Tribulation r-2

by Philip W Simpson

  Sam was about to move again when the man coughed and rolled over. For whatever reason — maybe his sixth sense alerted him, maybe it was a completely random reflex; it hardly mattered — the man opened his eyes, his stare finding Sam as if deliberate. Time seemed to stretch. It was possibly no more than a couple of seconds, but in that time, Sam saw a number of emotions in those eyes: denial, realization and stunned shock. The man’s eyes widened, his mouth began to open. Without realizing that he had moved, Sam was next to him, one of his hands clamped over the stranger’s mouth. His Wakizashi was already out. In a controlled, thrifty movement, the blade moved out and then quickly in, straight through the man’s throat.

  Sam held him down until his death throes were finished. It was only then that he looked up — straight into the pupils of the person in the next cot along. He was sitting up, staring with horror at the scene unfolding next to him.

  Before Sam had time to react, the man screamed out an alarm.

  Chapter Eight

  The Hound of Hell

  “ They sacrificed to demons, which are not God- gods they had not known, gods that recently appeared, gods your fathers did not fear.”

  Deuteronomy 32:17

  C ursing under his breath, Sam darted through the dirty sheet that marked off the sleeping area from the rest of the warehouse. It fluttered about him like washing in a fierce wind, and he used the momentary distraction to draw his other sword — the long to the Wakizashi’s short. His Katana. His most treasured possession and an object that was closer to him than any brother. Sam’s instincts told him that another man, fully awake with adrenaline coursing through his body, was just past the sheet.

  Sam knew exactly where the man was; knew with absolute certainty that the man had a shotgun that was even now being swiveled in his direction. He could even smell the iron pellets that the shotgun was loaded with. Sam could take no risks. A shotgun with iron shells at close range could seriously incapacitate even him.

  Both swords emerged out of the sheet even before Sam had, looking like a silvery extension of the material. The man armed with the shotgun probably wasn’t even aware that death was upon him, only that something vaguely man-shaped was moving through the sheet. His finger was on the trigger and he’d almost rotated the barrel of his gun in Sam’s direction, ready to fire, when the blades punctured him. The man up at the figure that suddenly hulked over him, flinching from the fiery eyes; glancing down at the two blades protruding from his chest, he coughed once and then promptly died.

  Sam didn’t give the man a second look. Kicking the body off his swords, he sprinted in the direction of the cage. He gave into his anger, unleashing it, using it to make him faster, stronger. He would need it now. His senses told him that every human within the warehouse was now awake and alert to the danger. Even now, he could hear others raising the alarm. Despite the confusion and uncertainty, they’d pick up weapons with every intention of using them, and shotguns and rifles, all loaded with the dreaded iron, were being cocked right now.

  He had the upper hand, because while he knew where they were, the humans were completely unaware as to his whereabouts. Sam used the advantage, doing the unexpected. He darted over to the main wall again and followed it, knowing that at least this way he wouldn’t advertise his presence every time he went through one of the makeshift barriers. That had always been his plan, sadly interrupted.

  If he followed the wall around, he would eventually get to the cage which was his ultimate goal. But he had one detour to make first. It wasn’t part of his mission but he felt strangely compelled. His nose told him when he was close and he left the relative safety of the wall and moved into what was the food preparation area. The two chefs were still in attendance around the huge pot, but instead of being armed with ladles and spoons, they now had weapons in their hands. One — a young, nervous looking man with greasy looking hair — had a rifle. The other, — huge, pot-bellied, with a scruffy beard — clutched a huge meat cleaver in one meaty fist. Both had blood-stained aprons wrapped around their waists.

  Both sets of eyes bulged hugely when they caught sight of Sam moving swiftly in their direction. The big man only had time to let out a cry of warning before Sam was upon him. The man swung his meat cleaver but Sam ducked under it as easily as if it was wielded by a child, plunging his Wakizashi into the man’s chest. Without even looking, Sam thrust out with his Katana, slicing the blade straight through the neck of the other man, even as he brought his rifle up to fire.

