Tribulation r-2 Read online

  Sam gritted his teeth but let Josh talk, knowing that the longer he rambled on, the longer he’d have to heal his leg.

  “I want you to do me a favor, Sam, buddy,” he said, smiling faintly. “I’m not going to tell you what that favor is right now, except to say that you will know when the time comes. In return, I’ll give you back something of great value to you.”

  Despite his growing anger, Sam was intrigued. What favor? And what did he lose of great value that needed to be returned to him?

  “What are you talking about, Joshua?” he demanded. His leg was almost fully healed now. Only a few more moments.

  “I know where your mother is, or rather, where she was taken. I now have the power to find her and return her to you — to end her suffering. I will do this in exchange for the small favor I ask of you. Have we got a deal?”

  Sam’s mind was all awhirl. His mother? Alive? Joshua could reunite them? Sam nodded mutely.

  “Not good enough, Sam. Repeat after me: “I, Samael, Prince of Hell, do hereby swear to fulfill the obligation I am now under.”

  Eagerly, Sam repeated the words, heedless of the implications. All that mattered right now was his mother.

  Joshua’s smile broadened. “Excellent. Thank you, Sam. We’ll see each other again, of course. Very soon.” He waved an imperious hand at the massive demon above him.

  Vaguely, Sam was aware of something descending down upon him again. He felt a hammer blow and shocking pain, followed very soon after by oblivion.

  Philip W Simpson

  Tribulation

  Chapter Five

  Colorado

  “ He springs up like a flower and withers away; like a fleeting shadow, he does not endure.”

  Job 14:2

  Sam had been set up. He knew this, even as he regained his senses. Joshua had set him up and he had fallen for it like some boy eager for his first dance at the prom.

  He sat up. Too quickly it seemed, because a wave of nausea passed over him, forcing him to lie down again as he opened his eyes. He was back in the church where he’d started out. This was good and bad at the same time: good that he was no longer in Hell, bad that he was in a desecrated church, at the mercy of any demon who decided to come through the portal.

  He took a breath, waited for the dizziness to pass and then sat up again. This time it wasn’t so bad. Belatedly he realized two things. The first was Grace lying next to him. The second was Yeth. The great Hellhound appeared to be standing guard nearby. It must have been Yeth that had brought Sam and Grace back to Earth. There was no other explanation.

  The Hellhound was immediately aware that Sam was awake.

  Healed now, yes? asked Yeth.

  Sam nodded, not even considering for a second that the demon might not be able to interpret the gesture. Apparently it could because Sam’s response seemed to satisfy it. Go now.

  Sam nodded again. Yeth began to open a portal to Hell. Before it could disappear completely, Sam called its name.

  “Yeth?”Almost translucent, the beast turned towards him. “Thank you,” he said.

  He wasn’t sure, but he thought Yeth had nodded towards him, mirroring his earlier gestures. Moments later, the Hellhound was gone.

  Sam turned his attention to Grace. The wounds on her face and body were still dribbling blood — ugly, red and inflamed. Thankfully, she was still breathing. Satisfied for the moment, he stood shakily and began his usual physical inventory. His body seemed ok. Weak but ok. Bones and any other injuries had healed. He didn’t know how long Yeth had watched over them, but it must have been some time.

  He found an old priest’s robe that seemed to be relatively clean and not abused or desecrated and wrapped her in it. Lifting her up in his arms, he carried her outside. It was daytime and he squinted against the slightly painful light. After being in Hell, light like this always came as a shock.

  He found an abandoned house nearby. It was too close to the church but he didn’t have any other choice. This town had long been deserted. Hopefully, whatever demons had visited in the past, had long since given up on finding any victims here. Hopefully.

  Inside, he located a bedroom and deposited her gently on the floor. The bed was covered in a filthy, ashen bedspread. He stripped it off; underneath, the sheets looked passable. He picked Grace up again and laid her on the bed. Her clothes were nothing but burnt strips of cloth, barely concealing her modesty. He removed them, embarrassed, knowing that both Grace and Aimi would understand in the circumstances. Preserving her modesty was the least of Grace’s problems. Her wounds needed to be checked and dressed.

