And then the cave was full of smoke. Mary collapsed to the floor, her lungs aching, unable to draw a breath. The three of them were hurled to the front of the cave by a great, concussive blast. Mary turned her streaming eyes to follow Nero’s horrified gaze. At the back of the cave, looming over Satan, was a hooded, cloaked figure sitting on a Rascal scooter. It spread its arms wide and its intention was clear: it had come for Satan. And then, with a flourish and another billow of smoke, it was gone and, with it, Satan.
“My Lord,” Nero cried rushing to the empty space where Satan had been just moments before.
Mary managed to drag herself outside, her lungs desperate for clean air. She fell to her knees on the rocky slope, sending a miniature avalanche down the hill. She drew in great whooping breaths, and thought to herself:
“What was that thing? Why did it take Satan? Was that Death? Has Satan become irrelevant? Whose foot is this?”
She looked up and learned the answer to at least one of her questions: the foot belonged to an angel named Mahiel. He stood over her in golden armor that glittered like lightning in the dim half-light of Hell. In one of his hands was a flaming sword, in the other was the orange extension cord. Standing behind him were roughly two dozen other angels. They looked very happy to have found Mary.
“Anyone else in there with you?” Mahiel asked.
Mary shook her head.
“I’m all alone,” she said.
The sound of Nero wailing drifted out of the cave.
“My Lord! My Lord! Where have you gone?”
“Who’s that?” Mahiel asked.
“Just a soul,” Mary said. “Getting tortured. It’s totally normal.”
“My Lord Satan,” they clearly heard Nero wail. “I will kill Michael, I will destroy Gabriel. My Lord, My Satan, why have you abandoned me?”
“There are some weird echoes in these rocks,” Mary said. “You hear all kinds of things.”
But it was too late. The cohort of angels were marching into the cave.
Satan lay on the ground underneath the burning desert sun. On a distant hill, rocks had been painted white and lined up to spell out the enormous letters “BM.” The air was still, it was quiet, it was lifeless. An electric motor whined and moved away, then it whined and came closer. Death was riding his Rascal Mobility Scooter. In his hand he had a big stick. He poked Satan with it.
“I know you can hear me,” he said, in his normal voice.
Satan didn’t move.
“Battle Mountain, Nevada,” Death proclaimed, spreading his arms wide. “Isn’t it horrible?”
They were in a parking lot with a failed mining town spread out around them, devoid of character, charm or residents. Death pushed the end of his stick underneath Satan and tried to roll him over. Satan moaned.
“Up you go,” Death said.
Up Satan did not go.
Death began to whack on him with the stick.
“Come on,” he said. “I’m going to keep whacking you until you get up.”
He kept whacking Satan. The limp Evil One rolled over on his side. Death whacked his ribs. Satan hunched over on himself and Death whacked his head. Feebly, Satan lifted his arms to protect his head. Death whacked his elbows. Finally, Satan sat up.
“Enough,” he said.
Death jabbed him with his stick.
“Up you go.”
This time, Satan got up.
“Follow me,” Death said. “I need to tell you some things.”
He began to whir away on his Rascal, then he noticed that Satan was not following him. He made a big loop back and drove in a tight little circle around Satan, poking him with his stick.
“I can do this all day,” he said. “ Can you?”
Reluctantly, Satan began to trudge after him.
They stepped out onto the sidewalk and took a right.
“I love it here,” Death said. “I haven’t been back in years, but it’s even worse than I remembered. The few dozen people who live here could move out anytime. They could go to Las Vegas and look at naked ladies and drink yard-long margaritas and become blackjack dealers, but for some reason they just hang on here. No good reason. Just habit, I guess.”
They passed a row of dark storefronts, some covered with plywood, all giving off an air of failure and poorly thought out business plans. Whatever monster of awfulness had this tiny town in its teeth, it wasn’t going to spit it out anytime soon. None of these stores were coming back. No young hipsters were going to move in