battle.

An armored personnel carrier separates from the convoy, turns onto the access road and stops between the gas pumps. Its lights are dimmed, as movement in wartime demands. The moon, occasionally peeking out from between the clouds, is enough to illuminate the area in front of the restaurant. Soldiers jump out of the vehicle and approach the gas pumps, grabbing a tank gun and pouring fuel onto the asphalt.

"We have fuel!" reports one of the soldiers.

"Search the gas station and shoot anything that moves, you understand?"

"Civilians?"

"I said everything, are you deaf?"

"Roger that! Squad, follow me!"

Stevan notices Jelena burst into tears and Maria is not far behind either. They can't believe their own ears, disbelief nails them.

George whispers composedly:

"Through the kitchen and out the back door to the junkyard. Milan, bring the radio. Quick!"

"No, I can't believe they're trying to kill us!" Jelena stammers and frantically taps towards the kitchen. Panic spreads through the group again.

"Don't believe it later, I'll show you where we can hide, we don't have time to climb over the wall Milan grits his teeth and leads the group towards the kitchen.

They lie under the caravan on icy concrete. Milan is hidden behind the wheel, overlooking the others' hiding places. George is right next to him. He knows the soldiers will be able to find them by doing an extensive survey of the area, but he hopes they don't have time for that.

The light from two flashlights bounces past the wrecks standing around.

"There's nobody here!" The voice behind the lamp can be heard.

"Even if there is someone, how can I shoot innocent people, man, it is so easy for him to order," the other responds.

The soldiers have not yet come into view. Their voices show fear and Milan knows they have their weapons ready, it would be abnormal to act otherwise after all he has experienced.

"How? Did you miss the one at the tollbooth? If disaster was here, it would've jumped us by now. Let's go back."

The lights of the flashlights disappear and with them the voices of the soldiers.

Fear is a dangerous ally; it can create cunning and sometimes insane courage. He hopes the others don't fall for it and that they stay in their hiding places for a while longer. By his count of time, the convoy has long since prepared for battle. Detonations and explosions from heavy machine guns can still be heard. The commander of this unit is a smart man, he sent a unit out to create a reserve position and staging area in case of a retreat. He would do it himself.

His fear becomes reality. Maria jumps out of one wreck and Bogdan follows her out of the other's trunk. The urge to warn her is strong, but he restrains it. He can't give himself away, and again, he'd be sorry they were killed.

He had seen enough of it by then.

"Halt and do not move!" echoes the order of the soldiers.

The relit lamps illuminate Maria and Bogdan.

He curses softly and writhes under the trailer to see what else is happening. He knows they're busy with his captured colleagues, so he's not worried about being discovered.

"Are there others? Speak up!" The soldier tries to make his voice authoritative, but his effort is unsuccessful, fear breaks out of his words.

If they were removed from humanity, they would open fire, call for reinforcements, and search every nook and cranny of the junkyard without question. Milan makes up his mind, signals George to stay there, and writhes under the trailer. He straightens up and raises his hands high in the air:

"No, just me!"

The soldiers, dumbfounded, do not answer. Milan's heart is pounding madly, he wonders if he made a mistake trying to protect his reckless colleagues; the urge to do so was stronger than reason.

"Who are you?" This question is meaningless in these circumstances, which he does not understand, but which impose on him the hope that he will come out alive.

"We work here, we've been waiting for the shift that hasn't come, the traffic has disappeared and we have no idea what's going on. All night we have heard gunshots, we are completely confused."

Maria's scream turns into a whimper. Milan thinks at the right moment. He has seen through her cunning game, fear is indeed a dangerous ally.

"What do we do now?" asks one of the soldiers. After a few tense moments, the answer comes:

"Don't do that, brother, I can't do that. Let's take these people to the leader."

The department head, a non-commissioned officer in rank, enters the combat vehicle, sits down in his seat and grabs the microphone. The transmitter in the combat vehicle is more powerful than his handheld radio; he hopes for success. For a few minutes he tries to connect with his superior. He fails and frowns as black forebodings come over him.

