Tribulation r-2 Page 7

  Staggering slightly, he remembered to pick up his swords before wobbling back towards the house he shared with Grace. When he got there, he collapsed on the floor next to her bed and remembered no more.

  He awoke from a thankfully dreamless sleep to find that Grace had opened her eyes. It was morning. He stood next to her bed, fussing over her injuries. She was looking at him strangely and for a moment he wondered why and then, with a start, remembered. He was naked and covered with still-healing blisters. Embarrassed, he streaked out, found his singed clothing and dressed painfully and as swiftly as he could, wincing whenever the cloth touched a particularly sore spot. When he returned, Grace was sitting up all by herself.

  “Do you often nurse people in the nude?” she asked in a weak whisper.

  Sam looked down, trying to conceal the blush that was spreading over his face. “Only on Tuesdays,” he muttered, clutching desperately for something funny to say.

  “Is it Tuesday?” she asked, the vaguest hint of a smile on her face.

  “Beats me,” he said, still not looking at her.

  He fed her again, his spirits soaring. Not only had he cleansed the church, but Grace was getting better. This was a sign that he was doing the right thing. It had to be.

  The next few days passed uneventfully. Grace’s health gradually improved although she rarely spoke and never, ever smiled. Conversation and humor especially wasn’t exactly his strong point, either, but he made an effort, trying to make light of the situation and smile at her as often as he could muster up the energy. It wasn’t natural for him, either. She didn’t offer to talk about Hell and what she’d been through over the last few months. He took the hint — this was a sign that she wasn’t ready to discuss it. She would when she was ready. Perhaps, she would never be ready but that suited Sam as well.

  One morning he discovered her trying to get out of bed.

  “What are you doing?” he exclaimed, terrified that he might reopen some of her wounds. He quickly knelt down by her side and helped her sit up, conscious of how thin and frail she felt beneath the t-shirt he’d found for her.

  “What does it look like?” she replied irritably. “I can’t say here forever.”

  Reluctantly, he agreed. The fact that she was trying to get up meant that she was probably ready to travel.

  “I want to leave,” she said. “Can we go? Please.”

  He couldn’t and wouldn’t deny her. “Where?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  Chapter Six

  Colorado

  “But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear him who, after the killing of the body, has power to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him.”

  Luke 12:5

  He found a pack at the same hardware store where he’d liberated the buckets and filled it with as much sterilized water and roasted, dried rat meat that he could carry. Inside another abandoned house, he discovered clothes and boots that almost fitted her.

  He carried both packs, one at the front, one at back. Even though Grace was getting better, she still wasn’t completely healed and Sam didn’t want her to relapse while they were traveling.

  She watched him impassively while he made his preparations.

  “Are you alright?” he asked. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  “Yes,” she snapped but then appeared to regret her tone. Her voice softened. “I just want to get out of here, Sam. I don’t want to be lying helpless when demons come for me again. I’d much rather be doing something — anything.”

  Sam nodded. He was beginning to understand. She didn’t want to be a victim any longer — wanted to appear to be in control of her own destiny. If the demons took her again, at least it would be on her terms.

  They made slow but steady progress, heading east, traveling during the day and resting at night. It was easier this way for Sam, even though it was an unusual change that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Grace struggled to see during the night and even though his glamor ability was possibly able to conceal both of them, it would count for nothing if they were seen at close range. If demons found them on open ground, it made it all but impossible for Sam to protect her. It was better to be holed up for the night in an abandoned building — well away from any churches. Even if demons found them, at least he was better able to protect her.

  Several more days and nights passed. Finally, inevitably, the demons found them again.

  He’d known there was a church nearby, but there was nothing for it. Grace couldn’t have gone anymore. He’d had to carry her for the last hour as it was.

  The place he’d chosen for the night didn’t often much in terms of respite and protection. He could hardly call it a cave — it was more a concave depression in a cliff face. Sam made Grace as comfortable as he could within while he took himself outside.

  It was already dark. The wind had picked up blowing eddies of ash into his face which he brushed off without conscious thought. He sat down on a shattered piece of rock, took out his whetstone from his pocket and began methodically sharpening his blades. The activity always managed to soothe him with its mindless repetition.

  He felt the demons intruding on his thoughts as a gradual pressure, slowly increasing as they got nearer. He knew they couldn’t sense him — his glamor was still in place — but they had detected Grace.

  With a resigned sigh, he stood, placing his whetstone back in his pocket. He picked up both swords and shrank back into the protective overhang of the cliff face, gathering the shadows about him. It wasn’t actually concealment but it might give him the slight advantage of surprise. They wouldn’t be expecting him.

  He knew there were many but he hadn’t anticipated just how many. They arrived in a great howling, screaming horde. Just Lemure, thankfully, but scores of them. They headed directly for the cave where Grace was beginning to stir, completely ignoring or unaware of him. He leapt out before they reached the entrance and cut down several before they even knew he was amongst them.

  Even though they were just Lemure, there were just too many of them. In desperation, he called upon Yeth. His Hellhound arrived, inflicting fiery destruction on any Lemure he touched, shredding others in his powerful jaws. The Lemure were routed, unable to cope with such power. They fled into the night, shrieking.

