by Mark Romang
Thorn climbed the ridge as fast as he could walk. The ascent wreaked havoc with his stump. Without the Ottobock prosthetic assisting him, the climb grew difficult and painful. Thorn gritted his teeth and kept putting one foot in front of the other. Fortunately he’d almost reached the ridge. The descent would be less troublesome.
Thorn ignored the steady pain and focused his vision toward the ridgeline. The headlamp beam cut a meager swath in the mist. Visibility shrank to ten yards. Thorn increased the brightness of his LED headlamp to compensate.
Far in the distance he heard a helicopter. He assumed the helicopter carried law enforcement officers, and he figured they were using infrared cameras on board the chopper. Thank you for the fog, Lord. You always deliver right on time. Thorn knew from his Navy SEAL days that fog and rain hampered thermal imaging cameras, decreasing the visibility distance. At lease he caught a break there. But one break wasn’t nearly enough. He needed a train car full of them to escape apprehension.
An out of place odor suddenly entered his nostrils as he topped the ridge. Thorn stopped in his tracks. He sniffed the moisture-clogged air. A sulfurous reek came from somewhere close by. He’d smelled this same odor five years ago back in in the Utah slot canyons. It was the smell of demons. The evil brutes reeked of brimstone, used it as cologne.
Thorn had been putting off eating the manna. He dreaded entering the spiritual plane. The spiritual realm frightened him to the core. It was a dangerous place for mortals to tread. The human brain cannot begin to process what goes on there. And yet it seemed as if this is precisely where God wanted him to go.
Even though he didn’t become a believer until his mid-twenties, Thorn had felt the pull of the spiritual realm since an early age. He never saw a ghost or experienced paranormal activity while a child, but he often felt a different realm close by and just out of his reach, watching and waiting.
Both his parents had been collegiate swimmers. Naturally, they pushed him into competitive swimming at an early age. One day after a particularly grueling swimming practice he climbed on top of his bed and fell into a deep sleep. At some point while he slept he experienced what he thought at the time was a night terror. But recalling the incident now, he thought this was the pivotal moment when he became keenly aware he was different. Maybe it was the Holy Spirit anointing him for this moment in time—Thorn thought he’d been seven at the time.
All he really knew was that he never wanted to see the spiritual realm again this side of heaven. But he knew the time had come. He could no longer delay. The battle approached. And if he had to battle demons, he wanted to see them.
Thorn slipped off his rucksack once again. He unzipped a pocket and fished out a small leather pouch. His fingers trembled as he retrieved a manna piece from the pouch. Thorn’s headlamp illuminated the heavenly food. The manna looked like a coriander seed that had been shaped into a wafer. Thorn couldn’t imagine subsisting for very long on manna like the Israelites did for forty years while roaming the Sinai wilderness. But they somehow managed to collect enough each day to ground it and pound it into cakes to bake.
Thorn placed the wafer-shaped piece into his mouth. He closed his eyes. The light and airy manna tasted good, had a nutty taste to it. It sort of tasted like a wheat kernel dipped in olive oil. Thorn chewed for a few seconds and then swallowed. He opened his eyes and looked around fearfully. But nothing jumped out at him. He didn’t see any hideous monsters or demons lurking in the fog like he thought he would. Thorn breathed a sigh of relief, a deep breath to clear his lungs and relax him, and then resumed his trek to the cave.
He descended down the hill, half-running and half-tumbling towards a brushy ravine below. The bloodhounds sounded even closer now. They obviously gained on him while he stopped moving. Thorn picked up his pell-mell tempo even more, but soon slowed when the sulfurous odor grew stronger.
His heart pounded against his sternum. Something told him to turn around. Thorn swiveled his head enough to see behind him. Eyes glowed back at him from within the fog.
Thorn counted six eyes. Three sets of silvery orbs locked onto him. And then the growling started. Low rumbles at first like distant thunder, and then snarls like no animal on earth could make. Thorn knew one thing for sure. These weren’t bloodhounds staring back at him.