As he got out of the vehicle he heard a commotion behind the restaurant, the guys must have caught some civilians so he hopes they know what they are doing. Breaches of orders must have a good reason, he will personally look into the matter and refute it himself if necessary. He can't have a repeat of the tollbooth where he lost eight people. The fresh night air clears his head, consequently he leans against the large wheel of the armored vehicle and lights a cigarette. His hand shakes and he remembers the past day:

It was like any other. He heard the alarm siren on the practice field and remembers cursing hungry and hungover in front of the recruits. Lunch time was far away and the rookies couldn't get through the practice obstacles in time. He thought the general had ordered another sudden movement; the old man had been overdoing it with false alarms lately. He issued orders, calling for haste to man the fighting vehicle and prepare it for the march. It wasn't until they were on the move that he realized the cat was out of the bag, when they were supplied with live ammunition and ordered to keep the projectile in the barrel. His orders are to join the armored convoy, break through to this position and take up a reserve position.

The word "breakthrough" was burned into his consciousness. Why make a breakthrough at home in peacetime?" There is no way the enemy could have occupied it in a flash. He chalked it up to a small mistake or motivation in the order and set about fulfilling it. Had he known what he knows now, that the fifty-kilometer breach cut the tank battalion in half, he would have acted differently. Only hatred of the horror that gripped the world prevented him from putting the gun in his mouth and firing. He knows it's impossible to eradicate the awakened evil, but if he has to die, he'll die in battle, taking them down with him as much as he can, along with his people, who display an enviable attitude. The fellows are driven by the same hatred and determination that drives him.

He throws the cigarette butt on the floor. So far, he hasn't had time to see the circumstances and accept what didn't seem acceptable. Be that as it may, he thinks, determined to find out why they disobeyed his order. In the distance, the guns are hitting full force, and as long as that is the case, hatred will be more powerful than reconciliation with surrender.

A crooked outline emerges from the darkness, steps into the dimly lit space outside the restaurant's open door, and walks slowly toward it.

He is momentarily taken aback, his tense nerves and readiness for any surprise causing his hand to dart to his holster as if of its own accord and grasp the weapon with remarkable rapidity, as befits a professional soldier.

"Zoran, my son!" A hunchbacked old woman speaks in a trembling voice. He recognizes her immediately.

"Is that any way to greet your mother? Put the gun down!"

Impossible! He thinks this can't be. She passed away last year, in a dilapidated house on the outskirts of the village where she raised him alone. Waves of shame and grief pierce his consciousness; he left her alone three years ago and ran off to the army to escape poverty and work in other people's fields. He sent her the money regularly but did not come to the funeral. He left, never to return.

"I didn't die, they lied to you. You know how mean the village is! Put it down!"

She moves closer to him.

"I barely found you, looking for you in the empty barracks and wandering around all day!"

"Is it possible that they lied to me?" The hand holding the gun trembles more.

The mother stretches out her arms. A tear, holding all his sin, remorse and shame, runs down his cheek. He approaches her and embraces her with the gun in his hand.

She presses a kiss to his lips.

* * *

"Ho, ho, ho," taunts Michael, peering through the optical sight of the M93 Black Arrow sniper rifle, and continues "they've started a mean game!"

Gabriel, leaning back on the couch and not taking his eyes off the screen of the old television, replies:

"What did you think, my brother, that they would do as agreed? It was only a matter of time."

"I know, but guess who's here!"

Gabriel blows out the smoke of the joint and carelessly throws it on the concrete. They have taken up residence in the started building across from the Cvetković gas station to perform the task of monitoring the control group. They are grateful to the old man for his greed and intention to build another complex and get additional income from the opposite direction lane. Otherwise, they would have to be stationed in the field, depriving them of any comfort.

"Who is it?" Gabriel is curious, he presses the pause button on the VCR and grabs two cans of beer from the gym bag. Mad Max remains frozen on the TV screen with a crazed look on his face.

"Abaddon's right-hand man. Here, look at this."

Michael moves away from the bulky rifle that stands on the table in front of the roughly worked window. The entire room on the second floor of the future motel is waiting for the interior plastering.

George hands him a beer and squints through the optics, where he finds Sergeant Zoran in embrace with a lower-ranking demon, dressed as a hunchbacked old woman.