  He could hear the younger man gurgling on his blade, struggling to free himself. He managed to fire his rifle but it was not even pointed in Sam’s direction and passed harmlessly off to one side. The bigger man was face-to-face with him. Sam could see the disbelief and horror on his face and was glad. He had a special bone to pick with these two, having watched them for the last few nights.

  What they had done was unspeakable. Evil. If Sam had given them the opportunity, they would’ve probably tried to justify it by saying that their hunger drove them to it. That only the strongest survived and it was their right as the dominant ones to determine the fate of those beneath them. Regardless of their argument, they were wrong. So very wrong. To prey upon other humans and not just prey upon them. To feed upon them. It was abhorrent. Just the thought of it made Sam want to be sick and he was so very happy to put an end to them.

  He smiled into the fat man’s face even as the glow of life faded from his eyes, then shoved the disgusting copse off his blade. At the same time, he withdrew his shorter blade from the younger man’s neck with a quick jerk of his hand. The man toppled to the ground clutching his neck, choking on his own life blood as it spurted out between his fingers.

  Every single human who was part of this group deserved to die for what they had done. They may not have been directly responsible for the killing, butchering and cooking like these two, but they were certainly guilty of partaking in the product of these labors. They would pay for their sins. Sam would make them pay. After all, wasn’t this the task that Gabriel had entrusted to him? To protect and save the innocents.

  A part of him wanted to watch the younger man die, but that was his anger talking. He couldn’t afford to get distracted now. He had a job to do. Focused now, he became aware of the confused shouts all around him. He sensed that the cannibalistic humans were all around him. They weren’t sure where he was exactly but they were narrowing it down. He didn’t have long.

  The camping stove upon which the two chefs had been cooking was still alight. Sam kicked the cauldron with its horrifying contents off the stove, careful to avoid being splashed. Moving quickly, he sheathed both swords, turned off the stove and disconnected it from the large gas cylinder standing nearby. He toppled the cylinder onto its side, closed his eyes for a moment to determine the proximity of most of the humans and then kicked the cylinder towards them. Just before the rolling cylinder disappeared from his sight beneath one of the makeshift sheets that was used as a room dividers, he grabbed the rifle lying on the ground, sighted it quickly and pulled the trigger.

  The outcome was predictable and impressive. A fireball erupted outwards as the tank exploded, immediately setting fire to the nearby sheet. Sam didn’t have to use his enhanced senses to know the consternation this caused. He could hear someone screaming and knew that every armed human was now making for the cause of the disruption. As distractions went, it was a simple but highly effective one.

  Confident that it would keep them busy for a few moments, he dropped the rifle and sprinted for the wall again, drawing his swords as he moved. Sam found the wall without trouble and moved along it rapidly. He hit the corner, emerged from behind another sheet and suddenly found himself face to face with the cage. The occupants failed to note his appearance, along with the two guards, as every single face was looking in the direction of the explosion.

  It was almost too easy. Sam concentrated and hurtled towards the guards, a deathly blur. Within moments, they were both lying at his feet, blood
pooling underneath them, dead before they even knew something was upon them. He darted towards the door, careful not to touch it directly, sensing the iron of which it was composed. A thick steel chain secured the door to one of the ribs of the cage. Sheathing the Wakizashi at his hip, he thrust his Katana through the loop, using it as a lever in an attempt to break the chain. He’d rehearsed this previously knowing what the cage was secured with, but had misjudged the thickness of the chain. This one was much thicker than the one he’d practiced with. A normal Katana would have snapped under the strain — but his was not a normal Katana. It was made of a dense iron from a meteorite and forged specifically for him, much stronger and heavier than a regular steel Katana. He used it as a pry bar.

