Keeping up with this damn thing is proving harder than I thought. Didn’t have the chance to stop long enough to write yesterday. Me and Rachel were on the move too much.

It would seem that the local Infernals found out about the Oh-So-Holy recruiters from a couple of nights ago, and decided to cull the area, just to be safe. We went to check out the festivities from a relatively safe distance. My old building was razed to the ground because one of the tenants was "proven" to be at the drive. Proven, or just named as a patsy…doesn’t make much of a fucking difference to him now. They drug him out into the street, a big grey skinned demon said something really fucked up sounding, then the thing slit the guy from his chin to his balls. It reached into his gut, pulled out his intestines, and strangled him with them. Lost a bet to myself. I didn’t think the guy’s pipes would be strong enough to actually kill him, but they sure as shit did.

Rachel covered her eyes in my shoulder when the guy sputtered his last. She’s been in the middle of this shit as long as I have, but she still doesn’t know how to cope with it as well. Don’t get me wrong, she’s as tough, or tougher than just about any man I know. But she still has these notions about the way the world is supposed to work. Notions that she just can’t let go of. She just can’t accept that the world doesn’t make sense unless you force it to.

Anyway, the culling started at about 11:00 am yesterday. Most of the drunken fuck-ups were still passed out in the streets, and didn’t even raise an eyebrow when the Beasts were released into the area. They made for quick snacks while Rachel and me beat some major fucking feet out of there. Next couple of hours were a blur of running, shooting, and hiding. I remember seeing Sarah Bowers again for an instant. Still in the same neighborhood, still in the same position. Nymphomaniacal bitch actually managed to take a dick out of her mouth long enough to see the Beast that tore her fucking head off. Normally, I would have expected a reaction out of the owner of the dick, but the owner had apparently been missing his upper torso for quite a while, so I guess he probably didn’t give a shit at that point.

We ran, we ducked, we introduced a lot of freaks to the wonders of gun powder. Eventually, we made it into the next neighborhood. Not really any better than the one we just left, but at least it only had the usual line up of murderers, rapists, demons, pedophiles, necrophiles, Risen, etc, etc, that we had come to expect.

We tried to walk casually down the street until Rachel asked if we could stop for a few minutes, catch our breath. Like a moron, I said sure. We ducked into a burnt out building, and she immediately buried her face in my chest. She wasn’t crying, just trying to get a grip on the situation. I was just praying she didn’t feel how my heart was trying to hammer through my chest. Between the smell of her skin, and the feel of her body pressed up against me, I was about to go out of my fucking mind. I tried real hard to just keep my damn mouth shut at that point. Pretty much anything I would have said would probably ended up as ,"There, there, can we fuck now?"

For those of you who think I’m a total opportunistic perv now, let me put this into perspective. I haven’t been near a woman since Jaime died, three years ago. When you’re surrounded by the shit we have to see day in, day out, you kind of lose interest in sex. The simple fact that just about everyone you meet is either in denial, a raving fucking psychopath, or a walking corpse, so you pretty much tend to shy away from others in general. Now, here drops this woman into my life. A woman who actually has her head still on somewhat straight. A woman whose looks, on a scale of one to ten, rank about a thirty on the holy-shit-o-meter. The best way I can describe her, just to give whoever is sick enough to still be reading this a visual, would be that she’s built like a white Salma Hayek. If you don’t know who she is, go watch "From Dusk Till Dawn". She’s the one who gives the most incredible dance I’ve ever seen, and never takes her fucking top off. I don’t know who will be ruling the roost when this journal is found, but in my time, "From Dusk Till Dawn" is usually on TV about eighty times a fucking day. If you still have no idea who she is, pick your favorite porn star, and use your imagination (semi-interesting side note: Janine Lindemulder, Chasey Lain, and Raquel Darrian, three of the hottest porn stars in the biz, all got free tickets to live with the God Squad. Just goes to show, you never can tell).

Anyway, this is the woman that’s decided to tag along with me. It’s a testament to her tenacity that she’s still alive at this point. Most of the ones that look like her are shuffling around looking for fresh brains to eat right about now.

