by SM Reine
“I know a few things,” Hendricks said, exchanging a look with Arch. “I know how to field strip and clean an M-16. I know Leinenkugel’s is the best domestic beer ever made. I know the Green Bay Packers are the single greatest football team ever in American history.” He pretended to think for a second. “Oh, and I know you don’t like being shot in the face.” He raised his .45 and fired off a double tap that nailed Hollywood right in the head both times.
Arch filled the air with a load of buckshot that echoed in Hendricks’s ears as he blasted off a round at Munson. Hollywood staggered, stumbling back, and the book fell out of his hands to land on the ground. Hendricks crossed targets and shot Munson in the body once as he crossed the last few feet and landed his sword across the back of the demon’s neck. He didn’t get a chance to use his gun much when fighting because most of the places he fought were too populated, but he had to give Arch credit—shooting them first provided a welcome distraction. He ripped into Munson with the sword, opening up a gash as he hacked hard into where the spine would be on a human. Whether there was one in there was impossible to say; the wound welled up with orange light, and seconds later Munson was consumed in a scream of black flame, eaten from the inside by the fires of the netherworld taking him back.
Arch was already squaring up with Hollywood, firing his shotgun point blank in the demon’s face. Hendricks wasn’t sure, but he could swear he saw a little indentation from the buckshot as Hollywood’s head snapped around, like it had landed but hadn’t quite broken the skin. Close, maybe. If he lined up his shot and managed to shoot twice in roughly the same place …
There was an explosion of fury from the space where Hollywood was standing, and Hendricks felt it take him off his feet. His arms whirled as he flew a solid five feet off the ground into the air, and came to rest on the grassy earth, a jagged rock catching him in the right shoulder blade. Hendricks wanted to get up but was momentarily stunned; he tried to shake off the pain, and he wondered through the haze what the hell had just happened.
+ + +
Arch had seen a little glow in Hollywood’s eyes before he’d gone off, a little like a bomb. It wasn’t hellfire coming out of him, though, more like a shockwave of force that sent Hendricks flying. Arch had been a little better braced, but it had still taken him off his feet. He’d been fortunate in his landing, shaking the feeling back into his brain real quick. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been quickly enough to keep Hollywood from catching him around the neck and ripping the shotgun out of his grasp.
“You are so lucky this time,” Hollywood said, pressing him to the ground. “See, this isn’t a ten-thousand-dollar suit from London. You already ruined that, and I’ve made my peace with it. It’s just a thing, you know, no big deal. Things aren’t … important.” There was an air of hesitancy in how he said it, like he was merely parroting the words. “Anyway, what’s important is what comes next. And what comes next is history making. It’s a new age.” Hollywood was wearing a big grin. “The last age, really.”
“Oh, yeah?” Arch tried to struggle off his knees, but Hollywood had him solidly. The switchblade was in Arch’s pocket, and he was fumbling for it. This close, Arch could see a couple places where Hendricks had shot the demon, two spots on the forehead where there were slight creases, like something had pushed hard on a mask and made an indent. Arch still had the pistol on his belt, just had to bide his time for a minute, maybe, wait until Hollywood looked away. Hollywood was too fast and too watchful to try it now. Arch would end up separated from his body, likely as not, and that wasn’t the way he wanted to go out.
“Yeah,” Hollywood said and readjusted his grip to drag Arch across the pasture. Arch saw Hendricks, still writhing on the ground, as they swerved over to him. Hollywood aimed a hard kick at his guts. It made a heavy thump, like a watermelon being pounded in by a sledgehammer. and Hicks howled in pain. Arch wondered if the man had escaped internal injuries at that one, it had been so nasty.
“You three,” Hollywood leveled a finger at the other people, the hostages, Arch still thought of them. With a start he realized it was the Blenkman family from just down the road. “You move, I will blur over to you and kill you without a single second’s thought or remorse. Do you understand me? Nod if you understand. NOD, MOTHERFUCKERS!” The words crackled across the pasture and Arch saw them nod, even from the position Hollywood had squeezed him into, head down, locked into place with a hand at the base of his neck like he was a cat being manhandled by a farmer. “Okay, then,” Hollywood said, picked up the book he’d dropped with his free hand, and hauled Arch up.
