The motion caused a wave of nausea to crash over him. He sank back down, both hands covering his eyes. Without doubt, the wounds he had sustained were bad. He must have lost a lot of blood too. He could feel the injuries knitting together though. Ever so slowly. His side where the Cambion had stabbed him was heavily bandaged. Even so, there was a dark stain of blood on it. It must be bad if he was still bleeding. Some of his other injuries were bandaged up as well. Basically, he was a mess, but he didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself. He desperately wanted to see Yeth or at the very least, find out if he was ok.
Sam’s head was pounding, making it all but impossible to use his demonic senses. He had no idea where he was or who was around. For all he knew, there were a few thousand demons directly outside the door.
He was about to force himself to his feet when the door opened. A fatigue-clad figure entered. Vaguely, Sam realized this figure was female. He didn’t bother moving. It she wanted him dead, he would’ve been by now. So exhausted and befuddled he was that it wasn’t until she sank down on the mattress did he realize who it was. He tried to sit up but gave up in exhaustion.
A genuine smile flickered across Grace’s face. It lasted for a moment and then it was gone. “How do you feel, Sam?” she asked. The dimness in the room somehow contrived to highlight the scars on her face, a constant reminder of his failure.
“Weak,” he said, the words barely audible.
“Not surprising. It was touch and go there for a moment. Thought you weren’t going to make it.”
Sam thought he could detect some feeling there but it was hard to tell with Grace these days. It was just nice to have a polite conversation with her for a change.
“Where’s Yeth? Where’s my Hellhound?” he managed to croak.
Grace shook her head. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “All I know is that it went back in the tunnel. I think I heard sounds of fighting but it was hard to tell over the gunfire.”
So Grace referred to his Hellhound as an it, refusing to acknowledge him with a personal pronoun, refusing to recognize his relationship with Sam and how much the creature meant to him. Despite having been around Yeth quite a few times, she’d never even spoken to his Hellhound. Understandably, she had a great deal of mistrust and hatred centered around demons. Just because Yeth was his indentured servant didn’t make him any more trustworthy in her eyes.
“What happened?” he asked in a whisper. Speaking any louder just seemed to aggravate the wound in his side.
“You want me to go back to the beginning?” she asked. He nodded. “Not much to tell, really,” she said, shrugging. “I volunteered to go with one of the demo squads. Got here yesterday. Not what we expected.” She saw the question in his face and obviously chose to misinterpret it.
“This looks like an old Police Museum, somewhere in the lower East side, although I’m not sure whether I’m meant to know that or not. It’s hard not to know, what with all the display cases and signage everywhere. We’re not far from the tunnel where we dragged you. It’s basically the headquarters of the resistance. Luckily, we found them — or they found us — first. It’s a decent base of operations. Solid. Made of stone. There’s access to the sewers underneath here. That’s how we got you in. They’ve managed to keep their location a secret so far.”
“So, how did you…’
“Find you?” she finished for him. “Your creature summoned me. Let me know through some creepy mind pictures where you were and that you were in trouble. It wasn’t hard — we just followed the sound of screaming. Of course, that drew attention to us. Our new allies weren’t very happy about that for several reasons. The only reason they’re still alive for the most part is because they’ve been keeping under the radar. What you did last night wasn’t very discreet. Not only that, but let’s just say there’s a bit of suspicion centered on you. They might not know what you are, but they certainly knew what your pet was. You might want to keep your hood on when they come to question you.”
“My swords. My pack?”
“Are safe,” she said. “Don’t worry. You’ve got bigger fish to fry.” She cut to the chase. “I’d ask you if you wanted the good news but there isn’t any. Only bad. Nothing unusual there. The thing is, we were too late. A few days too late. We missed our chance, Sam.”
She paused, for the first time in a long time conscious of what shock could do to Sam in his weakened condition. “The Antichrist is already here. The invasion fleet too. It’s all over, Sam. New York is already lost.”
