He was dressed for battle.
* * *
Cameron thought he might find Melissa in the makeshift graveyard. He doubted that she could sleep any more than he could.
He’d honestly tried to settle down, but just the thought of those things out there… Images of the walking nightmares he had slain in his time as a Nephilim raced through his mind and kept him from being able to close his eyes.
Melissa left where their friends had been buried to approach him.
“What are you doing like that?” she asked. “Something going on?”
“I’m going out,” he told her.
“Against Vilma’s wishes?” Melissa asked. “Are you crazy? She’s going to be royally pissed.”
“I don’t care,” he said. “Besides, she’s so wrapped up with Aaron that I’ll be back before she even knows that I’ve gone.”
“What if I tell her?”
“I guess that answers my question.” He avoided her eyes.
“What question?” Melissa asked.
“If you’re going with me or not.”
“Look,” the girl said. “I understand where you’re coming from, I really do, but there has to be some chain of command. We can’t just fly off to do battle whenever we feel like it.”
“Why not? It’s what we were created to do.”
Melissa folded her arms. “I just don’t think it’s very smart. We should wait until Aaron wakes up, and then—”
“And how many people will die during that time?” Cameron interrupted.
“Don’t pull that on me,” Melissa warned.
“I’m not pulling anything on you,” he said. “It’s a serious question, one I’ve been wrestling with since Vilma told us to stand down.”
“You know why she asked us to stop,” Melissa said. “We can’t keep going the way we’re going. We’re going to get tired. Sloppy. Make mistakes. Then how many people will die because of us?”
Cameron shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the girl’s point. “I’m not going to make mistakes,” he told her. “Not when lives are at stake.”
“Like you have control over that?”
“I’m going.” Cameron spread his wings, preparing to wrap himself in their embrace.
“Cameron, please,” Melissa begged.
“Will you cover for me?” he asked as his wings closed around him and he remembered the last place from the news broadcast.
Where he was needed.
Melissa didn’t answer, but he saw a look in her eyes as he closed his wings, a look that said that she wished she were brave enough to disobey and join him in battle.
* * *
Walking home from the market, Jeremy glanced down the narrow, sloping side streets that would take him to the main street, which ran through the village of Southwold, on the edge of the vast, churning gray ocean.
He remembered when he and his mother had vacationed here, how important those times had been in his childhood. Other than those times, there had been mostly misery. Tempted to walk down to the shore, Jeremy reminded himself that there was a hungry mouth, other than his mother’s, waiting for his return.
The baby formula was ridiculously expensive, and he had seriously considered slipping a can or two beneath his shirt on his way out the door, but had thought better of it. Best to keep a low profile, and being nicked by the local constabulary didn’t quite fit into those plans.
Using what little his mother had had in a savings account, they had traveled to Southwold. It was the off-season, so they’d managed to get a decent enough cottage for a reasonable monthly price. The vacation cottage wasn’t too far from the one that his mother had rented for them long ago.
Holding the bag of groceries in one hand, Jeremy fished the key from his pocket, and was just about to slip it inside the lock, when the door opened. His mother held the crying infant, whom she insisted on calling Roger.
“It’s about time,” she said, bouncing the squealing red-faced child on her hip.
“I went as quick as I could,” Jeremy said, shutting the door behind him with a flip of his leg.
“The poor thing is starving,” his mother said, kissing the top of the wailing child’s head.
“How many times a day does the bugger eat, anyway?” he asked, emptying the contents of the paper sack onto the tiny kitchen table.
“He’s a growing boy,” his mother said, and the child grew louder.
“But it doesn’t seem right. He’s always squealing to be fed.” Jeremy turned from the fridge, and his mother suddenly thrust the screeching creature into his arms.
“Take him while I mix his formula.”
Jeremy had no choice but to accept the rather unpleasant gift. It was either that or let the infant drop to the floor, which would have just led to even more noise.
“Bounce him on your hip like I did,” his mother said as she went about making the child’s meal.
Jeremy tried to do as his mother suggested, not wanting to hurt the shrieking blighter.
“And walk around,” she added. “He likes it when you walk around.”
Jeremy bounced the crying babe, and walked into the sitting room, where the television was on BBC One. A news program reported on the state of the world.
And it was nothing pleasant.
He moved from foot to foot as the reporters discussed the increasing darkness and the strange new life-forms that were appearing across the planet.
Jeremy felt bad for the newsreaders. They were doing everything in their power not to call these emerging life-forms what they actually were.
Monsters. The world is overrun with monsters.
Jeremy again had to wrestle with the fact that he was here, with his mother and the mysterious Baby Roger, and not with his fellow Nephilim in the States. His mother swore that this was where he was supposed to be. And for some strange reason Jeremy believed her.
It was then that Jeremy noticed Roger had ceased his squalling. He was about to note that his mother had been right about the bouncing and walking too, when he noticed that the child’s huge, unblinking eyes were staring at the telly.
As if listening to every word.