  Almost unnoticed, the prisoners were edging backwards, away from the bars and Sam, unsure exactly what liberty their erstwhile rescuer was offering. Sam paid them no heed as he strained against the chain. He had other things to worry about. Behind him, he could tell that the fire caused by the exploding gas cylinder was spreading. That in itself was gratifying but now, he sensed a more determined mind, clearer than the others, less dominated by fear. Someone was taking command of the situation and without a doubt about to send some more guards to check on the prisoners. Sam had no more than a couple of minutes before he was discovered. At most.

  The chain creaked ominously but would not give. Sam leant on the Katana, using his considerable power and weight. Desperation lent him even more strength. Sweat poured from his brow as he became oblivious to everything else but the chain. Doubts surged through his mind. He hadn’t counted on the chain being this thick. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to break it. What then? He could hardly leave these poor souls to the terrible fate that awaited them. He felt his fears leak out, breaking the tight control of his mind, but for once he didn’t care. All he cared about was freeing these people.

  The chain creaked again and then without warning, broke apart. Links flew in every direction and Sam cried out in fierce pleasure. He yanked open the door with his free hand, heedless of the burning sensation as his hand made contact with the cold iron. Inside, the prisoners stood motionless. Every one of them had got to their feet. At first, Sam thought they were staring at him in dumbfounded shock but then he saw that the angle of their gazes was over his shoulder, behind him. It was only then that he realized his mistake. He’d been too busy concentrating on removing the chain, oblivious to the danger.

  Slowly he turned. Standing several feet away, safely out of sword reach, were about ten men, all armed with either rifles or shotguns. Currently, all ten weapons were leveled at Sam.

  Sam calculated the odds. He already had one sword out. In the time it would take him to cross the distance between them, he would have his other one ready. He calculated that he might be able to take out five or six of them before their overwhelming numbers made the end result inevitable. They would get him with their iron shells and even he wouldn’t be able to survive.

  Sam smiled grimly and prepared to do just that. He’d go down fighting and take as many of these bastards with him. As if sensing his resolve, the ten men in front of him tightened the fingers around the triggers of their guns. Sam sensed the movement and edged his hand ever so slightly towards his Wakizashi.

  And then everything changed.

  The wall directly over his left shoulder exploded in flames and rubble. Like everyone else in the room, Sam flinched. When he looked up, he found himself staring at something they wouldn’t have expected. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

  The eight foot dog, its impenetrable coat ablaze, its eyes molten fire — towered just a few feet from Sam.

  ‘It’s a Hellhound!’ hissed one of the prisoners, horrified. Some of the others started to mewl in terror.

  As if on cue, the great demon threw back its massive head and howled — a sound so dreadful that it chilled the blood and even sent an involuntary shiver of terror racing down Sam’s back. It shut its jaws with an audible click, the terrible sound thankfully fading. The Hellhound lowered its head once again and cast around as if looking for something. Or someone.

  Finally, it found who it was looking for.

  The black eyes of Sam and the red eyes of Yeth locked for a moment. For a moment, just a moment, Sam could’ve sworn that his Hellhound winked at him.

  Chapter Nine

  Respite

  “… and so that all will be condemned who have not believed the truth but have delighted in wickedness.”

  2 Thessalonians 2:12

  One of the men facing Sam stood slightly in front of the others; very tall, probably at least as tall as Sam but lean, almost emaciated. He had thick grey hair and a matching beard. Through it, Sam could see a crooked smile forming as the implications of the demons arrival sank in. Sam assumed he was the leader.

  “Lay down your weapons and we won’t give you to the beast,” said the leader in an authoritative voice that carried easily through the large space. It was the voice of a man accustomed to others doing as they were told. “Clearly, you are outmatched.” He gestured towards his followers and then to the flaming Hellhound.

  Sam cleared his throat. “I’d say you were outmatched. I suggest you lay down your weapons and I’ll kill you quickly. If you don’t…” Sam sighed theatrically, “… then things will go very badly for you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Who are you to warn us?” sneered the man.