"And where there's a right hand, there's Abaddon. I've been waiting a thousand years to grab him and rip his ears off!" Why did you allow that unholy man to infect the sergeant? And with a kiss!"

"He's not up to our standards. Yes, he's a good man, but he didn't come to his mother's funeral."

"Listen Michael, it's not for us to judge, that's what Peter from the Directorate is for!"

"Don't start again! Why weren't you on watch?"

"My shift, that's why it's my decision!"

Gabriel is silent, not wanting to start another millennial debate about their rights and responsibilities. He knows that God approves of his archangels' every action and that Michael is sharp in these matters. He takes aim at the hunchbacked grandma and pulls the trigger with relish.

A 12.7-millimeter bullet strikes unmistakably, shattering her head into hundreds of pieces that scatter everywhere. Her body slips from the sergeant's arms and falls to the ground, turning into black smoke that dissipates into the night.

"Perfect! The stinker goes back to hell!"

Gabriel smiles smugly and moves away from the rifle.

"Now let's get out of here, I'm sure Abaddon is around, we don't want to be discovered prematurely!" Michael drains the beer and crumples the can with his fingers.

"And the sergeant?"

"Let him go, mortals will judge him. He will definitely face St. Peter, though I must admit I feel sorry for him. Tough childhood and all that. I'll stand up for... " Michael interrupts the sentence and looks at Gabriel, stunned. He changed his clothes in an instant. Boots, leather pants, a leather jacket on his naked body without a sleeve, and a shortened shotgun on a wide belt.

"What on earth do you look like?"

"Like the Mad Max! That is so cool, man!"

Gabriel's face widens into a boyish smile.

"Have you gone mad, brother?" Michael smiles too; there is boundless love for his brother in his gaze, every pleasure of Gabriel's is his too. The mortal form they have assumed for concealment allows for earthly pleasures they rarely have the opportunity to enjoy.

"If you're in Rome, make like a Roman, the apocalypse is on!" Gabriel answers with a raised forefinger and adds in a more serious tone:

"Let's get out of here."

"Wise words you have spoken. Take the bag with the beer!"

* * *

Detonations jerk him out of his slumber. Leaning against the large wheel of the combat vehicle, he realizes he has fallen asleep. He's heard stories that soldiers can fall asleep standing up, but he didn't believe it. Until now.

He dreamed of his mother. The wet trace on his cheek testifies that the dream was intense and fast.

He was planning to see who they took into custody. The commander doesn't report in, though the lines aren't broken. He is furious because of the lieutenant's negligence. He has fulfilled his orders to occupy this place and inform him, and now he is playing dumb. Can no one act properly, can no one listen, no one perform his words and military duties? And under such circumstances?

Wrath occupies every pore of his being. He ordered all living souls to be killed. Now he must kill them himself and punish the one who disobeyed the order. He will kill the lieutenant later. It is a state of emergency, martial law is like a strict mother to disobedient children.

Mother. She raised him alone, working in other people's fields for a pittance, the laughing stock of the whole village. He fled the shame to make it even greater. The world deserved nothing better with such people, irresponsible officers and disobedient soldiers. It is just that humanity should be exterminated. The appearance of this calamity now made sense. As he walks towards the entrance, rage blazes in his mind, leaving not a single crumb of humanity. He wonders where the gun in his hand came from, he can't remember taking it out. As he does, he stares at the gun, not thinking to put it back in the holster, he'll need it at the restaurant.

Maria, Bogdan and Milan are sitting at the table. They hold their hands on him as ordered.

Four soldiers stand around the table with weapons drawn, staring at them. Milan returns their gaze without fear, reading their faces. Young lads, in their twenties. Two unstable, one in between, the last as mentally strong as a rock. They have survived the horror and seen death, post-traumatic syndrome to follow. Their glazed looks and imperceptible tics speak for themselves, they are on the cusp of shock and at the gateway to madness. What they have recently experienced was cruel and vicious. Milan's observation is interrupted by one of the soldiers, in the same voice as in the junkyard:

"Have you seen these things, have you been attacked?"

Maria finally raises her head and answers defiantly:

"Who would attack us? And how did you know we were hiding in the junkyard?"

