Angels and the Bad Man

by M. K. Gibson

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hooks

  In Flotsam Prison

  Surprisingly, Vali had to exert considerable effort to keep up with the demoness. With Tarnhelm in place, he was effectively invisible. Yet Yeela was a specter, moving from shadow to shadow across the prison. More than once Vali lost sight of her, only to spot her moments later, twenty to thirty yards away from where he had last seen her.

  Impressive.

  Vali spotted snipers along the wall’s walkways and battlements. Whatever Salem did to this place while he was there, it left the remaining forces on edge.

  Following Yeela, Vali moved over the packed earth of the arena. Vali did not need light to see. He could feel the blood beneath him. The near-ocean of blood spilled in that place gave off its own resonance of suffering and power. Through his gift, Vali felt the deaths. Felt the loss. Felt the power. And he could sense the power growing stronger as they moved towards a wrought-iron gate at the far end of the field.

  “Pretty boy, can you do something about the gate?”

  “You can see me?” Vali asked

  “No, but I can smell you. Same problem with cloakers, never hides the scent,” Yeela said. “Now open the gate.”

  “Do not presume to give me orders, demon.”

  Yeela smiled. “Fine. We can stand here with thumbs in our butts, waiting for some sentry to notice.”

  “What happened in this place?” Vali asked.

  “It is really distracting, talking to thin air.”

  Vali pushed Tarnhelm to the back of his head, and as he did, his form blinked back into existence. “What happened in this place?” the god repeated. “The air, the ground, it cries out. Blood. Pain. Suffering.”

  “Do you really want to know, god?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then open the door and I’ll show you.”

  Vali nodded and moved towards the gate. If he cut the metal, the sound would draw attention. Instead he simply placed his hands on the bars, summoned a fraction of his stored power, and slowly pulled, bending the iron bars. When the gap was wide enough, he gestured for Yeela to follow.

  Vali walked along a dimly lit corridor. In the distance, flames flickered along sconces and low burning fire pits. Once more, the scent of blood was present. This time it was mixed with sweat, piss, and shit.

  And fear. Fear mixed with suffering. Agony. Isolation. Death.

  Vali stopped and looked at the walls. He placed a hand against an impression along the wall and the stone opened. Sliding away, a wave of incredible stink hit Vali’s nose. Inside the cramped cell was a corpse. From the look of th body, it was human who’d been dead for days.

  The corpse’s leg was broken below his knee and his fingertips and nails were ripped away. From the scratch marks on the wall, the poor bastard had tried, in vain, to claw his way out, only to meet unforgiving stone.

  “You were placed in one of these?” Vali asked. “And Salem?”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “Days. Days and days,” Yeela whispered.

  “This is the indoctrination you spoke of?”

  “Part of it.”

  “What was the rest?”

  “Follow me,” she said.

  As Yeela moved down the hallway, Vali saw that she barely looked up. Her hand gently touched the stone walls as she glided along on her reverse-jointed legs, placing one clawed foot in front of the other. The light grew brighter as the hallway led into a larger stone room.

  Once she reached the mouth of the room, she stopped, refusing to enter. Vali walked past her into the room, seeing what caused her to stop rather than face the room.

  Hooks. Hooks on chains, suspended from the ceiling.

  Vali walked to the hooks, looking at them. Taking one in his hand, he turned it, examining the hook. The tubular hook was rusted over and encrusted with dried blood. Flecks of the original steel were barely visible through the gore.

  Vali inspected the thick chains, pulling on them slightly. They were designed to suspend hundreds of pounds. Vali followed the chains’ direction, looking up towards to the ceiling and then to the cranks along the corners of the room beside the fire braziers. Vali noted the burnt scraps of cloth in the fire pits. Vali let the hook go, nodding to himself as he pieced the scene together.

  Slowly, Vali stepped towards the demon and gently lifted her chin. Yeela at first resisted, but with Vali’s continued pressure, she raised her head. Vali looked at the round scar under her chin, then back to the hooks.