Since the North Island of New Zealand has no natural predatory animals, like coyotes or wolves or any kind of feral cat like mountain lions or bobcats, Thorn had a pretty good hunch what followed him. He’d come across them before. Back in the SEALS when he had his near-death experience, he was taken by an angel for a brief visit to hell. While there he saw hellhounds: fearsome beasts larger than wolves and meaner than a pack of wild dogs suffering from rabies. Hairless and packed with muscles, the hellhounds guarded the Lake of Fire.
Thorn guessed the eyes were about three to four feet off the ground. And they slinked toward him ever so slowly. Thorn grabbed the Eden sword’s hilt. He pulled the sword from its scabbard and waved it around. Flames erupted from its blade and lit up the fog-shrouded night. The hellhounds backed up.
The firelight exposed the beasts. They were even uglier than Thorn remembered. Misshapen and grotesque, their snouts were long and attached to flat heads dominated by bulging silver eyes. Long black tongues and nearly two inch fangs filled their muzzles. Completely hairless, charcoal-colored skin covered their quivering muscles. Slobber dripped in long strands from their snouts.
Thorn shivered. He looked behind the hellhounds as far as he could see into the fog. Somewhere their handler lurked, waiting and watching, and undoubtedly hoping the hounds would finish him.
Unwilling to turn his back on the hellhounds, Thorn sidestepped down the hillside. He dare not lose his balance and fall. The hellhounds would pounce and rip him to shreds in seconds. “Lord, you have to keep me alive. Emily and Spencer are waiting for me in the cave,” he pleaded aloud.
Thorn glanced down the hillside toward the ravine. The ravine was nothing more than a small canyon with rocky sides. The hillside funneled into the ravine and grew narrower, forcing the hellhounds to bunch together. Thorn didn’t mind them sticking together. They would be easier to contain if they didn’t scatter and attack him from opposing directions.
Thorn reached down and turned his prosthetic back on. He no longer cared if the mechanical prosthetic was noisy. He needed all his agility to escape the hellhounds. Thorn waved the flaming sword to drive back his canine pursuers. The hellhounds snarled and sprang backwards.
Thorn backed into an obstacle and nearly fell. A fallen tree stretched from one side of the ravine to the other, forming a barricade. Thorn waved the sword again and scrambled over the dead tree. One of the hellhounds started to leap over the log. Thorn swung the Eden sword, felt the flaming sword contact the hellhound’s snout. The beast yelped and jumped back, now missing a third of its snout. His wounded muzzle smoldered.
The fallen tree still retained a few branches. Despite the drizzle, Thorn hoped to light the tree on fire. He held the flaming Eden sword up against the remaining branches. The drizzle-slicked tree sizzled and popped. Smoke rose up from the tree but it didn’t ignite. The hellhounds crowded closer. They bared their fangs; their back legs squatted down as they prepared to leap.
Come on, I need you to catch! Thorn held the sword against a maze of branches for several seconds. And then his luck changed and the dead tree ignited. Flames lapped up and spread quickly across the entire trunk, forming a wall of flames. Thorn shouted, “Take that, you stupid devil dogs!” But his triumph didn’t last. All three hellhounds leaped through the flames at once. Thorn backed up instinctively but lost his balance in the wet grass. He fell down in a heap. And the hellhounds closed in for the kill.
Chapter 23
Standing on the ridgeline, Drakon observed the altercation between Thorn and the hellhounds. He felt a little disappointed. So far Thorn wasn’t putting up much of a fight. But then again, three hellhounds against one mortal was indeed an unfair fight.
Drakon didn’t care about fairness, a quality he knew nothing about. Fairness was only important to mortals, weak people too frail to defend themselves and the privileged humans elected to govern the common masses. Humans for the most part disgusted him. Only the strong will truly thrive on earth. The weak should just get out of the way and stop taking up space.
Perhaps Lucifer overestimated Thorn’s resilience. From what Drakon observed so far, Thorn had become weak. Marriage and childrearing softened his skills. Thorn was no longer an elite soldier. Love had diminished his abilities and mitigated his rage. Anger is a necessity on the battlefield. Without rage an overmatched participant doesn’t stand a chance.