  Swiftly he did just this. He tore strips of clean sheet off the bed, then using some of the precious water from his drink bottle in his pack, he soaked the strips and cleaned the wounds as best he could. The small but effective medical kit came out next. Some of her wounds were deep. With quick, precise movements, he sewed them up, thankful for the times when Hikari had made him practice on pig-skin. Next, he sterilized the wounds with alcohol and dressed them with an antiseptic ointment, before finally wrapping the worst of them in makeshift sheet bandages.

  Only then did he cover her with the top sheet, making sure she looked comfortable. If and when she woke — he hoped it would be the latter — she would be hungry. Even if she wasn’t, he’d have to force her. The beef jerky and other small supplies wouldn’t do. She’d need something a little more substantial.

  He realized with a start that he’d have to go hunting, and it wasn’t just for himself. His food needs were rather basic. He only needed to hunt occasionally and usually it was more for something to do than from any pressing hunger. Unfortunately, there was only one thing on the menu.

  With one last look to ensure she was resting comfortably, he moved out into the sitting room, closed his eyes and concentrated. He could sense them. They were around. They were always around. He focused on their tiny little minds, stroking their desires and their needs. He pictured a piece of cooked flesh in this very room, imagined what it smelt like, what it tasted like. In their minds, it suddenly existed.

  There was a flurry of movement and his eyes flew open. Several furry little bodies were scurrying around his, desperately seeking what his mind had told them existed. He had no idea where they’d come from, but then, rats had an ability to sneak through the tiniest of holes. Both swords came out and moved with precise strokes. Five movements of his wrists and arms. Five bodies dead and dying at his feet. Kicking away the others that still swirled around him, he picked up the small bodies and took them outside. They’d have to be thoroughly cleaned, gutted and roasted before they were even close to being edible, and there was still the constant threat of disease but he’d just have to risk it. He may be immune to human diseases, but Grace certainly wasn’t.

  And he hoped she liked rat, because that’s all there was.

  It was still daylight outside and he felt his eyes watering as he worked. Sunlight, while not actually dangerous too him, was more of a nuisance. As a boy, he’d spent much more time in the daylight and it hadn’t done him any harm. It was just that he had become a creature of the night during the last few years. He liked the night and the moon and the strength it brought him. During the day, he just felt exposed.

  He’d been meaning to get sunglasses for some time, just for this sort of eventuality — when circumstances dictated that he must be out in daylight. It would have made preparing the rat meat easier. He supposed he could have waited until night fall, but it was important to get some food into Grace. Her body, whilst not emaciated, was certainly thin. Some food may help her get her strength back more quickly.

  He reflected that Hell probably sustained her like it did him, without the need for food or water. Actually, there was no probably about it. He couldn’t imagine that Bone demon hand-feeding her like some infant. Regardless, she’d been there for months. Months without food or water. Months of continual torture, both mental and physical. So it wasn’t just Grace’s physical needs he was worried ab
out. Meeting those may help in the long run but it was her mental state he was more concerned about. Prolonged exposure to the conditions in Hell was enough to snap even the strongest mind.

  The rats were plump and well fed, having gorged themselves on the multitude of huge locusts that infested the area. He used a small stainless steel knife he’d picked up from a camping store to gut and skin them. He wasn’t about to use either of his precious weapons on such a mundane task.

  Sam hunted around and finally found two fairly straight dead branches. He spitted four of the five rats and then cleaned them as best as he could with his limited water consignment. Next, to conserve his dwindling gas supply on his camping stove, he lit a fire, finding a position that was reasonably sheltered from the wind behind the house, gathering arm loads of dead wood and ringing it with large stones. Being bone dry, the wood took only the slightest effort to light, and he took special care to ensure it would not spread. Given that it hadn’t rained for months, it would be foolhardy to allow even one spark or burning ember to escape. Any survivors in the area had enough to deal with without running for their lives from a raging forest fire.