  “They hung you,” Vali said, seeing the indoctrination process in his mind. Releasing her chin, he rubbed at the fabric of the rough-spun prisoner rags she wore. “They stripped away your clothing and burned it on the braziers. The smoke made you cough as you dangled there.”

  “Yes,” Yeela said, her voice barely audible.

  “From there, they broke your legs and threw you into the small cells built into the walls. Those that survived were forced to fight in the arena for sport.”

  “Yes,” Yeela said. With Vali’s continued gaze, she pointed towards an archway and continued. “Through that passage is the courtyard of the warden and Gerhardt’s residence. We were dropped from a helicopter, at night, into a rancid pool of filthy water. We nearly drowned and were left in the water until we were frozen over. Then we were beaten by monsters and then brought here to hang. You know the rest.”

  Vali wanted to look back once more at the hooks and chains. But he couldn’t. He wanted to think about the small cells, suffering in there with a broken leg for days in complete darkness, starving, staving off madness while waiting to fight, and possibly die, in an arena.

  But he couldn’t.

  He wanted to think about being scared shitless, dropped from a helicopter into a pool of rancid water, nearly drowning, alone, frozen, beaten and suffering.

  But he couldn’t.

  If he allowed himself to think about those things, then he would be forced to think of Salem suffering through it all. Suffering the horror of Flotsam for him. Suffering for Vidar. Suffering for the people of Midheim, all of whom he took in and created a new home for.

  If Vali allowed himself to imagine Salem’s horror, then he would have to think about how much he hated Salem for taking his position of leadership away. He would be forced to see that he was petty and small compared to what Salem did for him and his people. He would be forced to see that the tithes owed on each of his people was one of the reasons Salem was brought here.

  He would be forced to see this was his fault.

  If Vali had to get through what he must, then he had to stay focused on the present. Later, when Salem was home, and the crisis was over, then he would think on those things and offer his most sincerest apologies to the man who suffered unspeakable pain for him and his people.

  Vali looked back at Yeela. “You mentioned your mother and your sister? Did they go through this with you?”

  “Why the fuck do you care?”

  Vali lifted her chin once more and looked into her yellow, serpent-like eyes. Demon or not, torture like this was not deserved by the undeserving. She was a killer, he knew that much. But she was not evil. Simply a being born into a world that did not want her.

  “I am . . . sorry. Sorry for your loss.”

  “Fuck your pity,” Yeela said, and jerked her head free from Vali’s hand.

  Vali snatched her chin once more, this time tighter, holding her firm as she tried to wiggle free. His guilt over Salem waned, removing the image of a demon girl who suffered as Salem suffered. He saw a demon. The very creatures who turned this world into the festering shit-heap that it was.

  “Do not mistake sympathy for love or even concern. I despise your kind. I’ve seen too many good people destroyed by your . . . breed,” Vali said with a slight sneer.

  Before anything more hateful came from his mouth, Vali forced himself to stop. Past her yellow eyes, he saw something in her. He saw she was scared. She was suffering. She was y
oung. And she was genuinely concerned about the fate of her sister.

  Vali took a breath before he continued.

  “But I would not wish this suffering on those who do not deserve it. And it is clear you did not deserve it. Nor did Salem. I am sorry you were made to suffer. I am sorry you lost your mother and sister. I too have lost family. So, I will set aside my disdain for Hell. We are going to hurt them. Together.”

  “Do you promise?”

  Vali released his grip on the demon. “I do.”

  Yeela nodded, saying nothing more. Vali simply watched her for a moment before looking back at the chains.

  Then, something caught his eye as the light of the fire flickered. Something shiny in the dark recesses of the room. Vali cocked his head and walked over to the glint of light. He looked at a stone table with a cloth over it. Moving aside the ragged cloth, he clearly saw what had caught his eye.

  Vali’s heart sank while his stomach tightened. He fought the urge to vomit.