  Breathing heavily with exertion, Sam met the glowing red eyes of his Hellhound and an understanding passed between them. Sam nodded once, acknowledging the debt he owed. Yeth loped off in the direction of the nearest church, returning to Hell, his task complete.

  Sam sat down wearily, his thoughts blank. He was about to settle into a meditative stance when the shock of demonic presence intruded once again. He was tired and realized how foolish he’d been to dismiss Yeth so quickly. He still needed the Hellhound’s assistance. He called to him again.

  The Lemure arrived in great numbers. Sam’s fought hard, his blades dancing. He lacked the strength and speed he’d had earlier though. Even his endurance had limits. He twirled and struck, waiting desperately for Yeth to make an appearance. He waited and waited but the Hellhound failed to materialize.

  At first he was confused. Then he felt betrayed. The sense of outrage lent him strength and somehow he was able to fight off the horde, using every power in his arsenal. His whirlwind attack exhausted him but he had no other recourse. As he dispatched the last of the Lemure, he slumped to the ground, his swords tumbling from numb fingers, completely spent. If the Lemure came again this night, all would be lost. He simply didn’t have the strength to repel another wave.

  He lay still for a long time, gradually recovering his strength. By morning, he was almost recovered. He and Grace set off again, Sam for once content to move as slowly as his companion, turning over the events of the previous night in his mind. What had happened to Yeth?

  Nightfall found them in the middle of nowhere with no shelter or protection of any kind. The barren landscape offered no salvation — not even a clump of shriveled vegetation. They were
completely exposed.

  The demons found them again. With mixed emotions, Sam called upon Yeth again, unsure whether the great demon would answer his call. A part of his soul shrank at the thought that maybe Yeth had found him unworthy — no longer deserving of his service.

  The demons attacked. Sam fought as hard as ever but the terrain was against him. The Lemure kept trying to flank him to get to Grace. Retreating, covered in a multitude of injuries, Sam sensed the sudden new presence with an overwhelming sense of relief. Finally, Yeth had come.

  His Hellhound made short work of the Lemure. When the battle was over, Sam regarded Yeth cautiously.

  “Why didn’t you come last night? I called and you didn’t answer.”

  The great demon seemed to shake its head.

  Could not. Only one call per day. Cannot spend too much time here.

  Understanding blossomed within Sam’s mind. Yeth needed to return to Hell — to his home plane — basically to recharge. He could only be called upon once per day. It was good to know. A part of Sam felt hugely relieved knowing that Yeth had not betrayed or disobeyed him.

  They journeyed on.

  It was inevitable that they passed through deserted towns with still intact churches. Sam tried to avoid them when he could but often circumstances dictated otherwise. Grace was often too weak to find other more suitable places to rest.

  After a while, Sam tried to look on these churches as opportunities as well as potential threats. Some — water permitting — he tried to purify and destroy. On other occasions, he used them to test his summoning abilities, calling Yeth to him while Grace slept. His Hellhound never failed to appear. As long as the twenty four hour restriction period was not breached, Yeth was free to answer his summons.

  Sam found himself waiting more and more impatiently every time he called to the Hellhound, eager to be reunited, starting to resent the times they spent apart. He was beginning to view Yeth not only as a tool to be used in his battle against the demons, but as a friend and companion. He thought he detected contented happiness radiating from the great beast as well. Over the course of several weeks, their bond continued to grow. Sam found himself consciously seeking out churches deliberately in order to summon his friend, and he stopped destroying them altogether.

  Often, they would train together in the light of the blood red moon, learning each other’s strategies, anticipating each other’s moves. They began to work as a unit. When attacked by other demons, Sam would wait for Yeth to breathe on them before he commenced his own attack. He learnt that Yeth’s eyes were vulnerable to attack and took pains to defend this sensitive area.

  Yeth certainly evened the odds — even against Astaroth and Horned demons. Sam would often let the Hellhound battle these larger demons while he kept the Lemure and their taloned hands away from his friend.

  One night, standing before a church, awaiting Yeth’s arrival, Sam realized something amazing. He was happy — well, at least as happy as he’d been since the Rapture. He no longer felt so isolated, so alone. Yeth filled the bitter void that had been a part of him since Aimi and Hikari had gone up in the Rapture.

  When his Hellhound appeared that night, Sam had embraced the creature, saying nothing. Yeth had let him do it, too, knowing instinctively that this was what Sam needed. This had raised some questions in Sam’s mind. Were all demons like this? Did they all have to be evil or with the right influence, could they be a power for good? For the first time, Sam felt the slightest of doubts about his campaign to rid the world of all demons. If Yeth could be like this, couldn’t others? Perhaps all they needed was a chance. Yeth was unusual though, having had guidance and friendship from Sam since his ‘birth’.

