Host Chronicles Volume 1: Devil's Offspring

by D.L. Cox

  “He’s use to me, that’s all,” Inisa said modestly. “So, how was the weekend visit?”

  Mrs. Springs’ face lit up. “It was great. He ate at the dinner table with us. He sat in the living room with us while we watched TV.”

  Mr. Springs added, “And he made much more eye contact with us than usual.”

  Inisa nodded, “That’s so good to hear. And there were no negative outbursts?”

  Mrs. Springs shrugged. “He had ice cream, and then kind of pushed the bowl away when he was done, but that was about it.”

  “Yeah, he was terrific,” Mr. Springs reported before cutting his eyes at Mrs. Springs like something was on his mind.

  Inisa caught the shift in body language. “Is there something wrong?” she asked with concern.

  “Well,” Mrs. Springs started. “With all this demon stuff going on, we’re kind of apprehensive about bringing him back to the institute.”

  Mr. Springs elaborated, “The world is going crazy out there. We’re thinking maybe we should just keep him home for the next few months until we see how this so-called war turns out.”

  Inisa folded her hands in her lap. “I understand.” She paused, contemplating what to say next. “I really do understand, but Randle is making so much progress and the whole purpose of that progress is to get him to a point where he can live as independently as possible. The world is changing, but for better or worse, it is the world that Randle is going to live in.”

  “What about this surprise trip to Arizona? With everything that’s going on, you’re cancelling that, right?” Mrs Springs asked.

  “We’ve given that a lot of thought,” Inisa admitted. “The problem is a non-profit organization has already foot the bill for the traveling arrangements and hotel accommodations. Not to mention we’ve spent days preparing students for the trip. They’re looking forward to it.”

  “Honestly, it doesn’t make sense why the institute would abruptly plan a trip like this anyway,” Mr. Springs complained. “I mean the first we heard of it was three days ago when we picked up Randle for the weekend, and now you expect us to sign a consent form so you can throw him on a plane in a few hours and fly him across the country.”

  “It’s all part of our process,” Inisa assured. “All the other parents have already signed off on the trip. Our plane leaves this afternoon, and we’ll be gone for three days. If you don’t wish him to go, you can take him back home today and then bring him back when we return.”

  “Yeah, but,” Mr. Springs started.

  “Look,” Inisa exhaled. “He is your child, but he is not a child. He is a young adult, and here at the institute we treat him like a young adult. With that said, have you asked him what he wants?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Springs looked at each other like they never thought of that. “Not exactly,” Mrs. Springs confessed.

  Inisa sat back in her chair. “Well, why don’t you try asking him before you make a decision?”

  Mrs. Springs hesitated before turning to Randle. “Randle, dear, Mommy and Daddy are—”

  “Don’t placate him,” Inisa said firmly. “Just ask him.”

  Mrs. Springs cleared her throat. “Randle, how would you like it if,” she started again as if she were talking to a toddler.

  “No, no,” Inisa cut in shaking her head with a disapproving scowl. “Your son is sixteen. He is a young man. Treat him as such, and he’ll embrace himself as such.” She leaned forward and said, “Randle, you heard what you’re parents were talking about, what do you think?”

  He slowly lifted his head and made eye contact with Inisa. “Stay here, go on trip with friends,” he told her clearly enough with a slight slur.

  “Don’t tell me,” she replied. “Tell them.”

  He tilted and turned his head towards his parents until he made eye contact with them and announced, “Need to stay and go see mountains in the ground.”

  Astonishment filled the Springs’ eyes. “Okay,” Mrs. Springs sniffled.

  Inisa nodded. “Randle please let me talk to your parents in private.”

  He tilted his head back down at the floor and stood. “Be in my room,” he said. He dragged his hand across each of his parent’s shoulder and then walked out and shut the door behind him.

  Mrs. Springs covered her mouth with tears of joy in her eyes. “Did that just happen?” she asked her husband.

  He put his arm around her shoulder. “Yes it did, but how?”

  “As I said, he’s a young adult,” Inisa maintained. “He’s fully aware of everything going on around him. Here at the institute, we do not treat our students like children. We treat them like adults, and they begin to act like adults. Adults make decisions, so we allow our students to make decisions.”

