Tribulation r-2

by Philip W Simpson

  He was about ten feet onto the bridge when he suddenly became aware of what was under him. The source of the odor was the water — the salt water that was Newark Bay, the body of water between him and Jersey City. It was water no longer. It was the color of blood — and not just that either. The smell finally registered. Corruption. It didn’t just look like blood — it was blood, blood that was in the process of putrefaction.

  Sam stopped running. Stopped moving completely. Probably stopped breathing for all he knew, and just stared in stunned silence. It was one of the worst things he had seen since the Rapture. What’s more, it was a terribly depressing and disappointing sight. He’d read about the ocean as a boy and had always looked forward to the experience, given that he’d been brought up in Utah. Even when he was in California, the opportunity to see the sea had never presented itself. Something had always come up. He’d built it up in his mind though as an experience to look forward to, something to savor. Those things were very rare for him these days.

  The disappointment was almost crushing. He should’ve expected it though. The book of Revelations had predicted that the sea, or at least a third of it, would turn to blood. Poison. He had dared to hope that the Bible might be wrong in this regard, but like everything else so far, it was like reading from a script. Everything the Bible said would happen, was happening. Why should this be any different?

  It completely ruined his entrance into New York. The earlier excitement he’d felt was gone. Despondent, he began to jog again. The road took him past Liberty State Park and it was here that he got his first good look at Manhattan. As he’d suspected, it was on fire, the flames clearly visible in the darkness — but only in very specific areas. To his eye, they almost looked deliberate. It didn’t make much sense either. Anything flammable should by rights have burnt by now. There couldn’t be much left other than brick, concrete and stone — luckily the exact same materials many buildings in New York were comprised of. Some buildings lights were on, too which could be construed in any number of ways. Sam didn’t like to hazard a guess as to what was going on in the city at this early stage.

  It didn’t help his mood much that the view was also marred by the outlook onto the Hudson River. It too, was blood red. The Statue of Liberty — another sight he’d been looking forward to — fared no better. Lit by the crimson moon which was only now making an appearance from behind a cloud, Sam could clearly see from his vantage point that it was scarred with scorch marks, filthy and battered. The uplifted arm carrying the torch had either broken off or been deliberately destroyed. Either way, the once proud lady painted a rather bleak picture.

  Sam tore his gaze away from the horrible view, desperately trying to find something positive to look upon. Across the Hudson River, he could just make out Brooklyn. No lights were visible but Sam could make out a large number of shapes clustered at the docks. Ships. Sam would have expected many of the residents of New York to have used the ships to escape the city after the Rapture. Clearly not. Maybe things in the city weren’t that bad? Maybe many of the residents had decided to stay?

  Overall, his first impression was that New York was depressingly similar to most other cities he’d encountered. Even Liberty Park was a burnt and blackened ruin. Hardly the welcome to New York he was hoping for.

  He trotted on, leaping cars and other wreckage, but the fun had gone out of it. He navigated the street by instinct, his mind on other things. The interstate took him through downtown Jersey City. His eyes and other senses told him that few if any humans were resident. Even demons were conspicuous by their absence. But they were out there alright — not just the Devil’s Hand either. Plenty of demons in fact. Just because he couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  It wasn’t until he was at the entrance to the Holland tunnel that he realized where they were. Concealed in the darkness, hidden under tons of rock and bloody water. Lemure. In their thousands.

  Sam paused and considered. It wasn’t the only way into New York but it was probably the one where he would be less exposed. He also needed to investigate the tunnel thoroughly for Colonel Wheat’s benefit. They were only Lemure after all. Stupid creatures. The lowest, weakest demon of all. But in great numbers, they still posed a threat to him — if he was cornered, for instance. And what better way to corner him than in a tunnel?

  He sighed, resigned to a course of action. If it didn’t work out, he could always backtrack. Cautiously, wrapping his concealment glamor around himself more tightly than he’d ever done before, he entered the tunnel. He could sense that the Lemure weren’t at the entrance — they were further in, concealed within the darkened recesses of the tunnel, interspersed amongst the jumble of cars.