  Sam met the man’s eye. “Yeah, you’re pretty tough when you have your guns and your demons to support you. Tough enough to capture starving teenagers and use them for your own ends. You will pay for what you’ve done here.”

  The leader’s eyes were bugging out, in complete disbelief that someone in Sam’s position would have the audacity to speak to him in this manner. With an effort, he composed himself and turned to the Hellhound.

  “Destroy him, mighty demon. Take him to Hell where he shall suffer for eternity for his crimes against our Master.” The man’s expression was that of someone in the midst of religious fervor, and the last few words came out in an excited falsetto.

  Yeth had not moved since his explosive entrance. He did so now, turning in Sam’s direction and taking a leisurely stride towards him. The captives hurriedly shrank back within their cage to avoid the intense heat and spits of fire that leapt from its coat. Sam turned to meet its advance. When the Hellhound was so close Sam could’ve reached out and stroked its fiery nose, it stopped. Again, they locked gazes for a moment, Sam having to stretch his neck upwards. It was a frozen tableau for the barest of moments. Neither Sam nor the great beast moved. The demon worshippers were collectively holding their breath, their pent up excitement about to explode. Those in the cage huddled in terror.

  The Hellhound turned towards those that followed and worshipped its kind. Then Yeth opened his mouth. A torrent of fire, hotter than a furnace, surged out, enough to instantly ignite and kill the three demon worshippers closest to it — including the leader. The others screamed in terror and pain; fire poured down upon them as the great head left and right. Some on the fringes managed to partly avoid the deathly fire, trying to run even as they battled their flaming clothes. By that point, it was too late. Sam was already amongst them, his swords darting in and out as he dispatched the remainder with ruthless efficiency.

  When it was over, the pitted and smoking concrete floor was covered with burning copses. Sam strode out of the flames, idly patting out his own burning clothes. He walked up to where the Hellhound waited and a rare genuine smile crossed his lips. “Thank you,” he said.

  Yeth merely dipped his mighty head slightly in acknowledgement.

  “I don’t know how you knew I was in trouble, but I think you just saved me.”

  It marked a new chapter in their relationship. He patted the side of the great demon, ignoring the flames. He was still surprised at how much Yeth had grown in the time they had known each other. He had been there at Yeth’s ‘birth’ after all — back when the Hellhound was still — for lac
k of a better word — a puppy. It had been three years since then, and in those three years, Yeth had never, never, arrived unannounced or uncalled for. “How did you know I was in trouble?”

  The rough, sibilant voice sounded in his head. Sensed it. Felt your need.

  Unconsciously, Sam had reached out to his familiar. A familiar was what magicians of old had once referred to the animals that served them. He didn’t know how else to categorize their relationship, but Sam knew one thing for sure. Since Yeth had come along, he certainly felt less lonely.

  Go now.

  “Sure. You go now. Again — thank you.” Sam stretched up and patted Yeth on the head, the great demon lowering his mighty skull obligingly so Sam could reach. Sam’s hand was completely unharmed by the demon’s flaming aura. Funny how he still spoke aloud to the demon, even when it was unnecessary. He could easily communicate the same way that Yeth communicated with him, but it somehow just felt better this way. More normal. Like he was speaking to another person.

  Sam was about to say more, when the sound of gunfire intruded. Sam hadn’t noticed before, but now that the warehouse was all but silent, the gunfire was horrendously loud. Sparks flew off Yeth’s hide, barely troubling the demon. Instinctively, he knew that the rounds being fired were iron. Experience had taught him that Hellhounds were almost immune to physical damage — even from iron. Sam would not be so lucky.

  Swiftly, he took shelter behind Yeth and peered cautiously around one of the Hellhound’s great forelegs. Above the level of his eyes, on the catwalk that Sam had used to gain entry to this place, stood a man. In his hands was a machinegun, spitting out round after round in the direction ogrin f Sam and the Hellhound. Clearly, they hadn’t accounted for all the demon worshippers.