D01-Vengeance

Authors Note.

This story is loosely based on true events surrounding a terrible flood that happened in Texas in 2025. No words can express the feelings of those affected by the loss of a loved one or a person that they knew, and it is my fervent hope that my story does not offend anyone. My own loss of a teenage daughter to an automobile accident does not compare to what these parents had to endure. This is a fictional work of how the interplay of good and evil forces may affect our lives and what might have been. Fortunately, none of the actual persons affected gave in to the urgings of unkind forces.


- - -

Becky awoke with a start. Suddenly there was a lot of noise in the normally very serene hut that she shared with ten other girls and two counselors.

She and her camp-mates were all between 10 and 12 years old and the counselors were from the high school back where they all lived. Every summer, the high school hosted the younger girls and boys in a two-week summer camp along the Guadalupe River. Inner tube rafting or learning how to swim in the shallow, slow moving waters, as well as hiking along the banks filled their days.

Tonight was very different. Only one light was on. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. Campers were rubbing their eyes or climbing down from the top bunks. The counselors, Mary and Margo, were shouting something.

Becky turned to the cot next to hers, where Anna was looking around as confused as she was. “What's happening?”

“Don’t know,” mumbled her friend.

“Get in line! Take each other’s hand!” The counselors were shouting. Girls were stumbling to comply. The floor did not feel right. It vibrated strangely.

Becky and Anna rolled out of their beds and joined the end of the line of girls. The sound of everyone talking at once was loud, but there was something else louder. Something BIG was crashing into something else BIG nearby. Counselor Mary was at the door talking urgently to the girls at the head of the line. Counselor Margo was trying to round up the last two campers in the back of the hut.

It happened very suddenly. Everyone was confused and lining up, then something hit the hut hard and the rear disintegrated into splinters. The two little girls that Margo had been trying to get in line disappeared in a rush of water and mud.

“Oh my God!” Margo screamed. “Francesca! Kennedy!”

She turned to her best friend Mary and the frightened girls at the door and yelled, “Run! Get up the hill to the cafeteria!”

Without waiting to see if she had been obeyed, she dove into the swirling mess. She had to reach the two campers who were in her charge.

Somehow in the roiling mud and debris she did catch the arm of one of the girls. She believed it was Kennedy. She could not see anything in the dark. Calling she could not hear her own voice.

She gripped Kennedy to her fiercely and looked about wildly. A floating log crashed into the pair.

When Margo opened her eyes, she could suddenly see so clearly again. The sounds were muted and a strange glow emanated from behind her. Turning her head, she saw the smiling face of a young woman who seemed to be floating above the swirling mess.

“Fear not little one,” the lady seemed to say, but not with words. Margo heard her voice clearly in her head. “I have come to take you home. All this will soon be over.”

“Francesca! I need to find her!” Margo gasped.

“Someone has already helped her,” the friendly lady replied. Extending her hand she continued, “Take my hand. We must go now.”

As Margo clutched Kennedy tightly, she took the offered hand and the lady flapped huge white wings which lifted the two of them out of the muddy mess. Up and up.

Margo’s body was found two days later still clutching Kennedy in her arms, buried under a pile of broken trees which were trapped under a bridge.

- - -

Gabriel, the communications expert of the Divine Mission Corps, was floating invisibly above the devastation created by the flood. He could see knots of the equally invisible agents of the Every Vile Individual League, or E.V.I.L., clustered about with their unseen ethereal minions, the Infidels, trying to increase the level of distress and confusion among the myriad people working to search for survivors and the less fortunate in the jumble of shattered trees, cars, broken buildings and everything else imaginable. He had come to the area of destruction expecting to find E.V.I.L. actively sewing discord, but the overwhelming presence was quite revealing. He spent no more time surveilling the activity, but winked out immediately to make his report.

- - -

At the Devine Mission Corps Headquarters, Gabriel encountered his fellow Corps members. Hansen, the ex-Seabee, who was the opposite of Gabriel in almost every way, being stocky instead of wiry, broad instead of lanky, and slow to decide on a course of action rather than impulsive. Also present was Melanie, the tech wizard of the group, with her flaming red hair in pigtails. When Gabriel asked, they said that they were expecting their leader, Michael at any moment.