  Beneath the cloth were more hooks. Shiny, new hooks. But they were smaller. Much smaller. Made not to support the weight of a large man or a demon, but rather to support the weight of a child.

  Vali didn’t need to count them, though he did anyway. Exactly forty-four hooks. Forty-four brand new, miniature shiny steel hooks to perform the same heinous indoctrination on the children.

  His children.

  Vali’s hands began to tremble with rage, bending the hook he held as if it were nothing. The metal squealed as the god ripped the hook apart. Vali got to his feet and turned towards the passage Yeela pointed out, the one leading to the home of the warden and his top personnel.

  “Where are you going?” Yeela hissed.

  “Out there.”

  “What? Are you nuts? I don’t know if you were paying attention, but that is the warden’s residence through there. Shit, I can hear people out there right now.”

  “Good. I’m going to murder them all.”

  “What about sneaking around and killing the guards? Ugh!” she asked as she pulled on his arm, trying to hold him back. “Nng, you know . . . carve that number in their heads? Hit and run? Creepy shit like that?”

  “That time is over,” Vali said as he walked, dragging the demoness along as if she weighed nothing, her clawed feet screeching along the stone floor.

  As Vali continued forward, he lowered his mental shields. That mental barrier he spent years building up. The shields that dimmed his sight and allowed him to function in society.

  No more.

  Now he wished only to see the potential deaths of his enemies. With the walls crashing down, the sight flared to life in full. Vali sensed the beings through the passage and in the courtyard. Guards, some demons, and some kind of other powerful beings.

  Good.

  “I could kill every guard and prisoner here,” the assassin god said, “and it would not matter. Not as long as there were those who would conceive of doing all of that to a child. Those beings cannot remain living.”

  Yeela let go of his arm and sighed. “Aww, fuck it. Might as well die young and pretty. Let’s go be . . . ugh . . . heroes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It Was Never About You

  Now, in the Waste

  “Salem, I need to stop, I can’t keep my eyes open,” TJ said as we crossed into the remnants of North Platte, Nebraska.

  I looked the kid over. The bags under his eyes were almost as bad as my own. We’d been driving south on highway 83 for a couple of hours, and exhaustion was beating the kid over the head.

  We were doing our best to follow Chael’s vague directions along the old US highway system. But the old world was in crumbling ruins. With no one maintaining the highway system, a straight shot was almost impossible. There were many times when we had to go off road to avoid debris or old cars. Hell, at one point we needed to hide for a while in the dark to avoid a small herd of Abominations.

  I knew it was gone, but I swear I still smelled the phantom scent of dino dick on my face.

  “Hang on a little longer, kid,” I said, directing him to go off-road once more, skirting around the town. Places like that, old decent-sized settlements, were always a crapshoot. Sometimes they were empty; sometimes they were full of demonic city castoffs or human wasteland marauders.

  “It’s getting hard,” TJ groaned, slapping at his face.

  “That is what she said,” Chael mumbled.

  Once we cleared the perimeter of North Platte, I checked our insane compass. “Chael, buddy, which way?”

  “All paths lead to the dark madness of the end, formless void screaming against the pain of existence.”

  “Hell, go that way,” I sighed, pointing at an old sign that read I-80. “We’re supposed to go south and east.”

  TJ grumbled a bit, but the kid held in there. We took an interchange onto I-80 slow and steady. The ramp was crumbling and down to the rebar in certain spots. But with a little luck on our side, we were quickly zooming east.

  The open world, the old world, was similar to the way the apocalypse movies and games portrayed it. Complete with overgrown fields, creeping grass, and vines along old construction as nature fought to take the land back. And of course, there were cars and junk lying about on the old highways. Not as many as you’d think, though. Almost anything usable had been stripped down and hauled away.

  After a few more miles of travel, we rolled up on an old brick building amid a copse of trees. Patches of old-world pavement poked through the vegetation.

  “Pull in here,” I told TJ. “Kill the lights, turn off the power.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to listen.”