Hollywood stared at Arch for a minute, and Arch didn’t really like the look of that. “Hey,” the demon said at last. “I want you to know something before we get started. This thing,” he pointed from himself to Arch, a dirty finger bobbing into Arch’s face, “me killing you? It’s not because you’re black, okay? It’s really important to me that you know that before we start.”
Arch just stared at him. “I’m sure that will be of great consolation to my widow.”
Hollywood looked at him blankly for a minute. “Well … yeah, okay, that’s a good point. But I really wanted you to know that, anyway, that it’s not about race. I’m not a racist.” He smiled a broad, almost apologetic smile. “Really. I’m totally down with the struggle. No, the reason I’m killing you is because you’re on the side of the angels—and I’m most definitely not.”
“Oh?” Arch felt a little of the feeling return in his fingers. “Side of the angels, huh? I haven’t seen any of them show up to help me yet.”
“And they won’t,” Hollywood said, adjusting himself so the book rested on his forearm, and opened to a pre-marked page with a cloth strip in place down the binding. “Because they don’t get involved, not anymore. It was just a figure of speech.” Hollywood looked up from his place in the book as the moonlight came down, illuminating the whole scene. “You are a righteous man, though. I can smell it on you,” he turned his nose away, “like the stink of this cow pasture. You were just drawn into this, I bet, took to it like I took to producing, like it was the most natural thing in the world.” He smiled as he leaned closer to Arch. “A lawman, a righteous man, and suddenly you find out there are demons walking the face of the earth? It was probably like you got awakened for the first time, like you’d finally found what you were called to do.” Hollywood leaned in, the grin getting worse, the smell of something like sulfur on his breath. “I know your kind. I’ve met a few of yours, you incorruptible fucks, you self-righteous shits.” He pushed Arch out to arm’s length. “The nice thing about you is that your pure soul—I can just smell it from here—is gonna make a beautiful sacrifice—”
A low sound suddenly cracked around them, like thunder but louder than any thunder that Arch had ever heard. It was a rifle, he’d stake his life on it, and Hollywood was already staggering by the time they’d heard the sound, his arm severed from his body.
“Ohhh,” Hollywood moaned, low and guttural, as he shuffled back. Arch staggered away from Hollywood, fingers still around his neck, but the hand disconnected from the demon at the shoulder. Arch ripped it away from him and threw it down, pulling his gun and aiming it at the disarmed Hollywood, who was still staggering around a few feet away, jerking like he’d been shocked instead of shot.
Arch backed up and made his way over to Hendricks, who was sitting upright now, his pistol back in one hand, sword in the other. “What the fuck did you do to him?” Hendricks asked.
“Nothing,” Arch said. “Did you hear that gunshot?”
“That was a gunshot?” Hendricks said, his eyes a little glazed. “God, that must have been like a fifty cal or something. Big bore.”
Arch shot a look back at Hollywood. “Something real big, I’d say, if it took his arm off.” They both watched, waiting, as Hollywood jerked again, but seemed to steady himself on his feet. “Isn’t he supposed to … you know, burn up now or get ripped back into the bowels of hell?”
�
�Doesn’t work like that for greaters,” Hendricks said and pulled up on Arch’s arm to get back to his feet. “They don’t just discorporate or disperse, whatever you want to call it. It’s one of the reasons they’re so dangerous.”
“Because we’re hard to kill,” Hollywood said, looking at them, sounding like he was breathing hard. Arch wondered why he’d be breathing then figured it must all be part of the package that held them together. “Pretty near impossible for you fleshy little fleas. You may have taken my arm—”
“We didn’t take your arm,” Arch said. Might as well get that out there. He wondered if there’d be another thunderous crack of the rifle in the distance and kind of hoped there would be. It’d be easier to figure out how to take the man down if someone would just blast his arms and legs off first. Not much threat from Hollywood if he was a quadruple amputee, lying on the ground. Arch would bet a decapitation would finish it then.