As they finished their greetings, Michael’s shape formed in his customary chair. The others took the seats that they usually occupied at their large round table. Of course, since the realm in which they met was ethereal, and thus none of this furniture was solid or even actually existed. It was all meant to convey their feelings about their work.

Gabriel began his report, “It is worse than we had feared. E.V.I.L. has shown up in unusually strong force.”

“The area swarms with their Infidel pets, and I made out over twenty of the agents of E.V.I.L. Hundreds of humans were lost and many more injured. The many volunteers trying to locate the missing are barraged with every insinuation in their arsenal.”

“That is what I expected,” Michael said. “You will have noticed the extra chair. I will be talking to a new recruit for our Corps after this meeting. You will find his typical Navajo balance a boon to our struggles. Then I will be going myself to evaluate the problem in Texas.”

The meeting ended shortly and all but Michael departed.

Messenger Hashkeh Naabah arrived moments later. As Michael had said, he presented the tall figure of a middle-aged Navajo man, dressed in jeans and a faded denim shirt.

Michael explained the reason for the requested meeting and the workings of the Devine Mission Corps. He also told the Messenger that he would like for him to deliver a message to an Angel Candidate before his work with the Corps began.

Agreeing to the assignments, Messenger Hashkeh Naabah departed. Michael shifted his location immediately to Kerrville so he could survey the situation first hand.

- - -

When Michael appeared floating above the turmoil in the same general location used by Gabriel, he was immediately noticed by the Agents of E.V.I.L. He was unaware that he had been detected by those awaiting him. None of the noisy Infidels were present, and the more disciplined twenty or so Agents hiding behind clouds were very stealthy.

As Michael watched the hundreds of volunteers scour the debris below, he felt their despair. The task was heartbreaking and overwhelming. The longer he watched, the more the scene weighed on him, to the point that he actually started to descend. His loss of altitude did not concern him since he was invisible to those below. In the back of his thoughts, he put the descent down to the attraction of the empathy that he felt for those below drawing him closer.

As the downward pull became stronger, it suddenly occurred to him that the lethargy that he was feeling was not normal. He exerted an effort to gain altitude again and was met with a resistance that he was not unfamiliar with. Clearly, the Agents of E.V.I.L. were up to their tricks again. They had never been strong enough to harm an archangel directly, but they could exert influence on any living or ethereal being to sway them to their desires.

He recognized that this was what was happening now, and that there must be a lot of Agents working together to have this much effect on him. Not only was he not gaining altitude, but he was continuing to descend slowly. He used the full force of his will, which stopped his movement towards the river below, but only resulted in a gradual gain of altitude.

Just as he started to move up perceptively, dark, smoky bands appeared, encircling him, pinning his arms to his side. He rapidly descended. The shock of the unusual strength of this attack did not last long.

Michael went into full archangel mode. His golden armor formed covering him with a breastplate, feathered helmet, forearm and shin plates. His huge white wings appeared on his back and began to unfurl, straining the dark bands. As his Devine light burst forth, the dark bands shattered into thousands of ethereal motes, and Michael shot up into the sky.

Those down below reported that a meteorite must have fallen. It was the only explanation that could be found for the bright light and the loud boom.

- - -

Peter Johansen sat with his head in his hands in his living room. Friends and family drifted about the home, having come to offer support when the news of Kennedy’s loss in the flood spread.

First his wife had quickly lost her struggle with the stealthy ovarian cancer. Its initial symptoms had been unnoticed until it was untreatable. The speed of her passing had been a blessing in some ways and a shock in others. At least she had not lingered and suffered. Now, his only daughter was ripped from him in this meaningless cruel fashion.

Kennedy had been spending the summer with her best friends at camp, getting away from the half-empty house full of memories. He never guessed that she would get so far away.