After about fifteen minutes of her gathering herself together (and fifteen minutes of me thinking about baseball), we headed out into the street again. Had to duck into another building for a minute when a couple of harpies flew by, looking for food. The best way to describe a harpy is that it’s a really bitchy woman with wings and claws like a bird of prey. Pretty basic shit as far as we’re concerned, but you still don’t want one to get ahold of you.

We poked our heads out when the sky was clear again, or as clear as it gets in this shit hole, and continued down the street. There was a hotel not too far away, and we went there to try and get a roof over our heads. The fat slob behind the counter was busy probing the ass end of a great dane, so I helped myself to a key. We used the stairs to get up to the third floor (elevators can’t be trusted worth shit anymore), and were careful not to disturb the dozing heroin addicts that littered the hall. I let Rachel into the room, scoped the hall one more time, then made sure the door was double bolted behind me. The lights in the room were still off, and Rachel appeared from the darkness, P-14 in hand, "Room’s clear," she said, flicking the lights on.

I walked inside, and dropped my gear off on the floor. The room was actually fairly nice; two large main rooms, one with two beds, kitchenette, and a big bathroom. This place probably cost quite a penny back before the world went to shit.

The shower faucet kicked on, and on instinct, I craned my head around at the noise…and laid eyes on something I wish like hell I hadn’t. The past years have given me a pretty good ability to catch details without having to overly stare at something. Comes in handy in a fight. You can pick up the number of attackers, and a good idea of what they’re packing in one quick sweep. Also helps to keep you from getting blindsided. The downside comes when what grabs your attention is a fantastic body belonging to a woman with not a lot of modesty. I guess they didn’t have bathroom doors where she grew up. I snapped my head back around, too little too late. The image of that white thong sliding down her legs was burned into my head. I heard her climb into the shower, and I flicked on the TV to try and get some good mind-numbing violence to divert my mind. Instead, I got a group of four lipstick lesbians. This just ain’t my fucking day.

I changed the channel a few times, trying to find something else. Settled on an image of Damon’s smiling face. The Anti-Christ was beaming about the recent conquest of Australia. The scene cut to footage of all kinds of weird shit going on in the streets as the haze moved in an did its work. Then, he closed with his usual challenge to Christ to make an appearance. I shook my head, like that’s going to fucking happen. Makes sense that if He gave a shit, He would have made his presence known by now. Can’t blame Him much, though. After all, He was already nailed to a tree once over us. I probably wouldn’t give much of a shit either.

The water shut off, and Rachel came out after a few minutes. She had a white towel wrapped around her waist, and her hair hung down over her breasts. "All yours," she said. Oh, honey…if you only fucking knew…. I walked past her without looking directly at her, and shut the door. I kicked the water on as cold as it would go, and cleaned up. Too bad the mind isn’t as easy to clean out as the body is.

When I felt more in control, I dried off and came out of the bathroom. She was sitting on one of the beds in a pair of sweat shorts and a t-shirt, her long hair starting to curl a little as it dried. She pointed over at the closet, "It’s fully stocked. Whoever was here last must have just cut and run." I got some clothes and changed in the bathroom. They were a little big, but they were clean. I lay down on the other bed, and dozed.

We spent the rest of yesterday, and most of today in the room. The only time we left was to grab something to eat, then come right back here. Thought about ordering room-service, but the phone menu took twenty fucking minutes to get to the food choices. Since I didn’t want drugs, a man, a woman, a farm animal, a corpse, or an industrial sized vat of KY, I decided that room service wasn’t the way to go. No biggie. There’s fairly secure spot around the corner with fairly decent food, and a relative lack of live sex acts going on inside. We’re going to lay low here for a while, and figure out what comes next.

Got treated to a brand shiny knew fucked up dream last night. Rachel had lain down, and drifted off quick. I double checked the room to make sure that everything was secure, locks in place, etc., etc., then I lay down in the other bed.

Normally, any dreams I have are kind of a fucked up mixture of memories, and any sounds that come to me from my surroundings. I never sleep completely. Been living in this shit too long to think that anyplace is safe enough to fully go to sleep. I don’t know what the hell caused last night, though.

I opened my eyes. I was still in the same room, and Rachel was still sleeping in the next bed, but we weren’t alone anymore. It was dark in the room, but I could still make him out in the moonlight. It wasn’t our normal moonlight, filtered through the haze. It was the clear moonlight that I used to see before this all happened.