The soldiers stare at each other. It is incomprehensible to them that they have been spared from evil. The one closest to her clears her throat and answers:

"The blackout of the restaurant. Those tablecloths hanging in the window are certainly not part of the menu!"

Milan grins. The young soldier is intelligent and funny and he liked him immediately. He is sure that he will not cross the gate of madness and that he will remain level-headed no matter what happens next.

The door slams open. Sergeant Zoran enters the room angrily, holding the gun on them:

"Am I talking to sheep or commanding soldiers?" he shouts. His hair is white as snow and an excessive amount of saliva comes out of his mouth.

The soldiers immediately point their weapons at him and the youngest among them commands without hesitation:

"Zoran, you're infected. Put the gun down and we'll call the paramedics..."

With the shot, the sentence and the soldier's life are interrupted. The boy falls beside the table. Blood seeps in a thin stream from the hole in his chest.

No one answers, they are silent, trying to process the situation they don't want to process. A flash of reason appears in Zoran's eyes. The soldiers, though surprised, cock their weapons and only their innate humanity prevents them from firing. Finally, Bogdan, horrified, asks:

"Why did you kill him?"

Milan is about to burst. The soldiers are idle and there is nothing he can do. He knows it's not easy to shoot his own and even his superiors, but it's necessary or he'll kill them all. He doesn't know what the infection is or how he got it, but if they don't do something, they'll never know.

Another shot echoes through the restaurant. Bogdan, who was hit in the head, falls onto his back along with the chair.

"I repeat the question. "Why didn't you carry out the order and kill these? Why do I have to do everything myself? Don't you see what's happening around us? No man deserves to live!" Zoran grits his teeth; his eyes blaze with madness, they are wide open and there is nothing human left in them. His mouth bleeds from his own bites. He hears a noise behind him and turns around in a flash, but his reaction comes too late.

Stevan hits him hard with his hammer and George grabs the hand with the gun. One shot surely hits the ceiling. Jelena appears at the door and covers her mouth with her hands. Maria finally begins to scream.

Milan jumps up from his chair and takes the gun from Zoran's limp hand.

The soldiers are still undecided how to act, so he orders them:

"Put him on a chair and tie him up good!" he orders them.

Eventually their boyish faces take on a resigned expression, only occasionally overshadowed by fear, and they do as they're told.

The men bring the bodies to the front of the building, cover them with tablecloths and leave them. It is not long until dawn and the battle in the distance is still thundering.

"They will never liberate the city," muttered one of the soldiers to himself. Milan does not miss this and decides to finally clear everything. He calls them to the table. Curiosity is stronger than the grief for Bogdan and the soldier.

"We got a distress call, we thought it was another drill" began the soldier, the funny one, and continued:

"So we set out to accomplish the task. Our scouting party had twelve people and now there are only three of us. We were supposed to take this position, provide a medical service here or make a reserve position, I have no idea, the main thing is that we went."

The soldier accepts the offered cigarette and continues the narrative. The listeners do not miss the trembling of the cigarette:

"The population is panicking, they want to follow us, we have no idea what's going on and the police are ordering people to lock themselves in their houses. It was also on the news; the government has declared a state of emergency. Didn't you see it?"

"We didn't turn on the TV in time and our connections are broken," Maria answers and takes a cigarette.

"Yes, they attacked the transmitters first.

"Who the hell attacked?" Stevan interjects impatiently.

The soldier stares at his buddies as if looking for encouragement to reveal a secret. Finally, he continues:

"Beasts. Monsters, animals, I've never seen anything like them. They are sometimes as big as horses, but also as huge as dinosaurs."

"Beasts? I beg you!" George says arrogantly. Milan is silent, he knows the boy is speaking the truth. He would not tell fairy tales in this situation.

"Yes, beasts, pure evil! Covered in a certain armor, the bullet barely penetrates them. Each one is different, no two are alike, have tentacles, claws, long tails to beat with, huge snouts and sharp teeth, they'll cut a man in half in an instant! Some are fast, some are sluggish. Man, I know it sounds crazy, but it's true!"

"The army cannot destroy them?" asks Jelena.

"We're trying missy, but the thing is they don't act like animals and it seems they have minds, they hunt humans in an intelligent way and there are millions of them, they just sprung up like that, out of nowhere."