His emotions were a jumble of shock, grief, guilt and fury. How could this have happened? How could a summer camp be swept away without warning? How could he go from happy family to alone in a few months?

The ethereal Infidels circling him made every effort to fuel his frustration and grief. Their insistent whispers found fertile grounds for taking hold.

The television did not help the situation. It was not on for his benefit but for those visiting. The news anchors were doing their best. They repeated the same facts over and over as the network continued its 24-hour coverage with little new information coming in.

Speculation was growing that the camp owners had known of the potential for danger and had ignored warnings. More were missing than located and very few were located alive, cowering in treetops.

The longer that the repetitive news blended with the incessant whispers of the Infidels, the darker Peter’s mood became. He finally thanked the people who had come for their consideration but requested that they leave so he could get some rest.

- - -

“Our efforts have resulted in an increase in communications to politicians requesting something be done to prevent a future repeat of the disaster,” Gabriel told the assembled members of the Devine Mission Corps as they met at their round table.

Melanie added, “And social media has been tweaked to cause posts related to corrective actions to surface ahead of should-have-done finger-pointing.” Her fingers danced over an unreal keyboard resulting in images of the referenced posts flashing upon large screens which had appeared for the purpose.

“The urge to blame rather than correct is still being fueled by our opposition, but we are expanding our lead overall,” Hansen added as he mentally cracked his knuckles.

Michael examined the countenances of his Corps, then said, “The Texas House is set to vote on corrective action once they finish their current political folly.”

“The word is that will happen day after tomorrow, Earth time,” Gabriel added.

- - -

Messenger Hashkeh Naabah was able to dispel the Infidels who had been hovering around Peter Johansen as he sat at his dining table, which was littered with the remnants of half-eaten meals. The Messenger did not know what to do with the sly, sensuous Agent of E.V.I.L. who was draped about Peter, arms about his chest, her long black hair falling across his shoulders, whispering into the ear of the distraught man.

‘You have every right to be upset. The camp should never have been allowed to build the hut that Kennedy was murdered in.’

Messenger Hashkeh Naabah felt no ill will towards the agent. She was only doing what her nature called her to do. It was hózhǫ́, in keeping with the natural order of things. That being thought, did not mean that he approved.

The Messenger bent down, resting his hand on the shoulder of the clinging Agent, eliciting a hiss of displeasure, and whispered to Peter, ‘The authorities will do what is right. Be calm and let this darkness drain away.’

The Agent of E.V.I.L. hissed again, then released her grip on the grieving man and slithered away as his resolve to try to make the world safer for others hardened.

In other rooms across the State of Texas, Agents of E.V.I.L. were busy trying to make matters worse. Fifteen different members of the State House were being influenced by insistent Agents. The words were all very similar renditions of ‘There is no need to burden the State with more legislation.’ and ‘Businesses will fail if laws which are too stringent are enacted.’ Etc.

Gradually the unending news broadcasts shifted from reports of people missing to people found to who was to blame and finally to what was to be done.

Public awareness of the need for a legislative solution peaked, was fueled by the grief of so many deaths. Everyone seemed to be pushing for a fast resolution.

- - -

A week later the overall mood was changing. The American penchant for only paying attention to the latest big problem was in full display as the news cycle began to move on from the 24x7 coverage of the results of the flood. The stories of clearing debris did not have the same draw as those of discovering bodies or interviews of volunteers.

It was in this lowered intensity that some news services continued to cover the legislative hearings around the bill to correct the problem with building in the known flood plain. Owners affected were on TV saying in hearings that the proposed legislation would be too costly and might even put them out of business. No voices were raised questioning the alternative option of letting owners continue to put campers in harm’s way.

Peter Johansen watched this debacle with growing incredulity. How could things go so wrong so fast? The owner of the camp that Kennedy had died at was receiving sympathy from lawmakers for the hit to his bottom line. The slithering Agent of E.V.I.L. fed his dismay and growing rage effectively.

‘Your daughter’s death means nothing to them.’ it whispered. ‘Money is all that matters.’