  He stuck to the sides, moving without sound, edging his way deeper into the tunnel. He was about a hundred feet in when he saw his first Lemure. He froze, watching the creature carefully, waiting for any indication that he’d been spotted. He saw no such indication. In fact, the Lemure didn’t move at all, appearing as frozen as he was, its blood red eyes staring at nothing. In the darkness, he gradually became aware of how many there were, increasing in numbers further in. He’d been right. There were potentially thousands of them in the tunnel. They all looked like they were in the same state as the first one, locked in some sort of upright coma.

  This just might be easier than he first suspected. He moved on, hugging the tunnel wall, keeping his distance from the creatures. Even though they appeared to be in some sort of stasis, it probably wouldn’t do to disturb them. If he disturbed one, he disturbed them all. Then it would get hairy.

  He knew from studying his map that the tunnel was over two and a half miles long — perhaps the longest two and a half miles he would ever have to walk. He’d got lucky though. The fact that the creatures were in this state was definitely a bonus. If they had been fully awake, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to get past all of them. He crept on and had traveled maybe a third of that distance when his luck began to change for the worse.

  The Lemures were clustered thickly now, taking up almost every free space that wasn’t already occupied by a wrecked car, making it almost impossible for him to slip through without touching one. Somehow, he still managed it, using his agility to move up the walls for a few seconds at a time when he had to. It got him through some tricky patches.

  And then he slipped up. It was something he didn’t do very often. His body was so well honed, so well trained and disciplined that it rarely let him down, always obeying and carrying out every command with precision. Not this time, however.

  He’d had to glide up the wall to avoid a tightly packed bunch of Lemure blocking the way. When he came down, the handle of his sword brushed against one. Nothing happened for a moment and then the creature’s fixed stare suddenly focused on him. Sam could sense awareness erupting in what it considered a brain. His Wakizashi through its eye soon stopped all that, and it disappeared in a cloud of ash. Yet even though these events had only taken the blinking of an eye, literally, and he’d made absolutely no sound, other Lemure in the vicinity seemed to stir. Sam froze again, not daring to breathe. Perhaps he’d get away with it?

  Several Lemure nearby displayed signs of rousing themselves. Forcing himself not to voice his despair, Sam decided on a course of action. He’d go back the way he’d come. If he went any further, he ran the risk of awakening every single one of the Lemure in the tunnel. He didn’t fancy those odds.

  He turned back the way he’d come and then froze once more when he saw what was emerging out of the darkness. The Devil’s Hand. Moving with ethereal grace, they approached in a line, avoiding the cars almost as easily as he did. As for the Lemure — the Devil’s Hand didn’t seem to care about their presence, shoving them out of the way, barging past them. The Lemure gave no indication that they were concerned with this treatment, simply waking for a moment, identifying that these other demons posed no threat and then retreating back into their self-imposed coma.

  The ne
arby Lemure were becoming aware of him now. They turned towards him, snarling. Sam felt the gazes of the Devil’s Hand snap in his direction. The jig was up. They knew he was in here. Tossing caution out the window in favor of speed, he took off, both swords out now, prepared to cut down anything that got in his way.

  That turned out to be quite a lot of demons.

  He raced through them, somersaulting and avoiding them where possible, slashing through them and dissolving them into dust when necessary. And it was becoming increasingly necessary.

  The Devil’s Hand must have raised the warning. Every single Lemure were now awake and aware, luckily moving with some lethargy. With such great numbers, it hardly mattered. Sam was boxed in, forced onto the roofs and hoods of cars — places that he’d avoided earlier in an attempt to avoid any noise. Noise was the least of his problems now.

  The screams of the Lemure were deafening inside the confines of the tunnel, amplified, reverberating and echoing around Sam, adding to the general confusion. Lemure leapt at him, scrabbling at his legs, tearing at his jeans and leaving bloody scratches where they connected with bare flesh. He ignored them and raced on. Ahead of him, some of the Lemure wised up, jumping on top of the cars in an effort to intercept him, forming an impenetrable mass.