“Doesn’t matter,” Hollywood said, leering again. “You can’t kill me. You can’t stop me.” There was a strange light over his features, like a glow being cast upon him. “I have come forth to end … your … world. Nothing of this earth can stop me—”
Hollywood stopped as the glow became lighter, like the sunrise in the distance. Except that was a good five or six hours away, by Arch’s reckoning. There was something else, closer, just up the hill, like a lamp growing brighter, drawing closer to them as it came. It got to near blinding, and the wind picked up again and brought with it a smell of sulfur, of brimstone, and Arch had to cover his nose. Hendricks was leaning on him for support, and they both stood there, staring, caught between watching Hollywood and watching the new entrant, until the light finally died down.
It was a cow, Arch thought. Or had been. It was changed into something grotesque, standing on two legs, with swollen hooves and bifurcated legs that gave it balance. It stood twice the height of a man, and when it snorted, hellfire flared out of its nostrils along with a strong smell of sulfur. It had arms like a man, cloven fists, and a face that was positively frightening, with a keen intelligence that looked over all of them, down at the bottom of the hill. In two steps it was almost upon them. Arch heard the screams of the three Blenkmans behind him and he knew they were fleeing. He resisted the temptation to follow them. The thing standing in front of him was all manner of … just wrong.
He felt Hendricks tense at his side. “So that’s what they were summoning.”
There was a pause, and the cow-demon spoke, low and harsh, breathing fire out its nostrils as it did so. “I am Ygrusibas, the harbinger of end-times, the first sign of your world’s end, the breath of the apocalypse.”
Arch just stood there, next to Hendricks, fingers idly fiddling with the switchblade he’d pulled out of his pocket and the pistol he’d pulled with his other hand. Neither of them said anything, Arch trying to figure out what to do, whether to bum rush the thing or wait, and Hendricks probably running through just about the same thought. Nobody spoke for about a minute.
Finally it was Hollywood who said something. “You know what? Fuck this place.”
12
“Seriously,” Hollywood said, just letting the rage run through him. “Fuck this town, fuck the South, you backwards hillbillies.” He pointed a finger at Arch. “In L.A, a pure heart like yours gets eaten while it’s still pumping blood. You’re a nothing, there. Fodder for the fucking gristmill. You’re an aperitif, swallowed and gone in an eyeblink.” He turned to point his finger to Hendricks. “And you? What have you got? A hard-on for revenge? Some mystery backstory and score to settle? OOOOH!” Hollywood waved his remaining arm in mockery. “Vague and mysterious may have sold screenplays in the nineties, but you’re played out, now. You’re not even a problem I’d have to solve. You’re a man on a suicide mission, and you’ll just keep circling lower and lower until you crash all on your own. I know your kind. I can smell you a mile off just from the stink of your past failures, hanging around you like the cloud that hovers over this dump.”
He wheeled on Ygrusibas, took in the whole distorted cow form, on the verge of becoming something glorious, though he really didn’t want to admit that to himself. “And you? You blew it, motherfucker! I called you forth, I brought you out of your torment. You were supposed to reward me, to join with me—so we could go about the apocalypse together.” He twisted two fingers together, trying to show this idiot ancient what partnership was all about. “I mean, really? A cow? Do you know who I am? I’m a fucking producer for fuck’s sake!” He thumped his chest. “I ALMOST GOT A SCREENWRITING CREDIT ON BATTLESHIP, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” He took a breath in through his nose then let it out through his mouth. “I’m a greater. A demon of the highest order, and you have seriously fucked up here—”
That was as far as he got. Ygrusibas dipped it's head, blazed in faster than Hollywood would have believed possible, even for an ancient, and there was a sound of cracking bones as he was swallowed nearly whole by the cow-demon, his essence still howling with fury as he was dissolved into something more ancient and powerful than he.
+ + +
“Holy shit,” Hendricks said, not really sure what else to say. His whole body still ached from Hollywood’s last attack, and his stomach was positively throbbing. “Did our unstoppable bad guy just get eaten by a cow?” Hollywood had been gobbled up in two big bites.
“Either that or we just got killed and this is heaven,” Arch said, the strain evident in his voice.
“This is your idea of heaven?” Hendricks asked, not taking his eyes off the cow-demon. “Watching someone you dislike get swallowed whole by a bovine hellspawn? You religious people are even more fucked up than I always thought.”