Sam didn’t move or say anything for a moment. How was this possible? There was no way the Anti-Christ could already be here. Unless… unless their Intel had been compromised. Or someone had been compromised. That person had to be Adam but Sam didn’t believe it for a moment. There was no way Adam would betray them. Or would he? Sam doubted it but he’d been wrong before. That, however, wasn’t the issue now. The issue now was making sure land and sea based defense forces didn’t run straight into a trap. They’d have to be warned.
“We need to get word to them, to the others,” he said, trying to sit up.
Grace held up a hand to silence him. “I know. I know. Not that we could spare them, but we’ve sent two of our team to do just that. Got them out through the sewers. No easy task.”
Sam nodded, subsiding down onto the mattress. He still had a lot of questions but didn’t have the strength. It was taxing just talking.
As if realizing this, Grace stood. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back in a few hours. Make sure you get some rest. You’ll need it for the interrogation.”
True to her word, Grace was back in a few hours. She wasn’t alone. She was accompanied by a small man who immediately reminded Sam of his master, Hikari. Not that the newcomer was Japanese, it was just that he seemed to radiate the same reassuring aura of calm. Sam tried to sit up again and even though his strength was gradually returning, he was still too weak. Since Grace had left, he’d had no other visitor and was eager for answers. Apparently, so was the Resistance.
The man carried two chairs. He set them down next to Sam’s mattress as Grace introduced her companion. His name was Tony. He was the leader of the Resistance in New York and Sam could see immediately why. It wasn’t just the calmness. He had a certain quality about him that spoke of leadership, that commanded instant obedience. Oddly, he was still dressed in a suit that looked like it was very expensive. Once. The quality material and exquisite cut was now marred by rips, tears and burn marks. Tony himself didn’t look exceptional in any way. His dark hair was trimmed short and his features were unremarkably if a trifle overweight but Sam sensed the determination and cold calculation in his mind. Tony was not to be messed with.
He bent down and pulled Sam’s hood down off his head before he had a chance to react, revealing the dark horns.
“You are a demon,” said Tony, without preamble in a strong New York accent. Clearly Tony was a local. His voice and face were expressionless.
Sam was momentarily lost for words. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Only half,” he managed. “How did you know?”
“I told him,” said Grace.
Sam felt her deceit like a hammer blow to the stomach. Yet another one. Was he so damned that he deserved to be treated like this? He glared at her and she dropped her gaze, refusing to meet the accusation in his eyes, for once embarrassed by her actions.
“Don’t blame her,” said Tony, straightening up. There was steel in his voice. He wasn’t asking. “I guessed. Her reaction and those horns just confirmed my suspicions. I saw them when they first brought you in, unconscious. She didn’t really have any choice but to tell me.” He paused, considering his words carefully. “Tell me everything you know. Leave nothing out and don’t lie. That is your one and only warning.”
Sam also had no choice. Squashing the anger he felt towards Grace, he began telling Tony about his origins and a brief summary of the events that had led him to New York. Tony interrupted frequently, checking to see if he’d h
eard correctly, asking for more details when the story became too unbelievable or confusing.
When Sam had finished, Tony sat back in his chair and breathed out slowly. “Just so I’ve got this straight. Your mother was human but your father is Satan. You’ve been charged by Gabriel to save as many innocent humans as you can. You were meant to be the Antichrist but refused the offer. You’re here now as an advance scout for the US forces that are on their way here. Sound about right?”
Sam nodded mutely.
“And that giant Hell beast is your pet, right?”
Sam nodded again.
“Thing is, how do I trust you? Half my family went up in the Rapture. I saw the other half get dragged down into Hell by creatures like your little doggy. Creatures that you seem related to. How do you expect me to react here? My men tell me you were fighting demons but how do I know? No-one saw it for themselves. Grace here vouches for you but what does that mean to me? I’ve only just met her too.”