  He let the flames burn down until only glowing coals remained, then put some more rocks into it and let them heat up. He’d used this method before. During some overnight training expeditions in Utah as a youth, he and Hikari had sometimes cooked just like this. Just the act of preparation brought back fond recollections of him and the times they spent together. He wondered for a moment whether his old master was happy. He assumed so. Who wouldn’t be up there in Heaven? he thought sourly. Probably drinking ambrosia and nibbling the most delicate and delicious foods. While he sat on a rock and cooked rat. That was fair. The contrast made him smile for a moment.

  He quickly went back inside to check on Grace. She hadn’t moved and seemed alright. Her bandages displayed some blood soaking, but not as bad as he had expected. In the kitchen he found some plates and a small pot that were clean but for a layer of dust. He wiped them as best he could with a rag and then returned to his fire. The stones were scalding hot by now. Turning them over, he placed the spitted rat’s skewers on them. They sizzled immediately, sending the delicious aroma of frying meat into the air. It may have been rat, but it still smelt good to him. Hopefully the smell alone would be enough to rose Grace out of her stupor and tempt her to eat.

  Cooking the skewers more thoroughly than usual in case of disease, he set them on the plates to cool. He took the last rat, sliced the meat off it and put it in the small pot with some more of his dwindling supply of water, using it to make a broth. Finally, everything was ready and he returned to Grace’s bedroom. He propped her up on some pillows and fed her some of the soup. Her eyes still didn’t open but she seemed to open her mouth and swallow by reflex. Sam took this as a positive sign — at least she was eating.

  While he fed her, he ate two of the skewers of rat meat. As he suspected, they were delicious; although he didn’t eat very often these days, he still got some basic enjoyment out of it. He chewed slowly, savoring the experience and taste as he spoon-fed Grace the last of the broth When they had both finished, he slid the meat off the remaining two skewers and hand-fed them to Grace. Somehow, she was still able to chew and he got the meat of at least one of the skewers into her before she pinched her mouth shut, refusing to eat anymore.

  Gradually, over the next few days, Grace appeared to improve. Her skin color changed from the unhealthy pallor to a warmer glow. Her wounds were beginning to heal as well. Sometimes, when she slept, she’d scream. During those times, Sam would sit with her, Grace squeezing his hand so tightly that even he would grimace in pain, mopping the sweat off her brow as she thrashed about. She still hadn’t opened her eyes or uttered one coherent word…

  Thankfully, no demons made an appearance which would have made their position untenable. It occurred to Sam to burn down the church. At first he thought it was pointless given that he’d have to thoroughly bless and wet the area with Holy water. How was he meant to do that with his pathetic amount of water? Then he got lucky. Exploring one of the other houses in the small town, he found an old well, deep in the cellar. The water was stagnant, but it was still water. A few drops of iodine or boiling it would make it safe for Grace to drink. He could also use it to make Holy water. He wasn’t a priest but he was sure that, under the circumstances, God would make an exception.

  At first, he dismissed the idea. It was too risky burning down the church. The fire had the potential to spread and he wasn’t in a position to move fast enough with Grace in tow. Also, if the entire town burnt down, where was he meant to nurse her? Not only that, but he was extremely wary of Holy water. He wasn’t even sure if he could make it or not but he certainly knew the effect it had on him. It was like acid. If he was using buckets of it, he was bound to splash some of it on himself at some point. While not fatal in small quantities, it was certainly extremely painful.

  But then the demons came. It was only a pack of Lemure but Sam didn’t take the threat lightly. He dispatched them with ruthless efficiency. Their appearance served as a catalyst for action. The demons knew that they were there now and the following night would bring them in greater numbers.