CHAPTER FOUR
Most of the time, Mallus did not miss the ability to fly.
Throughout the millennia he’d lived in the world of man, he’d found that humanity was constantly improving how they traveled from here to there. Horseback became horse-drawn cart and carriages; sailing ships evolved into steamships, locomotives, then automobiles, and finally taking to the sky with airplanes.
He was always fascinated by what these humans came up with, though at one time, he could have wrapped himself in his wings and been anywhere in the world in a matter of seconds.
The twin scars upon his shoulder blades grew warm and began to itch. Today of all days Mallus wondered what it was that made him think of his feathery appendages. Could it have been the escalating crowds in the New York subway station? The squeeze of impatient bodies on the platform as they waited for a delayed train?
Or was it the changes that he felt in the world around him? Changes he had feared for a very long time. Changes that he tried to ignore, which yipped at him like dogs desperate for attention.
Mallus leaned against the wall at the far end of the subway station, rubbing his back across the tiles in an attempt to alleviate his discomfort. The scars had not bothered him for centuries, and he found it disconcerting that they would act up now.
More of the city’s occupants poured down into the crowded station. From where he stood, Mallus could see umbrellas and coats dripping with moisture. It must have started raining, which explained the volume in the station, but not why it had been so long since a train had run through.
All he could do was wait, surrounded by the creatures he had grown to love, even at their most foul.
“Where’s the damn train?” a large man dressed in a black suit and sporting a thick white beard grumbled under his breath. “The whole damn world is going to H
ell.”
Mallus didn’t have the heart to tell the man he was right.
The signs were there for anyone with the knowledge to read them. They had been for quite some time. And during the last month these signs had become blatantly obvious. A part of Mallus wished that he was as painfully oblivious as humanity.
He wished he didn’t know what the Architects were planning.
The crowd in the subway station grew so that there wasn’t any more space on the platform, but Mallus didn’t mind. He allowed their emotions to wash over him, anger, impatience, and annoyance. He breathed in the aroma of their human funk.
For he would miss it when they were gone.
* * *
The last report Cameron had heard before Vilma had shut off the television had been about a disturbance in the New York City subway system.
It was in an area he knew well from when he’d lived in the city. The picture of the tunnel formed inside his head, growing more and more detailed—more and more specific as his angelic ability zeroed in on where he wanted—needed—to be.
The damp stink of the underground passage, along with something else that he couldn’t quite identify, assailed his sense of smell as his wings unfolded deep within the subway tunnel. He was immediately at the ready, a sword of fire igniting in his hand as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.
Cameron used the burning blade as a torch, lighting the pockets of shadow in his search for a possible threat. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he started down the tracks, eyes darting here and there, searching for a sign of what had brought him there.
Around the bend he found a darkened train.
Part of him—his angelic nature—wanted to leap into action, sword flashing. But his calmer, human side wanted to be sure that such a reaction was necessary. He was certain that this wasn’t the first set of subway cars to ever lose power, and they were probably waiting either to be pushed into the next station or for some minor repairs to get them moving again.
He moved closer to the back of the last car, trying to see inside the vehicle, but he could only make out the shapes of heads and bodies of people in the dimness of the emergency lighting. Tempted to go on ahead of the stranded car, to check out the tunnel in front or ahead in the next station, Cameron remembered Aaron words during training with his fellow Nephilim.
“Be thorough,” their leader had said. “Because evil has the nasty habit of sneaking up and biting you in the ass.”
Cameron actually turned around then, to be sure that nothing was following him. The tunnel appeared clear, and he again directed his attention to the train in front of him.
Wanting to be thorough, the Nephilim wished away his sword and hauled himself up onto the car. Then he pushed open the rear emergency door.
He thought about what he might say to the passengers, maybe that he worked for the MTA and that they were fixing the problem. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all.
Cameron stepped into the car and immediately felt the disturbing sensation of webbing brush across his face. His hand shot up, wiping at what he figured were stray strands of spiderweb, but his entire hand became enmeshed in a curtain of webbing.
His brain barely had the time to register the oddness of the situation as disgust and near panic set in. He attempted to pull the sticky threads from his hands and clothes.
Cameron hated spiderwebs, and even more so the things that spun them. He guessed that it had something to do with some long-hidden childhood trauma. Maybe he’d been bitten by a spider, or one on the ceiling of his room had scared him as a baby; he couldn’t remember.
All he knew was that spiders gave him the creeps, and that was pretty much that.
Cameron half expected the train occupants to be busting a gut over his squeamish reaction, but the train remained eerily silent. Not a single person in the train car looked in his direction.
In fact, they all appeared to be asleep.
It was more reflex than anything else, and he hoped that he wouldn’t regret the act, but a sword ignited in his hand, illuminating more than the dim emergency lights could.
What he saw made him want to gag.
There was no doubt that the passengers were dead.
Their bodies were wrapped from head to toe in the thick webbing. What little of them that Cameron could see appeared withered—dried—as if mummified.