  He dived into them, both swords extended, plunging through and leaving a jet-stream of ash in his wake. Somehow, he landed on his feet. Claws struck him, this time all over his body, the sheer volume of the attacks beyond even his capabilities to deflect. He slowed time but it didn’t seem to help much. The Lemure were just too tightly packed. Behind him, the Devil’s Hand, moving in slow motion, were unimpeded, closing the distance regardless.

  Despite Sam’s training and self-control, he began to panic. There just didn’t seem to be any way out of this. Everywhere he looked there were Lemure, blocking his movements at every turn. For every one he destroyed, five moved to replace it.

  His ability to focus as Hikari had trained him ran out. Time resumed its normal pace, and the Lemure and Devil’s Hand appearing to speed up before his eyes. Wounds appeared on his body faster than he could heal. A clawed hand almost took off his head, leaving bloody claw tracks across his face. Blood dripped into his eyes, partially obscuring his vision. He was beginning to lose hope. And then he saw something through his blood blurred vision. Far down the end of the tunnel. A burnished glow.

  At first, Sam thought the tunnel was on fire but then he realized it was moving. He blocked a dozen demon arms, severing them and reducing their owners to embers before wiping the blood out of his eyes. A fire that moved? That didn’t sound right. And then he sensed what it was and relief washed over him.

  Yeth. Unbidden, his Hellhound was riding to his rescue.

  Sam renewed his efforts, trying to force his way through the mass of demon bodies. Yeth got closer, the carnage he was inflicting forcing the Lemure to turn towards the new threat. Sam sensed their panic and confusion. Another demon attacking them? Not only that, a greater Hellhound — a demon feared by almost all others.

  The distraction suddenly gave him openings. He struck out with both swords, using his whirlwind attack, opening up a clear space on top of the car. Yeth ploughed on and even Sam paused to witness the sheer majesty of a Hellhound in full attack mode.

  Yeth probably weighed as much as a rhinoceros; perhaps as much as four thousand pounds. Not only that, but his armored scales deflected even the most determined attack. Yeth’s flaming hide ignited any part of a Lemure foolish enough to get in his way. Those that didn’t were simply trampled. As he charged, Yeth discharged an almost continuous stream of fire, withering many more Lemure that were now fleeing before him. Even cars were not immune to the power of a Hellhound, burnt and blasted out of his path. It was a full rout; the Lemure streamed past Sam, now oblivious to him in their haste. He almost felt sorry for them.

  Sam turned but the Devil’s Hand were nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t even sense them amongst all the confusion. They must have retreated in order to avoid the panicked stampede.

  The distance between them now clear of obstacles, Yeth hurtled towards him. The great demon skidded to a halt a few feet from Sam, shaking the ground, his obsidian claws generating sparks where they dug into the road.

  Sam smiled. It was quite an entrance. Not for the first time did he thank his good fortune for Yeth. Reluctantly, he also silently thanked Samyaza. If it hadn’t been for the Watcher — without his knowledge and the statuette — he and Yeth would never have met. He did owe the Watcher. The great demon was a gift. His Hellhound always had his back, and without him, all would have been lost long ago.

  At Sam’s unspoken command, Yeth extinguished his fire. Sam was immune to the Hellhound’s fire, but his clothes and backpack certainly weren’t, and there were precious items in his backpack that he couldn’t afford to lose. He also didn’t want to arrive in New York naked.

  The injuries and the sudden darkness caused his head to spin, momentarily disorientating him. Shakily, painfully, leaking blood, Sam dragged himself onto Yeth’s back, only now becoming aware of the extent of his injuries. There were many, some of them quite deep. He would need several hours — if not days — to recover.