  Mr. Springs looked at his wife before telling Inisa, “We’ll let him stay and he can go on the trip.”

  Inisa smiled. “It will be good for him. I promise. And so you know, it’s not just the institute; there will be autistic schools from all over the country there.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Springs asked.

  “The organization sponsoring the trip has a state of the art facility not far from the Grand Canyon. They have all kinds of activities lined up for the students. It’s going to be great,” Inisa boasted while handing them a consent form.

  ***

  90,000 fans burst into thunderous applause when their home team New York Giants took the snow covered football field and lined up across from the Atlanta Falcons for the national anthem. It was the first home playoff game at the MetLife stadium, and it was just forty-eight hours after the entire world had witnessed a reality-shattering demon attack on the Pentagon. To many in attendance, the game offered a much needed escape, an elixir from the anxiety of the thought that the world as they knew it would never be the same. The fanatical cheering of today was a far cry from the collective gasp of shock and horror that had echoed from households around the globe when breaking news had high-jacked the airwaves with live footage of bullets bouncing harmlessly off the demons as they tore American soldiers apart like paper, announcing to the world that the war between good and evil had officially began.

  The crowded stadium quieted down and you could hear a pin drop as platinum-selling, country-singer, Natasha made her way to center field with a microphone. While all eyes focused on Natasha as she eased into a powerful rendition of the Star Spangled Banner, a police officer on the sidelines, twenty-five-year-old Thomas Jones, noticed Saleena standing near the home team’s benches. She was dressed as if she had expected Miami weather, and Jones immediately thought she looked out of place. He quickly scanned the thousands of fans in the stands bundled up in winter coats, hats, earmuffs, and blankets, and then shivered at the thought of how cold Saleena had to be in her meager jeans, halter-top, and open-toe shoes. It was then that he saw a carrying case on the ground beside her. It reminded him of the case he had carried his flute in as a child, only hers was three times as long and looked much more expensive.

  As Natasha neared her big finish, Saleena picked up her case and started to the center of the field, prompting Jones and everyone else in attendance to assume she was a part of the act. Natasha was surprised and caught off guard by the Saleena’s move, but simply kept her eyes glued on her while belting out the final line of the anthem without missing a beat. The crowd erupted in cheers and shouts when Natasha finished, but the cheers and shouts were short lived. Saleena popped open the case, removed a glowing, red-bladed sword, and swiftly swung the blade at Natasha’s neck, slicing her head clear off.

  Before Natasha’s body could hit the floor, Saleena grabbed the microphone and announced to the stunned crowd, “I am Saleena, the devil’s one and only daughter, the princess of hell, and each of you shall be my prisoner until your so-called warrior of humanity presents herself to fight me.”

  The football players on the field cautiously backed away from Saleena and pandemonium broke out in t
he stands as people scurried for the exits.

  “Drop the sword!” Jones yelled as he and four other officers rushed onto the field with their guns drawn.

  Saleena smirked, raised the microphone to her lips, and instructed the crowd, “Sit, or you’ll get burned.”

  The crowd stumbled back onto their heels as each of the stadium’s entrances and exits were sealed off by walls of fire. Saleena then raised her sword and sliced it through the air, conjuring up a two-hundred-foot wall of fire that shot up around the perimeter of the stadium, blocking anyone from getting in. The stadium fell silent with awe as the faint smell of sulfur filled the air. Jones and the other officers unconsciously lowered their weapons at the sight of the fiery wall towering high above the stadium.

  Remembering the footage from the Pentagon, Jones gripped his sweaty palms around his gun and aimed at Saleena’s face while nervously approaching her, inspiring his fellow officers to do the same. “You’re with those demons from the Pentagon?” he asked, stumbling over his words.

  Saleena dropped the microphone and answered, “No.”

  Jones inched closer as he and his colleagues formed a firing squad about three feet away from Saleena. “Just drop the sword,” he warned.

  Saleena raised the sword above her head, and the officers instinctively opened fire. The crowd exhaled with a glimmer of hope, which was quickly crushed when the bullets appeared to disintegrate as they made contact with Saleena’s skin.

