Joe Angel

CHAPTER 18 EXCERPT 

I don’t know if two minutes, five minutes, or more pass, but I’m finally relaxed enough to talk to Saul again. I look around at the vast emptiness of this place, look at Saul, and then at the dome surface which is still covered by field-turf from a recent football game. 
“Uh, Saul.” 
“Yes, Danny.” 
“I needed time to recover from the death-flight, but this is about as exciting as watching field-turf grow.” 
“What?” 
“All I see is artificial turf and 60,000 empty seats. Are we just chilling here, or are we just really, really early for something?” 
“Oh, oops. Sorry, Danny, that is my bad, indeed,” he says. Then he turns his eyes towards the top of the dome, arms out Moses-style, I guess. “Lord, open his eyes that he may see.” 
My mouth opens wide and just hangs there. “Oh. My. Gosh.” The place is packed with angels. I’m surrounded by angels. Full-house. Got to be 60,000 angels in the Alamodome. Their appearance is like people, but I know they’re not. Half are dressed alike, in white clothes, and the other half are decked out in black. This is some crazy glimpse into the invisible world. 
“Saul, am I the only, you know, human here?” 
His eyes search quickly. “I would suspect.” 
“Right.” 
Saul scratches his head. “You think I’m going to get in trouble for this?” 
I shake my head and give my most convincing look. “No. Not a chance. No way.” 
His head bobs, nervous-like as he quickly scans the crowd from left to right, then he leans in tight. “Maybe we should leave,” he says. 
“No, no. Definitely not. Saul, this is the right thing to do.” 
Saul exhales. “I hope it’s okay,” he says. “Just try to blend in.” 
“Sure, no sweat. That’s what I do best. I’m camouflaged, bro.” 
The only thing I can possibly think to compare to this setting is the one time I went to Dallas to see a Texas-Oklahoma football game. The Cotton Bowl is split right down the middle, half wearing burnt orange and the other half wearing crimson. It’s like 45,000 plus fans for each team. It’s so cool. I’ve been to UT games in Austin that are great, with 100,000 Hook ‘em Horns fans screaming, but that Saturday in October up in Dallas is just so special, on a neutral field. However, I gotta say, this night in the Alamodome is fixin’ to blow that out of the water. I look and where I am, I sit surrounded by a white out. The Dome seats about 60,000, and one difference between this and UT-OU is that the split of fans is not at the 50-yard-line but in each end zone. Angels dressed in white. Opposite side a black out. Behind both the end zones stand two giant silver swords. 
“Are the fans, err, angels on that side, demons?” 
“Yes, Danny.” 
“And we’re all the good guys? In white?” 
“Right.” 
“So, when’s the, uh, event?” 
“You can call it a challenge.” 
“We are actually at a demon challenge? Oh my gosh. Is it like a game?” 
“Yes, but it’s no checkers, if you know what I mean.” 
“What happens?” 
“You’ll see.” 
I narrow my eyes and pinch finger to thumb. “Just a hint would help.” 
“It’s straightforward, Danny.” 
“Can I get some nachos?” 
“The concession stand isn’t––” 
I put my hand up. “I was kidding, Saul.” 
The problem with this demon challenge or The Guardian Games, as I prefer to call it, is that there is no public address announcer. No video replays or anything like that. Obviously every angel and demon in this place has a solid understanding of what’s going on, but I could use an Idiot’s Guide, a YouTube tutorial, or at least Al Michaels explaining what’s going on. 

The opposite stands start to shake, demons on their feet, and chest-bumping each other, a chaotic looking mosh-pit bleachers. Their team has entered the dome. They look like humans would if they had the ability to fly and completely defy gravity, and they are dressed in black from head to toe. Down each side of their pants and shirt is a narrow red stripe. Not to sound sacrilegious, but they look cool. They are circling around the dome like a pack of vultures, starting in front of their own side, and then circling over us as well. I count seven of them, though it’s hard because some are flying from left to right, and others right to left. When one of them flies over our heads, I see hatred in his face, and I get the chills, then slouch down in my seat and lean towards Saul, who doesn’t seem affected other than he has a serious look on his face. I also see that the demon has a number on his jersey, and no, it’s not 666. It’s 87. Another one comes circling around and I see he is number 84. If this angel game is anything like football, I’m guessing they are receivers, which leads me to say: 
“Hey, Saul, is this like football?” 
“Not exactly. Do you see any helmets or pads?” 
“No.” 
Saul smiles. “Stand up, here come the good guys.” 
To my left I see the angels flying in formation. There’s one in front, two together, flanking him but just behind, then two more to either side, than another pair to the outer edge of the formation. It’s a triumphant kind of flight and they take their sweet time as they fly in no hurry over our fans. We are applauding, but it’s a totally different thing than the demons’ side. It’s in rhythm, and though I can tell we are cheering our team, it’s clear that more than that, we are cheering God. Angels are looking to the heavens, as if they could see through the dome’s roof, but I just see a big ceiling. It’s a steady but powerful clap. 
“Clap along,” says Saul. “Remember, Danny? Blend.” 
“Huh? Oh.”