Drakon lifted his grand wings up and over his head. He found the drizzle annoying. Although he thought the fog and moisture provided the perfect atmosphere for evil to operate in, he preferred not to get his flowing hair wet. Only Lucifer’s beautiful golden mane surpassed his reddish locks.
Drakon smiled as he watched the hellhounds tear into Thorn. It wouldn’t be long now. Even if Thorn somehow got the upper hand, he still would have to battle Paymon, the handler of the hellhounds and the demon he selected to fight Thorn.
A part of him wished Thorn would defeat the hellhounds and Paymon. Drakon would dearly love to defeat Thorn himself and put a sudden and definite end to the prophecy. For as long as Drakon could remember, the prophecy of a man battling Satan with a flaming sword circulated amongst the legions of angels—both fallen and those angels still serving God. If he could defeat Thorn he would be revered among Lucifer’s troops, and despised among Michael’s vast army.
He would finally gain the respect he so deserved. But as Drakon watched the battle, the chances of him conquering Andrew Maddix, or Adam Thorn as he now went by, grew slim. The hellhounds were having their way. Drakon left the ridgeline and entered the cave. He needed to find Lucifer. His master would be overjoyed to hear the latest developments.
****
On hands and knees, Emily and Spencer wriggled through the passageway. They kept their heads low to avoid bumping the low-hanging ceiling, and slithered like snakes along the muddy cave floor. They’d entered the cavern several minutes ago, just before the fog rolled in.
Emily prayed that she and Spencer navigated the correct passageway. The mazelike cavern contained multiple passages, dangerous corridors they could easily get stuck in. Years ago she and Adam planned their escape route should they ever be discovered. For the first few years they rehearsed their flight twice a month. But then their vigilance waned when nothing happened and they stopped rehearsing.
When they first came to New Zealand they lived in the cave for several months, and had explored every nook and cranny. But now in the present Emily’s memory threatened to fail her. Nothing looked familiar. Each low-hanging passageway looked pretty much the same. Emily held a flashlight in her hand. Its weak beam barely illuminated the way ahead.
She’d packed the backpack years ago in preparation for this day. But she should’ve taken the batteries out of the flashlight. They’d grown old and weak. She shuddered at the thought of the flashlight blinking out completely. The total darkness would leave them hopeless and trapped.
If she could just make it to the cache, she would find the gear Adam stashed there. She remembered him saying he’d left a lantern there.
Emily led the way through the passageway. Spencer scooted along close behind her. Every so often he bumped into her. She had to be careful not to kick him in the head.
Emily felt a hand grasp her ankle. “Are you doing okay back there, Spence?”
“Yes, but I’m getting really muddy. I hope you’re not mad.”
“I understand, Spencer. This is one time I give you permission to ruin your clothes.”
“Mom, when are we going to reach the big room you talked about?”
“It won’t be too much longer. But we have to crawl through these passageways to get there. This is a lava tube cave. Lava once flowed through here. The lava created this tube when it cooled.”
“Awesome. I want to see more of the cave. Do you have another flashlight?”
“I wish I did. The one in my hand is it. Your father has our headlamp.”
“That’s not very smart. What if it goes out?”
“Let’s just pray that it doesn’t, okay?” Lord, you know my every need and my every thought. But I’ll ask it anyway. Please don’t let this flashlight go out before I can get to the lantern. And wherever Adam is, keep him safe.
Emily continued to wriggle and crawl. Her knees and elbows took a beating. She was sure her limbs would turn black and blue in a few hours. And the low ceiling kept snagging her backpack. Each time it hung up she had to manipulate her shoulders to break it free. She mentally kicked herself for not taking if off before she entered the passageway. There were so many things to think about, and her mind didn’t seem to want to cooperate.
She tried not to think about the immediate future, the high possibility of being caught. Most of all she tried not to think about being separated from Spencer. The thought of losing him crushed her. She considered herself a good mother, and yet she brought Spencer into the world with a cloud hanging over him. If he eventually became a foster child it was all her fault.