“Your world will end,” Ygrusibas said and came snapping at them. The only thing that gave them enough time to dodge was the crack of another rifle shot. Ygrusibas staggered back, and Hendricks saw a hole in the demon’s arm burning with internal fire.
+ + +
Arch ran to the side as a burst of flame lit the night, turning it almost into day, at least around their little corner of the pasture. It made him reconsider that thought about him being in heaven. Fire was more likely to indicate the other place.
Another crack thundered through the night and Arch saw the cow-demon stop again and roar, flames filling the air above them. “Who the hell is firing off that rifle?” Hendricks shouted, popping off three rounds from his .45.
“I don’t know,” Arch said, pulling the trigger of his Glock, aiming for the demon’s eyes. “But I reckon we owe them our gratitude, don’t we?” He figured the rifle was the only thing keeping the cow-demon from rolling right over them and being on after the next part of its business. Since it had mentioned ending the world, this was of more than a little concern to Arch. He hadn’t met many demons, but if this was what they were all up to and about, it seemed like he might have been backing the right side all along. He fired again then scrambled as Ygrusibas charged at him, head lowered. Even the rifle crack didn’t stop him this time.
+ + +
Hendricks heard Arch howl as Ygrusibas picked him up after nearly running him down. Hendricks kept firing his pistol, but he heard it go click after a couple more shots. Arch was suspended by his ankle, flailing a little. Desperate, Hendricks just up and threw the pistol to hit Ygrusibas in the head with it. He didn’t have any spare mags on him, anyway.
Hendricks charged at the creature’s leg and stabbed, hard, into the knee with the sword. He opened a gash and saw a burst of orange light, more fire than he could ever recall seeing, like it was actually bleeding out, and it got damned hot all the sudden. He yanked the sword back. Flames licked out of the wound he’d made, burning him. Something grabbed him firmly around the ankle, and he was swept off his feet, his hat falling off his head and his coat hanging down around his shoulders.
He hung onto his sword, though.
+ + +
Ygrusibas hadn’t seen these things before, these humans, these petty beasts. He knew of them, knew of the
trouble they’d brought, had heard the whispers in the pits, but it was all idle chatter until now. They were weak, nearly empty of essence, empty of any meaning. He looked at the two in his grasp, staring from one back to the other. He wondered how any such thing, so small, so tiny, could cause such problems—
There was a searing pain in his hand, and he shook the one wearing black until the sparkling sword fell from his grasp. Such a small thing to cause such pain. There was a crack of noise again and another sting. This, though, was an even smaller worry than these two, these curiosities. Only a moment’s more examination and he would feed on them, take the little sustenance their essences offered, and be on his way. This whole world, if it was filled with these things, would offer only the slightest distraction for Ygrusibas. Ygrusibas was a consumer, would eat it all, would grow more powerful with the feeding, the dissolving of the essences within him. He was powerful enough now to anchor himself here, as a hedge against ever being drawn back to the pits.
He narrowed his eyes and looked once more at the figures in his hands. Trifles, that was all they were. Nothing compared to the greater demon he’d just consumed. But they were more than the herd of cows he’d had before, and that was something.
+ + +
Another rifle crack sounded like desperation to Arch, like whoever was at the trigger of the thing knew it wasn’t doing much good. Ygrusibas took less notice of it than he had any of the prior shots, and Arch was getting a real good close up of the cow-demon’s eye when the latest shot rang out. The thing didn’t even blink in its study of him.
“Any ideas?” he shouted to Hendricks. The cowboy wasn’t moving, not right now, anyway. Between Hollywood and Ygrusibas, Arch reckoned he’d had a rough night, his arms limp and his sword dropped after he’d been shaken for stabbing the cow-demon. The sword had opened a thin line of fire along the hairy knuckle. Arch was still half-expecting blood to come rushing out, but it didn’t. Just that same hellfire that had seeped from the stump of Hollywood’s arm. “Come on, cowboy!” Arch said. “Look at this thing. You should be riding herd on it!” He estimated he was about ten seconds from being gobbled up. Whenever this thing got done peering at him, he was pretty well finished, and that wasn’t going to do for him. He had things to say to Alison. He hadn’t left it off very well, he knew that, but he’d thought somewhat stupidly that he was walking into something less hazardous than the fight he’d waltzed into.