Tony ran the fingers of one hand over his smoothly shaved jaw, considering. “I admit that this isn’t an easy decision. You’ve got to realize that I have the lives of hundreds of others to consider here. Their safety. Under the circumstances, I can’t allow you to leave. You could potentially compromise everything we have worked hard to achieve. I also can’t allow you your freedom.”
Sam listened, aghast. He could understand that Tony might have reservations about him, but this could ruin everything. “You don’t understand,” pleaded Sam. “The Antichrist is here. I’m the only one who can defeat him.”
Tony smiled without humor. “We’ll see about that, boy. In the meantime, you are confined here, under guard. I don’t want you leaving this room. Things may change — may — if and when your allies get here, but until that time, I’ll not revisit my decision.” He nodded once at Sam who was spluttering on the mattress, trying to rise, and stood.
“There is a guard outside this door,” he said. “Don’t try to leave. They have orders to shoot and trust me when I say that their guns are loaded with iron.” He gestured at Grace. She stood too, gave Sam a look that he couldn’t decipher and allowed herself to be led out of the room.
The door shut behind them with the sound of finality. Sam heard a bolt sliding across. He was effectively a prisoner. A prisoner of the Resistance. The very people he was trying to save.
Chapter Twenty-two
Confinement
“ He will oppose and will exalt himself over everything that is called God or is worshiped, so that he sets himself up in God's temple, proclaiming himself to be God.”
2 Thessalonians 2:4
It took Sam almost three days to completely regain his strength. This in itself was extraordinary, testimony to how close to death he had been. The scars, especially the raised one from the Cambion’s Hell blade, were a constant reminder of how many injuries he’d suffered. He had quite a collection now. He had one on his chest and a very impressive one on his left leg where his brother had cut him. That had been a bad injury — almost taking off the leg completely. He’d only lived because his father had saved him. Ironic that. Had saved him only to try and kill him again with the Devil’s Hand. His father continued to move in mysterious ways.
When he started feeling better, he investigated the room. The covered window was tiny. All he could see was the building across the street. He left it covered during the day but removed the sheet at night. In addition, iron bars secured it from demon attack from outside, keeping him in just as effectively. The door was as solid as he’d assumed. He tried to use his telekinesis to open it but it was padlocked securely.
He sensed a great many human minds in the building, most of them coming and going beneath him. They seemed to be active during the day and the night. Sam assumed they had shifts.
Small portions of food and drink had been brought for him by a young scrawny male, probably around fifteen years of age. Every time was the same. Sam would hear the padlock opened, bolts being drawn on the outside. The door would open just enough to allow the boy to enter and deposit the tray on the ground. Outside the door, Sam caught of the armed guard that he sensed standing there. The guard was taking his job seriously, his mind radiating alertness and caution.
Sam tried to engage the boy in conversation but he was completely ignored. The boy didn’t dally in any case. As soon as the tray was on the ground, he was back out the door, seemingly reluctant to spend any more time than he had to in the room. Sam sensed fear in his mind. His demonic nature was probably common knowledge by now. Certainly the boy knew what he was.
They were the only two people Sam saw. Tony didn’t return. Even Grace didn’t bother to visit him. He told himself he didn’t care, especially after she’d revealed his true nature to Tony.
The food itself was, understandably, extremely simple. There wasn’t much of it either but it did include a little fresh fruit and vegetables. There was even fresh-tasting water. Like the survivors Sam had encountered on his way to New York, it looked like this lot were using hydroponics and had access to a fresh water supply. The food actually cheered Sam up a little, knowing that people were somehow eking out a living even in this huge city. He ate it all too, even though he wasn’t hungry or thirsty, believing that the sustenance may help his body heal. This in itself was an erroneous belief and he knew it. The only sustenance he really needed was the light of the blood moon that seeped in through the window at night.
He began to train again, running through his unarmed forms, doing press-ups and other calisthenics. Sometimes, he’d imagine he still had his swords. He cut down imaginary enemies by the thousands. Their absence pained him. It was like losing parts of his body.