  “Damn,” the officers muttered collectively. They tried to backpedal, but it was too late.

  Saleena lunged forward and thrust her sword into Jones’ belly. The other officers took off running as Jones collapsed to his knees.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Saleena muttered as she effortlessly gave chase. She sliced her sword across the first officer’s back, nearly cutting him in two, and then somersaulted into the air over the other three officers and twisted her body so that she faced them when she landed. Two of the officers stopped in their tracks, but the third wasn’t so lucky. In one motion, Saleena dropped while sweeping his legs from under him and quickly placed the base of the sword’s handle on the ground so that the blade stood upright. The poor officer never knew what hit him. His right eye fell onto the tip of the blade, and Saleena pushed the blade through his brain, and then stood while slicing the blade out the top of his head, sending chunks of brain and skull across the field.

  The remaining two officers dropped to their knees in despair. “Please don’t kill us,” one of them pleaded.

  “Don’t move,” Saleena ordered and calmly walked past Jones’ mortally wounded body and grabbed the microphone. “There is no use trying to escape,” she announced to the crowd, “sit, or be consumed by fire, or fall at the tip of my sword.”

  Murmuring filled the stadium as the terrified fans made their way back to their seats. Satisfied, Saleena strolled over to Jones, who lay in the fetal position holding on for dear life, and kicked him onto his back. She caught a glimpse of pain and fear in his eyes and paused briefly as she remembered why she had to proceed with ruthless determination. “What do you love?” she asked Jones, gazing deep into his eyes.

  He coughed up blood and managed to answer, “A wife and a new born baby.”

  “Good,” Saleena nodded. “Then I would not pity you if I were capable of such a thing, because you would do exactly what I am doing if you were in my position.”

  Jones’ eyes grew wide with confusion as Saleena plunged her sword down into his heart, Saleena then pointed her sword to the sidelines at a cameraman who had been shooting the entire incident. “Come here,” she told him. The cameraman nervously lowered his camera, and Saleena said, “No, keep shooting for now, but I want you to come closer.”

  ***

  Nat lay asleep with Makeda sound asleep with her head on his chest. He slowly stirred awake and smirked when he realized the last two weeks of his life had not been a dream. He eased from under Makeda and scooted up in bed, careful not to wake her. He glanced at his and Makeda’s swords, which hung on a wall to the left next to a wall-mounted plasma TV, and wondered if Todd and Angela had known his destiny was not simply to deliver the Host’s sword, but to be the Host’s partner in war, love, and life. He kissed Makeda on the forehead and smiled at the thought that “what they shared was divine,” as Makeda nicely put it.

  Just then, Makeda popped up and hopped off the bed. “We have to get dressed,” she said frantically.

  Nat looked confused. “Sheba, what’s wrong?”

  “Stop calling me Sheba,” she chastised, heading into the bathroom. “It’s Makeda Sabas, and the High Council needs us in the war chamber.”

  “What makes you—” Nat started, but stopped when an alarm went off.

  The LCD screen popped on displaying Sue. “Nat,” she said.

  Nat slowly walked over to the screen and waved apprehensively. “Sue?”

  “Yes,” Sue answered. “You and Makeda need to get down to the war chamber ASAP.”

  Nat’s eyes narrowed. “You can see me?”

  Sue shook her head in frustration. “Just get down here.”

  ***

  Izzy paced in the holding cell as Lamont’s body lay off to the side. Touched with a bit of guilt over Lamont’s fate, Izzy knelt beside his body and placed his palm on his head. He then closed his eyes and witnessed the last moments of Lamont’s life. “Damn,” he muttered. “Think Izzy,” he sighed. “There must be something you can do.” He frowned in disappointment and then cut his eyes at Lamont’s body. His face lit up with realization and then he placed both of his hands on Lamont’s head and mumbled something indistinguishable.

  Lamont’s clothing burst into flames and disintegrated as tiny symbols were magically branded onto every inch of his skin, as if he had a full body tattoo. Lamont’s body then floated off the floor.

  Izzy blew on Lamont’s face and whispered, “Go.”

  Lamont’s eyes popped opened, displaying a pair of white eyeballs, and then he suddenly vanished into thin air.