He had to restrain the part of him that wanted to run from the train in total panic. Blade out before him to light his way, Cameron slowly advanced down the aisle to investigate. The bodies were anchored to the plastic benches and metal poles with thick strands of webbing that covered the ceilings, walls, and floor.
But the answer to the most obvious and frightening question still eluded Cameron.
Where are the spiders?
The divine light of the sword cut through every deep, dark patch of the train, but there wasn’t an arachnid to be found. Cameron eyed the ceiling vents, thinking that maybe they had gotten in and then climbed back out from there, but he just wasn’t sure. Moving toward the opposite end of the car to cross into the next train car, he saw a similar scenario. A cold chill ran down his spine.
He’d hoped he wasn’t too late to save these people, but much to his disappointment, he was. A spark of anger surged as he walked forward to the adjoining subway car. This was what he’d been trying to explain to Vilma. How many of these passengers would still be alive if he’d come here when he’d first seen—
An older woman sitting on a bench moved.
Cameron froze, staring. He wanted to be sure that he’d seen what he thought he’d seen. Again the body moved, rocking ever so slightly from side to side.
Maybe they weren’t all dead, Cameron considered, heading toward the woman. Despite his unease he wished away his blade, not wanting to burn the woman, and prepared to rip open her cocoon.
“Ma’am,” he said, sinking his fingers into the thick, sticky fibers. “Can you hear me? I’m going to try to help you.”
Cameron suppressed his revulsion as he grabbed the webbing with both hands and tore it away from the woman’s body. He watched for signs of movement again.
“Hello?” he said. He wiped his hands on the legs of his jeans and tentatively reached out to touch her arm.
Cameron gasped as her skin gave way beneath his fingertips. The woman’s arm crumbled like ancient paper. He yanked back his hand. How was it that he’d seen her move? His mind raced with questions. There was no way that she could have been alive at all.
And then he saw it again, a movement beneath the woman’s lime-green blouse.
The angelic nature inside Cameron stirred to life.
His sword reappeared in his hand as the first of the spiders emerged from beneath the blouse. It was big, about the size of city rat, and unlike any other spider he’d ever seen. Its body was covered in thick, black hair, and a hooked claw came at the end of each of its eight limbs.
The most nightmarish thing about the spider was that it had a humanoid face: eyes, nose, and mouth.
It was the mouth that freaked him out the most, for it was open, showing off rows of razor-sharp teeth. And it screamed.
Those screams were answered by other screams, and from the periphery of his vision, Cameron saw that all the bodies around him were moving.
Or at least the creatures inside them were.
While Cameron was momentarily distracted, the spider closest to him sprang at him with a hiss. The stink of its breath made Cameron recall the aroma that he’d experienced in the tunnel when he’d first arrived.
Cameron’s blade sliced through the spider, cutting it in half before it could land upon him. Crawling out from their cocoons of desiccated flesh, the other spiders saw what Cameron had done and began to scream.
Sword at the ready, Cameron waited for the next attack. But it didn’t come. The spiders in the subway car just screamed and screamed.
Mournful wails from the cars beyond joined in, and Cameron grew more nervous. Why aren’t t
hey attacking? Maybe they are more afraid of me than I am of them? he thought. He stood poised, sword at the ready, waiting for a sign.
Then he shuddered. Maybe they’re calling for reinforcements.
Cameron would have liked to slap the part of his brain that had come up with that idea, but he was too busy swearing beneath his breath and trying to keep his balance as the subway car began to shake.
The spiders’ shrieks were louder now, and that nasty thought about reinforcements was starting to look true. Something incredibly heavy was moving across the roof of the car, the impressions of its tremendous weight bending the ceiling panels above his head.
In their escalating excitement, some of the arachnids sprang from the bodies from which they had fed, seemingly no longer afraid of him. The sword of fire sizzled as it sliced through the grotesque creatures, but three managed to avoid his blade and clung to his body, tearing and biting at his shirt eager to get at his soft flesh beneath.
Cameron dropped to the floor in a roll, attempting to crush the spider on his back, while ripping off the one that was crawling toward his face. He kicked off the one eating its way through the leg of his jeans. Cameron was on his feet again in an instant, first stabbing one of the spiders and then slicing off the front limbs of another, and dismembering the third, which was trying to scuttle away beneath the plastic seats.
He was ready for just about anything, awaiting the next wave of attack, when he heard the sound of tearing metal above his head. The Nephilim warrior jumped backward with the help of his wings as the ceiling of the train car was torn away. Giant, clawed, and hair-covered limbs reached down to snatch at him.
Cameron couldn’t believe his eyes. The spiders that he’d been fighting were the largest he had ever seen, but this was the super-size equivalent. And now that he’d seen it, he knew he’d never stop having nightmares about it.
The mammoth spider shoved its front portion down into the subway car, its too human face searching for him.
“Where, oh where, have you gone, angel-meat?” it asked in a distinctly female voice. The other, smaller spiders scrabbled from the bodies of their victims to climb up the limbs of the giant’s body.
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