  The next day, at dusk, he prepared carefully. He found a hardware store and emptied its shelves completely of buckets. He took several down to the well in the cellar, filling them with the stagnant water. He dampened down the house where Grace rested, dousing the walls with as much water as he could. Next, he set up a series of buckets near the church — to put out any fires that sprung up accidentally. He carried more buckets over to the church and set them down in front of it, gazing at them thoughtfully. His plan was to fill them with holy water but he’d have to bless them first, obviously.

  If he was being honest, Sam wasn’t even sure that his plan would succeed. Wasn’t the water meant to come from a spring or at least a more pure source than a stagnant well? But then again, he remembered Big Tom saying that a wandering priest had done the same thing in his town and surely the water he used can’t have been much different?

  He didn’t really know the proper words either, words that would bless or sanctify the water. He’d witnessed Father Rainey doing it back in Jacob’s Ladder, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember. He’d have to improvise.

  “Gracious Lord, bless this water. Not for my sake — for Grace’s. She may not be your most loyal servant but she has made sacrifices for your cause. It was Grace who gave me the chance to confront my brother — the Antichrist. And isn’t that my mission, given to me by your Archangel Gabriel herself? To defeat my brother. To save the innocent. Grace may not be completely innocent, but she’s all I’ve got at the moment. Besides, I could do with a little help here. I don’t ask you for help very often, but I’m asking now. Just a bit.”

  Sam knew it wasn’t much of a prayer but it was all he was up to at the moment. At first, he sensed and felt nothing and then slowly, he detected a change. He raised his head. Yes, something was different. Something in the air. He knew the water had altered then, could feel the goodness — the holiness radiating out from it. He’d turned plain old well water into a weapon for good. Something about it made him uneasy though. Perhaps it was his demonic side, instinctively willing him to stay away from it, knowing that it had the power to harm and potentially destroy him, especially in such quantities.

  Gritting his teeth, resigned to check it, he gingerly dipped just the tiniest tip of one finger into the bucket. Immediately, he felt a searing pain and snatched his finger back even as the water in the bucket began to boil angrily. Right then. It was definitely blessed. He examined his finger. It was badly blistered; he sucked it, hoping to ease the pain.

  Satisfied that everything was going to plan so far, he carried several armloads of branches and set a bonfire in the middle of the church. A part of him felt ill at ease. He was about to burn down a church, which didn’t seem right. There was nothing for it though. It had been desecrated and was now
used for evil purposes. He was sure God would understand. Hadn’t he allowed Sam to create Holy water? Wasn’t that a sign that he had His unspoken approval to do what he was about to? He shrugged helplessly. It was what it was. If lightning struck him, or if he fell out of favor with the Lord, his life would hardly change on a purely physical level. It couldn’t get much worse.

  He lit the fire. It went up surprisingly quickly, the flames licking eagerly at the wood on the fire and spreading rapidly onto the floor and then the walls. Sam was forced to retreat outside much sooner than he’d supposed.

  Soon enough, the whole building was ablaze. Sam waited anxiously while it continued to burn, racing after any flying embers with a bucket of water, drowning it before it could set fire to something else. Smaller fires inevitably started and by nightfall, Sam was exhausted, covered in soot, his clothes singed. Fortunately he was all but immune to fire. The church collapsed but still continued to burn.

  Despite the fact that the fire hadn’t completely burnt out, Sam knew he couldn’t delay any further. He could sense the demons about to come through the gate. Removing his swords, his clothes and his boots and carrying a bucket in each hand, he swiftly moved into the burning wreck, conscious that he must look ridiculous. A naked fireman.

  Muttering blessings, he scattered the water over every part of the burning building he could get to. Most of it evaporated with an angry hiss but he hoped it would still work. It seemed to. The feeling that demons were about to break through lost its immediacy as their presence began to fade again. Inevitably, he spilled the water on his naked flesh; wherever the droplets touched him, they raised ugly blisters. Soon, almost his whole body was covered. He ignored it stoically, knowing he had to do this for Grace. He owed her.

  He worked for hours, ignoring his exhaustion, keeping going until no water remained. By that time, the fire was out, the church had been reduced to charred remains.