  ***

  Wille Von Macht entered a missile silo in the heart of their compound where a dozen demon-possessed scientists and engineers worked on a one hundred foot laser device, which was shaped like the Washington Monument with a huge crystal at the top of it. One of the scientists, a slender nerdy looking woman named Marsha Grand, walked over to Wille Von Macht and bowed.

  “My Lord, the test device is ready,” Marsha said.

  The boys smiled. “Good, prepare it for deployment immediately and have the rest of your team begin production on the next device.”

  ***

  Nat and Makeda gingerly strolled into the war chamber with their swords draped over their shoulders. Sue sat at one of six desks while Bret struggled with some wires near the rack of large computer servers on the wall to the left.

  Sue spun in her chair to face Nat and Makeda and said, “Sorry, the honeymoon is over.”

  Nat eyed the empty desks. “Where are the other council members?”

  Bret slammed down a set of wires in frustration. “In the jet hanger waiting for you two.”

  Makeda stepped over to Sue and rested her hand on her shoulder. “What’s the emergency?”

  Sue hit a key on her keyboard and footage of Saleena at the stadium popped up on the screens. “She’s threatened to kill everyone there if you don’t show up to fight her.”

  Makeda focused on Saleena’s image. “I didn’t think Saleena and Simon would be an issue. I expected the devil’s new seed, the set of ten-year-old quadruplets, to be our main problem. I guess I was wrong.” She turned to Sue. “I take it the jet is ready?”

  “Yup,” Sue nodded.

  Makeda took Nat by the hand and told him, “Let’s go.”

  Sue stood and announced, “Nat’s not going with you. There’s another plane fueled and waiting for him.”

  “To take me where?” Nat asked with a raised
brow.

  Bret walked over. “Mya and Sean have an important mission.”

  Nat shrugged. “And?”

  Sue explained, “Alice and Bill will fly Makeda to the football stadium, and you will assist Sean and Mya.”

  “I don’t under—” Nat started.

  Bret patted him on the back and pushed him towards the exit. “You’ll be briefed in the air. Just go.”

  Makeda and Nat left the war chamber and took a long corridor to an underground hanger that had a two-mile runway that steadily climbed to an electronic controlled opening in the desert’s surface. Makeda stopped Nat before they stepped in the hanger.

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured, caressing his cheek.

  “It could be a trap,” he reasoned.

  Makeda chuckled. “Do I have to keep reminding you that I am the Host.”

  “Yeah,” Nat sighed. “And if the Host is slain on earth, she’ll sleep for the next twenty years.”

  She kissed him and said, “I wouldn’t put my money on that happening. I was sent here to protect humanity remember? You should have a little more faith that I know what I’m doing.”

  “I’ll try,” he exhaled.

  “Good,” she nodded. “Now put your game face on and let’s get to work.”

  They headed into the hanger and found two private jets idling side by side with their doors open. Alice stuck her head out the door of the jet on the left and said, “This way, Makeda.”

  Mya stuck her head out the other jet and yelled out in her thick Southern accent, “Come on Nat, let’s get this show on the road.”

  Makeda hugged Nat tightly and whispered in his ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll be okay. You just be safe.”

  Alice yelled, “That’s enough love birds. We have lives to save!”

  Mya added, “Kiss and say goodbye already!”

  Nat kissed Makeda and then reluctantly climbed onto the jet with Mya while Makeda joined Alice.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Inisa and married couple Brenda and Kevin Cortez, who happened to be teachers and the Institute’s founders, escorted all twenty students through Philadelphia International Airport while Amanda, Cindy, and Monica brought up the rear. Brenda and Kevin, both in their late forties, had dedicated most of their lives to teaching children with autism. Like Inisa, the other staff members dressed plainly in shades of white or black; and like Inisa, Amanda, Monica, and Cindy each wore a matching thin silver chain with a small crystal charm. The students concentrated on staying together as they moved and ignored everything else going on around them. The group passed several lounge areas where people crowded around TV’s and smart phones displaying footage of the hostage situation at Met Life Stadium. Inisa glanced back at Amanda, and Amanda shrugged and motioned her to keep moving.