This article is part of the We Do Battle for the Lord series.
"We're angels," he said to me in a flea-bitten motel on the Missouri side of the border. "Avenging angels for the Lord."
I was distracted wondering if that meant I could fly. Turns out it doesn't but I would be willing to competitive trampoline anybody reading this.
"Hey, buddy," he said to me in that Truckso's lot, "if Colorado is out and Arkansas is out, that leaves the Ice Worm."
"Minnesota," I said. "Gonna be cold."
Ice Worm sounded bad too, but I left that out because all of this stuff sounds bad and is bad. And I don't mean bad like you got yourself a flat tire and you're gonna be late to work and lose your job and you catch your wife cheating with your best friend. No, sir. That's regular bad. These things we're after, our business, it's Bible Bad. You don't know from bad 'til you seen a twelve foot skinless horse with blood red eyes come galloping over a hill and the only thing on its mind is turning you to squish underneath its hooves. You don't know bad until you had to do a sniper rifle abortion on a Crab Christ parasite hiding up in a stripper named Darla and controlling her like a fighter pilot with snappy hands.
"Ice worm it is." Isaac came around to the passenger side of the car. "Why don't you drive for a while. I want to eat these."
He spit out his brown gob of Skoal and shook his bag of truck stop candy at me. The man loves his Gummi bears. Came back from the dead with a fierce sweet tooth. Maybe he's hypobalemic or whatever they call it.
"Well, okay. Let's go fight us an Ice Worm."
I got in the driver's seat of our vehicle we have nicknamed God's Vengeance. It is a 2005 Nissan Cube. It's a Japanese car, but not really, and it's a nice compromise between fuel economy and price and trust me, when you been dead and come back to be the hand of god's wrath upon the face of this world, well you don't got no need to be macho. It just flows natural-like.
If we'd known how bad things could get up north, we might've gone to Arkansas anyway.
Next stop: Hennepin County, Minnesota. See you there.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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Isaac and his buddy died in a boating accident almost a year ago. Since then, things have gotten pretty strange. Messages supposedly from God propel them across the United States to combat supernatural evil.