For the bulk of her life Emily felt a calling of some sort tugging at her. She believed she was put on earth for a purpose, a unique task only she could perform. And she felt one part of the calling was caring for Spencer. Gabriel once told her and Adam back in the states that they would have a child someday, and that the child would one day fulfill a prophecy that would impact the entire world. Gabriel wouldn’t elaborate on what exactly Spencer’s role would be, leaving them to only speculate. She and Adam eventually gave up trying to figure out what great thing Spencer would do to impact the world. All the brainstorming stressed them out, frayed their nerves, and made them overprotective parents. Some things you’re better off not knowing, Emily thought.
Emily strained to see what lay ahead. Something brushed her hair, causing her to inhale sharply. She fluffed her hair. She hoped it wasn’t a bat. Bats gave her the willies.
The passageway twisted sharply to the left, forcing her to skirt an ancient slab of dried lava—igneous rock. “Watch out for this big rock, Spencer. It has some sharp edges. It might snag your jacket.”
“What kind of rock is it, Mom? It looks funny.”
“It was once magma. When the lava cooled it solidified and formed this rock.”
“Does the lava still flow through here?”
“I don’t think so, Spence. This rock looks ancient. I’m guessing its hundreds if not thousands of years old.”
“I’m glad there isn’t lava anymore.”
“I’m with you on that, buddy.”
The cave ceiling rose sharply. The passageway all at once emptied into a small room. Emily guessed the room’s dimensions to be roughly ten feet by twelve feet. The ceiling, however, soared dozens of feet over their heads. It was as if they were in a large chimney or elevator shaft. Emily stood up, grateful to stretch her five-foot ten inch frame. She shined her dying light around the room, looking for a familiar landmark among the odd rock formations. She could faintly make out the sound of flowing water, but couldn’t see it. The room and the cavern walls reminded her of Perdition Canyon—the slot canyon in Utah where she and her future husband battled demons in hand-to-hand combat. Her spine crawled just remembering those two nights. She’d caught a glimpse of hell on earth. And what she saw changed her forever.
“Is this the room, Mom?”
“No, Spencer. The room we’re heading for is much bigger.”
“What will we do when we get there?”
“I told you. We’re going to meet up with your father.”
“But then what do we do?”
“We get in a canoe and paddle down a stream to where the cave opens up on the other side,” Emily said as she scanned the cavern walls. The flashlight beam swept over two holes near the cave floo
r. Recognition flickered ever so briefly in her mind. But then like a struggling candle flame blown out by a breeze, the memory snuffed out.
Each hole was only about twenty inches high and maybe thirty-six inches wide. But the hole on the right seemed to hold her attention. She couldn’t determine why she was drawn to this hole and not the other one, but it seemed like her intuition told her to take it.
Emily removed her backpack and shoved it through the hole on the right. She turned and touched her son’s shoulder. “Do you see this hole, Spencer?” She shined the flashlight on the hole.
“Yes.”
Emily nodded. “We’re going through it. I want you to stay close behind me. I’ll try not to kick you in the head. But if I do you’ll have to forgive me.”
“Okay, Mom, let’s do it.”
Emily patted him on the head. “You’re a brave little man, Spencer. You’re so much like your father.” She crouched down and made herself small. She pressed her chest against the cave floor and wriggled through the dark hole. Her shoulder blades rubbed painfully against the overhead rock. For a brief moment she thought she’d trapped herself. But then her shoulders grated free and then her butt and legs followed. “Are you coming, Spence?”
“I’m right behind you, Mom.”
The passageway floor practically oozed with mud, and it smelled funny. Disgusted, Emily slopped through the slime, doing her best not to breathe in the unpleasant odor.
“I think this mud isn’t mud, Mom.”
Emily crept crawling. “What do you think it is then, Spence?”
“I think its bat poop.”
“Don’t say that, Spence. You know I hate bats.” If they truly crawled through bat guano, that meant there were bats in this passageway recently, lots of them. She shook the thought from her mind and slithered forward, telling herself the slimy and foul-smelling substance was only mud and nothing else.