On the third night since he’d been incarcerated, everything changed. Sam sensed something happening outside the door — a mind he’d not encountered before. There was a brief struggle and a muffled but tell-tale sound of a body being gently lowered to the floor. The padlock rattled slightly and then the bolt was drawn quietly across.
Sam moved behind the door as it silently slid open. A figure entered. Without waiting to see what they would do, Sam grabbed whoever it was and thrust them up against the wall. He held the person there by the neck, their legs dangling in the air. It turned out it was a he.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Sam hissed.
The man’s eyes bugged out. He pointed at his throat and made choking noises. Sam got the hint, letting the man down but keeping one hand around his collar.
The man took a breath and tried to rub his throat. He looked up at Sam nervously. Sam had never seen him before in his life. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. Scruffy blond hair and a tattered jacket that had once been brightly colored gave Sam the impression that this guy had once belonged on the Californian surf beaches and not in New York.
“I’m here to get you out,” he finally blurted out, breathing heavily. “My name’s Travis.”
“Who sent you?”
“Someone who wants to help you. What’s with all the questions, dude? Do you want to get out or don’t you?”
Sam grudgingly took his hand off Travis’s collar. “I want to get out.”
“Right then,” said Travis, starting to sound more confident. He adjusted his collar. “Follow me. Keep quiet.”
“I need my swords and my pack.”
Travis shook his head. “No, you don’t. Not where you’re going. Besides, I wouldn’t have a clue where they are.”
Sam gritted his teeth in frustration. He’d have to get them later, even though he felt uneasy without them. The last few days had been horrible but he comforted himself with the knowledge that they were somewhere nearby. Now he was actually leaving them behind but he couldn’t exactly search this whole building for them. Right now, the important thing was to get out — to make sure that Adam and Colonel Wheat had received the warning. Other considerations — even his swords — were secondary.
Travis led him out of the room, past the guard slumped on the ground. Th
e guard was still breathing, for which Sam was thankful. As a member of the resistance, the man obviously wasn’t in league with the demons and didn’t deserve to die for Sam’s freedom.
He followed Travis on silent feet. He had to hand it to the man — he moved surprisingly well, making almost as little sound as Sam himself. Cautiously they moved through two large rooms. Both of these rooms were filled with glass display cases containing police memorabilia, weapons and evidence from old and probably famous cases. Sam didn’t pay them much attention. Outside the second room, they discovered an emergency exit.
“No-one really uses this,” whispered Travis. “They lead almost straight to an access hatch which will take us to the sewers. They’re not guarded either because they lock from the outside. Once in, you can’t get out. The doors are fire proof — very thick.”
Sam nodded. He still didn’t know why Travis was helping him but he seemed well informed. Travis didn’t seem much of a threat either. Once out of here, Sam could easily overwhelm him.
They entered the emergency exit, closing the door silently behind them. Inside, it was pitch black. Sam was fine — he could still see well enough to negotiate the stairs — but Travis was a different story. Only human, Travis needed artificial illumination.
“Shield your eyes,” said Travis. There was a spark and then a flame as Travis used a lighter to ignite a candle he had produced from his pocket. Holding the candle before him, Travis led the way down the stairs. They descended maybe four flights. Either the building wasn’t very tall or Sam had been held on a lower floor.
They found themselves in a small sub-basement. Two exits led out of the room. One was marked ‘Maintenance’. It was this door that Travis opened with a key. Inside, the room was filled with shelves, all stacked high with what appeared to be cleaning supplies, mops, and plastic containers filled with chemicals. Without a word, Travis led Sam over to a corner, partially blocked and concealed by another shelving rack. Set into the floor of this unobtrusive corner was a large circular metal plate — easily big enough for a man to squeeze through. Sam knew immediately that it was made of iron. Grunting, Travis tried to lift it.
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