  “I’m too tired to argue,” TJ said, turning off the headlights and powering down the Outrider’s fusion engine.

  Once it was quiet, I let my senses open up. I closed my eyes and listened, willing The Collective to start removing the layers of protection. I heard TJ breathing and his heightened heartbeat. Chael’s massive heart pumped slow and steady. I could hear small insects and animals nearby, but nothing hostile was popping up on my personal radar.

  Mentally nodding to myself, I willed The Collective to begin reapplying my mental shields. “I think we’re clear,” I said. “But go ahead and pull the vehicle around back of the building just in case someone comes by.”

  “What is this place?” TJ asked.

  “A good place to bunk down for a few hours,” I said with a smile.

  During the war, we moved across lands like this. We used whatever we could to fight, repair our gear, or make IEDs. We took refuge in any semi-standing structure that could offer even a few hours of protection.

  Since the old interstate system was the fastest way to drive back in the old world, every fifty miles or so there were rest stops just like this one. Those things were built of brick and offered a decent amount of protection from the elements and from the things that went bump in the night.

  After parking, I slowly got out of the vehicle, embracing the cold air, and stretched my legs. They were still terribly painful, but functional. I took a few unsteady steps, limping around the vehicle. I ran a scan with my bracers. And, sure enough, I found a micro-burst transmitter under the vehicles chassis. It was fortunate for us that the transponder wasn’t GPS enabled. It only gave direction and distance.

  Removing it, I dropped it to the ground and brought my size twelve boot down, crunching the device. I only hoped that no more Legions were en route. Once that bit of housekeeping was done I moved towards the back of the Outrider. Popping the trunk, I found the last of Grimm’s emergency ration supply bags. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Then I noticed something else, another large package wrapped in leather.

  Picking it up, I got a whiff of something a bit gamy. I opened the leather and found several slabs of meat, a couple flasks, a coat made from abomination hide and a note. Switching my eyes into night vision mode, I read the letter. It was simple and to the point.

  Salem,
/>   If you’re reading this, then you escaped, and I am glad. Enjoy the meat, water and alcohol. Give the boy a warm coat.

  It was never about you.

  Ehawee

  I reread the letter. While I was thankful for the food, I had to wonder: What did she mean, it wasn’t about me?

  “Salem!” TJ called out.

  “What?”

  “Come look at this.”

  Stuffing the note into my coat pocket, I stashed the extra jacket under my arm, drew my guns, and moved fast. “TJ, TJ, what is it, where are you? Are you OK?”

  “Dude, I’m fine, I’m over here. Look at this.”

  I moved through the old rest area’s welcome center. It was dark and stale. A strong, musty earth smell permeated the entire area. The ground was a mix of broken tile and wild vegetation. I found TJ standing in front of a brick wall with a flashlight looking at a broken aluminum frame.

  “Here, put this on,” I said handing him the knee-length coat. “What are you looking at?” I asked, switching my eyes back to their normal vision.

  “Thanks, where’d you get this?” TJ asked, putting on the coat.

  “Gift from Ehawee. Probably an apology for almost having you sacrificed.”

  “She owes me more than a coat.”

  “The thing was packed in the trunk ahead of time. Something tells me she never planned for any real harm to come to you,” I told TJ, letting the kid digest that information. “What are you looking at?”

  “This is . . . Nebraska?” TJ asked, running his finger across a very old travel map. “And this is Kansas?”

  “Yeah,” I said softly, leaning in and looking the map over. Memories, painful ones, of what the old world was and how it was gone flashed through my mind.

  The old map was faded and torn. It depicted Nebraska, South Dakota, and Kansas. Pieces were torn away, and there were all types of notes and messages in different languages written on it. And not all of it was human.

  Thanks to the handy “You Are Here” starred location, we could see we were outside Brady, Nebraska. But the problem with the Midwest was that the states were so damn big. I had no idea what or where we were looking for.