  He’d just settled himself onto Yeth when the Devil’s Hand suddenly reemerged, impinging on his awareness. In the confusion, Sam had missed one of them. Even Yeth had overlooked it. Concealed by the fleeing Lemure, the Cambion had snuck up on Sam from behind. As Yeth turned towards the city, intent on carrying his master out of the tunnel, the Cambion darted out from behind the concealment of a car and leapt, his blade before him like a spear.

  At the very last moment, Sam reacted. But he was still a fraction too late.

  It was one of the male demons. One of the ones he hadn’t killed before. Thankfully. If it had been one of the demons he’d already killed, he wouldn’t have survived. As it was, the Cambion’s Hell-wrought blade pierced his side even as Sam’s sword darted out like a snake and plunged through the demon’s chest, killing it. It disappeared, but the damage had already been done. Sam clutched his side with one hand and it came away smeared in thick arterial blood. This wasn’t good.

  Grunting, he managed to sheathe his sword, using this free hand to hold on to Yeth’s neck. Without it, he would’ve fallen. The rest of the Devil’s Hand materialized out of the darkness. Yeth didn’t need to be told, leaping away and soon out-distancing the remaining four members of the Devil’s Hand. Sam clung on for dear life. If he fell, the Cambions would have him.

  As Yeth loped away from danger, Sam could feel his life leaking out of him. The Cambion’s cursed sword wound would not heal easily, perhaps not in time to save him. Already his other cuts were reopening, the Hell sword having reduced his body’s abilities to heal itself. He felt weak. Dizzy. The ceiling and sides of the tunnel spun sickeningly. Several times he almost toppled from Yeth’s back. Somehow, he managed to stay upright, clinging onto Yeth’s neck with both arms, heedless of the blood pouring from his wounded side.

  In the distance, an oval patch of lighter grey gradually revealed itself. They were nearing the tunnel exit. Thankfully, Yeth had destroyed or scared off any remaining Lemure. They were alone in the tunnel.

  As they emerged from the tunnel, that all changed. Several armed figures stepped out of the shadows. One of them stepped forward, wearing both a helmet and a mask to ward off ash. Sam, defenseless as a newborn baby, made no move to resist as the figure helped him off Yeth’s back, easing him onto the ground. He took it as a positive sign that this person must not be in league with demons. They would’ve killed him outright by now if they were.

  In some confusion, barely able to focus, Sam noticed that Yeth had turned and was reentering the tunnel. He turned his head on its side to track his Hellhound’s progress.

  “Yeth. Stop. Don’t go. I need you.” He forced the words out, gritting his teeth against the pain, desperately trying to remain conscious. “Take me to Hell. I’ll heal quicker there.” There was something
n his mouth, making speech difficult. It was only then that he realized it was blood.

  Yeth turned his great head, his eyes glowing in the darkness. No good. Devil’s Hand will follow. I will stop. Give you time.

  Sam tried to sit upright. “No!” he managed to blurt. “They’ll kill you.”

  Yeth ignored him, loping off into the inky darkness of the tunnel.

  “Come back,” he yelled. “I command you!”

  His weak voice was suddenly drowned out by automatic gunfire. All around him, the other figures returned fire, the noise deafening around the tunnel entrance. Shell impacts sparked and ricocheted all around him but Sam was beyond caring.

  The effort was too much. He sank back down to the ground. By the time his head had hit the ground, he was already unconscious.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Lower East Side

  “… and in every sort of evil that deceives those who are perishing. They perish because they refused to love the truth and so be saved.”

  2 Thessalonians 2:10

  Sam woke with a start in an unfamiliar setting. He was lying on a dirty mattress in a darkened room, empty save for himself and some storage shelves filled with unrecognizable objects. He was naked from the waist up. His swords and pack were nowhere to be seen — in itself a disturbing sign. Outside, it was daylight. The single window in the room, covered by an old sheet, allowed only the most diffuse light through. A solid wooden door marked the only other exit from the room.

  He didn’t bother to try and sit up. Experience had taught him that that was a bad idea after a bad injury. But then he remembered what had happened and sat up anyway.

  Yeth. Where was his Hellhound?