  Grace still spoke very little, and their relationship felt strained. One night, sheltered under the lee of a cliff face, tending a small, pathetic fire, he allowed his frustration to boil over. He’d finally got Grace back, taken extraordinary risks to rescue her from Hell — all he asked for was perhaps a little gratitude. It was more than that though. He wasn’t the best conversationalist. He knew that — had always known that. Aimi had sometimes berated him for not being terribly verbose but he had been alone for so long. Even though he was more than happy with silence usually, now that he had Grace, all he wanted was a little companionship, a little conversation. While so many things had changed, a simple thing like genuine human interaction and consideration was enough to remind him of the reasons why he fought and struggled.

  “Is my company really that bad?” he said eventually, watching Grace stare into the fire without blinking for long minutes.

  “What?” she said, appearing to raise herself from some intense memory. She looked up.

  “Why won’t you talk to me? What’s wrong?”

  She looked at him for a long moment before answering. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, whispering the words. At first Sam thought she hadn’t understood the question. “What do you think is wrong? Have you got any idea what I’ve been through?”

  “Some,” said Sam, feeling a little defensive. He had, after all, been to Hell a couple of times. He knew what it was like.

  She smiled without humor and shook her head. “No, I don’t think you do. Why did you leave me for so long, Sam? Why did you leave me there in that dreadful place to suffer?”

  “I didn’t…I couldn’t,” he stammered. He took a breath, collecting his thoughts. “I didn’t want to leave you there but I had no choice. Even if I’d gone back, how could I have found you?”

  “Did you even try?” she asked and Sam flinched under the accusation.

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t. Do you know how many souls are in Hell? Millions, possibly billions. How was I meant to find you amongst all those other people? Hell is essentially limitless as well. I didn’t even know where to start looking. It was only when I had Yeth that I could.”

  “But you could’ve started looking, couldn’t you? That’s what friends do. I was a friend to you. Kept those succubi off your back so you were free to take on the Antichrist. I sacrificed myself for you and in return, you let me burn in Hell.” Her voice was level but tears were started to streak down her face. “Every second I spent there was torture. They never let up. Sometimes they would leave me for what seemed like hours but that was almost worse. I knew they were coming back and that waiting was the worst part. The only thing that kept me going was thinking you would come for me. Rescue me. I clung to that but as the weeks past, I gave up hope. I realized that you weren’t coming, didn’t care about me and eventually I resigned myself to that. When you did show, I thought it was another trick. A part of me still does. I keep expecting some of your demon pals to show up and drag me back down there.”

  “I won’t let them, Grace. You’re safe with me.”

  “Just like I was before?” she sneered. “Spare me your promises.”

  “I’m…sorry,” he managed, knowing that his words, as usual, were inadequate.

  She tilted her head. “Are you Sam? Are you really?”

  He didn’t know what to say. They lapsed into another uncomfortable silence. Eventually, without a backward glance, Sam stalked out into the night.

  They hardly exchanged words after that. Then, one morning, she awoke with a fever. Intuitively, Sam knew that it was bad.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Grace shook her head weakly. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “Nothing good.” She lifted her t-shirt to show him. Dark swollen lumps were clearly visible in her armpits. Not only that, but similar signs were apparent on her neck. Red, inflamed flea bites covered her torso.

  Grace watched his face. Sam had never had much of a poker face. Clearly, she could see his concern.

  “They’re on my groin, too,” she said. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “You’ll be fine,” he said, trying to conceal the dread he felt in his heart, knowing that she wasn’t going to be fine at all. If Grace didn’t get help, she was going to die.

  “I think I know what
this is,” she said. “I saw a documentary once where people died with the same symptoms. You see, I know how you get this disease. You get it from fleas — fleas that live on rats. The same rats we’ve been eating.”

  Sam waited, completely mute, dreading what she would say next.

  “It’s a disease we haven’t really seen since the Middle Ages,” she continued. “They called it the bubonic plague. It’s commonly called the black plague.”

  Sam was lost for words. Of course he’d heard of the black plague and knew it was deadly. But didn’t modern medicine eradicate it?

  “Is there a cure?” he managed to ask.

  Grace smiled, her mouth quivering. “Sure is. An antibiotic will sort it out in no time at all. We’ll just roll up to our local drug store and buy some over the counter.” She tried to laugh but suddenly spluttered and coughed. She covered her mouth with her hand. When she moved it away, it was speckled with blood.

  “We’ll find one,” said Sam, trying to sound confident. All he had to do was find a drug store then. Easier said than done.

  A day later and she was worse. She complained of chills and started bleeding out of her ears. She suffered from terrible muscle cramps. He did what he could for her but knew she was dying. After all she’d been through, after what he’d been through to save her, it seemed it wouldn’t be enough. He cursed the unfairness of it all.

  Another day passed. Her fever worsened. Her lips, nose, fingers and toes started to turn black. Even Sam knew what this was — the onset of gangrene. She didn’t have long. She couldn’t travel any longer and he made her as comfortable as he could on a makeshift mattress in the backroom of a service station. He thought about calling Yeth, knowing that the Hellhound could quench his own fires if the need arose — but he was unsure how Grace would take riding on the back of a demon, even in her barely conscious, feverish state.

  Just when he thought it was all over for her, a miracle happened. He heard voices outside and cautiously moved to investigate, ensuring that his hood was up, concealing his telltale horns.