He was big, and looked like someone chiseled him out of the side of a fucking mountain. He had really long dark brown hair, pulled back from his face. He stood there glaring at me from behind a set of Ray Bans. "Time you and I had a little talk," he said. Any words I could use can’t begin to describe his voice. It was like listening to an earthquake speak.

I reached over for my Sig, which wasn’t there anymore. My stomach fell into my shoes, and I figured we were very severely fucked at that point. "Cut the shit, Michael. I don’t have much time before I’m detected here." The guy grabbed a chair, and sat down on it backwards. "Big things are getting ready to happen. Big things that are going to wrap this mess up once and for all. Things that you will play an integral role in."

"Thanks for the total lack of fucking info, Yoda. If it’s all the same to you, I’m going back to sleep now." He took off his shades, and I suddenly wished I could’ve crawled down my own throat. His eyes were silver, and they burned in the darkness. Boy, was he pissed.

"Don’t test my patience," he said, "I have a war to fight, and I don’t want to waste more time here than necessary."

His words sank in…holy shit, this was Michael. The Michael. As in the fucking Archangel Michael. "Gold star for you," he said. "Now, close your fucking mouth, and listen. Lucifer’s armies have pushed us back a point where we are truly on the defensive. But, this war is getting ready to come to a focal point…one that is going to decide the final outcome. If we fall, Heaven falls, and Lucifer’s corruption will spread across existence."

"Big fucking deal," I said. "I’m already damned, and I’ve been living in ‘Lucifer’s corruption’ for four years now. I have absolutely no fucking reason to lift a finger for your Almighty. Not after what He allowed to be done to Jaime. You can take your war, your prophecies, and your whole pretty winged bullshit, and blow it out your fucking angelic ass."

"Not every marked soul goes to Hell," he said calmly. "Those who are near to the dividing line, like Jaime was, stay in Purgatory until they can work their sin off. Jaime is there now, in limbo. But if Lucifer wins, there won’t be hope for you, her, or any of a trillion other souls."

"Sounds pretty," I said, " but you boys are good at making anything sound pretty. Why should I believe any of this bullshit?"

"I think you know why," he looked over at Rachel, who was still asleep. "I’m giving you a chance to save you both."

"I’ll think about it."

"Think quick," he said. "Neither of you have much time. You must be ready to seize the moment when it comes time to play your part."

"What about your precious Son of God?" I said. "Why doesn’t His All-Fucking-Holiness poke His head out of the sand?"

"Maybe He’s closer than you than you think…," Michael faded into the shadows and was gone.

I opened my eyes to see Rachel standing over me. I was covered in sweat, and couldn’t stop shaking. "You’ve been babbling for an hour, and your eyes had rolled up into your head," she stammered. She was trembling like a cheap motel bed. "I thought you were having some kind of attack. I didn’t know what else to do…"

I sat her down next to me, and held her until we both stopped shaking. We stayed there until well after sunrise--the usual fucked up looking sunrise that we were both so accustomed to. I could hear the Beasts in the distance, still prowling the old neighborhood. They would be slinking back to whatever holes they puked out from by now. They didn’t like sunlight too much.

We got up, cleaned up (gotta teach her how to shut that damn door when she showers) and geared up for another day of travel. I want to put as much distance between myself and the culling as possible, just in case they get bored and decide to spill over into the surrounding neighborhoods.

We might move south, into the next Zone. I’ll pick up again when I can.

Entry #10, June 7^th, Fourth Year of Armageddon

Been on the move constantly for the last two days. Funny thing is, with all the other things that have gone to shit, mass transit still works. Proof that the El is really the work of Satan. One way or the other, I didn’t want to waste any time getting into the next Zone to the south. Of course, the flow of information on this side of the lines is a little constipated, so I didn’t know who was the ruler of the next Zone. If I had known it was Chemos, we would have headed west.

Moloch, the Fallen Angel that ruled the last Zone we were in, was one ruthless, vile motherfucker. But he was a well rounded vile motherfucker. A little death and disease here, a little perversion there, and let the humans run around and fuck themselves up to their heart’s content. Chemos, on the other hand, is the Almighty Fuck Master. His Zone was a haven for every kind of sexual deviance known, and a couple that should have stayed unknown.