As the Infidels gleefully circled, adding their own quips and whispers, Peter said, “How could they do this so quickly?! It was only last week people died!”

‘They don’t care,’ the Agent said and urged, ‘You should make them pay.’

Peter felt his pain hardening into a force.

‘You own a firework business. You have a load prepared for the Labor Day Celebration,’ the Agent whispered seductively. ‘You could make them pay for not caring about Kennedy.’

“Make them pay!” Peter echoed.

‘Let them feel what you feel.’

“See how they like it.”

A plan started to form in his mind, fueled by the Agent of E.V.I.L. with her suggestions and insinuations.

- - -

Gabriel was telling the members of the Devine Mission Corps the latest news. It was frustrating that humanity could be so concerned about wealth. All their efforts to urge lawmakers to a speedy resolution to the problem were being undone.

Messenger Hashkeh Naabah arrived late, but his news may have been just in time. He told them that he had seen the man, Peter, whom he had recently tried to help. He was on the way to do something terrible. Following his directions, the entire group winked out of the meeting room and redirected to the house of the man who owned the camp in which many little girls had recently died in the flood.

They were appalled to see someone just firing off full sized fireworks, but not up into the sky. The first shell sailed across the short distance from the launcher and burst spectacularly against the side of a house, showering multi-colored streams of sparks in all directions.

‘I’ve got this!’ Melanie said, and she zoomed towards the man at the launcher.

‘Everyone else, save the family!’ Michael ordered.

Michael, Hansen, Gabriel and Hashkeh Naabah flashed to the house. They all became visible and roused the family, who were confused and groggy.

“Who are you people?” the dad questioned as the family huddled together in the hallway. The wife having wrapped a blanket around herself and their small son.

“You must get your family out of the house!” Michael commanded.

To add impetus to these words, a star shell burst through a downstairs window erupting with a loud boom in the kitchen which was transformed into a flaming chaos. The entire house vibrated from the force of the explosion.

Outside, Melanie got to Peter, seeing the Agent of E.V.I.L. molded around him, directing his hands at the controller. Floating a few feet above them, she drew her flaming sword, raised it above her head and commanded in a booming voice, “In the Name of the Light, Be gone!”

Hissing and dissolving into a black, oily, almost liquid, smoke, the Agent released Peter and left.

“Vengeance is not for you,” she told Peter. “It is reserved for another! Violence is never the answer.”

Melanie did not know how the controller worked but she was pretty sure it needed those wires running from the console to the launcher. With a swipe of her sword, she severed the wires as well as the hitch holding the launcher trailer to the rear of the truck, in a shower of sparks. A final shell which had already been triggered arced towards the house.

Inside the house, the terrified family was pushed into a tight knot, as Michael shouted, “Shield!”

The four archangels encircled the family spreading and interlacing their wings, forming a shield around them just as another pyrotechnic shell crashed through the window at the end of the hall, bounced against the ceiling and exploded against the wall of angelic feathers.

Michael and the others rose a few inches and floated the family down the stairs and out the front door, protecting them from the burning furniture and walls. When the family was safe, the DMC became invisible again and reformed high above, floating over the chaos observing, Melanie rising also to rejoin her team.

Near the truck launcher, now that the Agent had released him, Peter collapsed. “Oh my God! What have I done?” He said in a half whisper as he awoke from the spell in which he had been trapped and saw what he had been doing.

Fire trucks, ambulances and police cars arrived one after another adding to the noise and chaos.

Peter cooperated in a semi-dazed state, ensuring everyone that with the wires cut, the launcher tubes would not fire, even though some still contained explosives. The bomb squad was summoned to deal with that.

The firemen were unable to save the house but did contain the blaze so that it did not spread to the surrounding trees, to possibly become a full-fledged forest fire.


No one believed the wild tales of angels with huge wings protecting the family. The police pointed to the blanket that the mother had grabbed to protect her son with its singe marks as the way in which they had gotten out unharmed.

The firemen were sure that there had been no flaming sword, but it was a malfunctioning pyrotechnic that blew off the hitch and separated the wires.