Quick side note for anyone who paid attention in college lit. Yes, these Fallen Angels are named the same as the ones in Paradise Lost. No, that’s not their real names, but the poem is a favorite of Lucifer’s, so He re-named his Host to go with it. Fucked up part is, their real names are different, but their roles are the same as Milton said they were. Don’t know if that was planned, or if Milton was just a little too close to the subject matter.

Anyway, we passed the gates into Chemos’ Zone this morning. Usual shit…ID please, and all the rest. Actually, it was more like, "Show your fucking card, or we fuck your bitch to death." Now, it may just be me, but I really have a problem with the total lack of fucking manners that most people seem to have. I handed my retort to the poet manning the gate in the form of a 12 gauge blast to the face. His replacement was a little more polite, and Rachel and I moved into the Zone.

I should have realized where we were when we first hit the gates. Instead of the usual rows of impaled writhing corpses that appeared to be Fallen Angel chic, the gates to Chemos’ domain were lined with men and women chained up to the bars by their wrists and/or ankles while other men, women, demons, Risen, and things I can’t begin to describe fucked them in every manner possible. Hell, just about every fetish that you could think of was represented in that one entry point alone. Some of the "victims" were into it, some weren’t. The lines of fuck-ups waiting to take their turn didn’t seem to give much of a shit. Some of them were so hard up that they were trying to invade the asses of who the fuck ever was in front of them in line. I hid Rachel from their sight as best as possible, and we moved through the checkpoint quickly.

Not too far past the gate, I wanted to try and get our bearings from one of the natives. Unfortunately, all of the ones available had their mouths full at the moment. We moved on.

There were some people here and there that didn’t seem to be affected by the haze, but not near as many as were in the last Zone. Most of everyone here seemed to be wrapped up in finding new ways to come. It was unreal. You pretty much have to walk in the street if you don’t want to continually have to step over someone fucking on the sidewalk. Side note: Cement is not the softest of surfaces to fuck on. Most of the people/things rolling around on the ground were surrounded by bloodstains on the concrete, and were covered in festering wounds where the stone had rubbed them raw. Just seemed to excite them more. We moved on.

After about an hour of not being able to find someone who could take an organ (internal or external) out of their mouth long enough to give us some kind of directions, we stumbled across an open office building. The doors were long gone, but the power was still on. I knew that these IBM assholes had kept penthouse apartments in most of their corporate buildings for execs and visiting VIPs, so we went in and headed for directory. Sure enough, there were four up on the top level…thirty fucking stories up. So, we headed for the stairs. Was a light trip up the stairs. Out of thirty stories, we only had to kill six would-be rapists in the stairwell. No big deal. Killing those bastards give me a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

The penthouse was unlocked, so we made ourselves to home, after clearing all the rooms of course. Lots of clothes laying around (folks in this part of town didn’t seem to have much in the modesty department), so we secured the rooms, and cleaned up. The good thing was that the suite had four rooms, so I could be somewhere else while Rachel was cleaning up. The TV, as usual, was blaring and couldn’t be shut off. Only there wasn’t any evicerations, castrations, or actual news to be had. It was only lots and lots of fucking. Cable in Chemos’ Zone carried everything from foot fetishes to shit eaters. One commercial for Saturday morning kid’s programs showed a woman with impossibly big tits wearing a nun’s habit, a pair of thigh-high patent leather boots, and nothing else, sucking down on a grey skinned demon while fucking puppets cheered in the background. "Sister Wetcunt’s Playhouse" the show was called. Sure,…whatever. I went to the window and looked out on the city, remembering how it used to be. Now, the smog was replaced by the haze, and the air traffic was replaced by things that just shouldn’t be.

Oh fucking well. Way of the world. Deal with it.

Luckily, the room is still fully stocked, so we should be able to hole up for a few. Apparently, this place has had visitors recently. Doesn’t mean much of shit to me, other than we don’t have to venture outside for supplies for a few days.

Rachel finished cleaning up, so I’m next, once again without look directly at her (I knew keeping her with me was going to be a fucking mistake). Anyway, I’ll pick up again when we move out.