CHILD.
Pan slammed her hands to her ears, a gout of blood squirting between her fingers. Behind her, Ostheim froze, those grotesque limbs retracting like a snail’s antennae. Pan could see Herc farther down, helping Charlie out of the water, the boy coughing out half the river.
The Devil was standing on the bank in a bubble of blistering shadow, and even though it hurt to look at it Pan forced herself to, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
It almost looked like the Devil was about to keel over, its jointed legs buckling. It was still trailing pieces of Engine behind it but they were failing, the mechanisms collapsing, shedding, a trail of them left in its wake. It called out again, a word so loud, that carried so much force, it was just a concussive boom that shook the ground on which she stood.
“Is it…” started Charlie as he hobbled to her side. “I mean, what’s it doing?”
“No idea,” growled Herc, walking in the direction of the mainland. “But this ain’t the time to play tourist.”
“Wait,” said Pan, her jaw dropping as the Devil actually collapsed onto one knee beside the river, its arms unfurling to stop itself from landing on its face. Watching it was like a blade in her eyes but she couldn’t turn away. Chunks of black light were dropping from it, fizzing into the ground. She was too far away to see its face but it looked like it was rippling, the mechanisms of it going into overdrive. It curled one hand to its chest, those too-long fingers probing. Pan squinted, trying to work out what she was seeing there—a gaping absence in that body of writhing shadow, where its heart should be. “What is it doing?”
Marlow had almost reached them, dragging the canister behind him.
“Dying,” he said, snatching in a breath. “Please, just die.”
It called out again, the booming low of a cow being led to slaughter. Ostheim had nearly reached it, his limbs curling protectively around it. His moan was the sound of a child mourning a sick parent.
“Please,” said Marlow. “Please, please, please.”
The Devil’s body was spasming as Ostheim lifted it up. It looked like it was melting, dissolving, great gobs of inverse light fizzing as they hit the ground. Ostheim pulled it close, smothering it in his limbs. Flames were erupting from the earth, from the river, weaving a curtain of smoke and steam. Pan felt a shift in the wind, in the air pressure, buffeting her against the railing.
“Come on,” said Herc. “This ain’t gonna end well.”
But she had to see. Because what if it was dying? What had Marlow said, that it was old? It had been suspended in hell for all this time, cocooned in that freak show. But this was the real world, the rules here were different. What if it just crumbled, like a museum artifact taken from its hermetic box and exposed to the environment?
Please, she found herself chanting along with Marlow. Please, please …
Ostheim screamed, a feral, industrial sound. His body reared, splashing down in the boiling water, two dozen limbs flailing. Only when he stumbled back, collapsing into the river, did Pan see why.
The Devil was burrowing into the mess of Ostheim’s face, a blazing core of darkness that seared its way inside. She had to turn away from the sheer force of it, but nothing could stop her looking again, seeing Ostheim thrash and howl, seeing that insect shape pull itself inside him like it was disappearing under a comforter. Black blood sprayed upward, casting colorless rainbows in the sun. The Devil was drinking it, gorging itself on it, feeding from its own child.
“Pan,” said Herc, right beside her. He had taken the canister and was backing away. “I’m serious.”
She staggered after him, still watching. Ostheim’s movements were growing weaker, his body deflating like a blimp. His obscene mouth hung open at the waterline, the skin bubbling in the heat of the river. And still the Devil dug deeper. The sound of it feeding mixed with Ostheim’s cries, his mewls, then the wet struggle of his breaths.
“What’s it doing?” she asked again, but the truth was right there in front of her. Without its heart, and without the Engine that had been keeping it alive, the Devil was dying. And the only thing left to feed on was its own sick progeny.
It was almost enough to make her feel sorry for Ostheim.
Almost.
“Come on,” said Herc, hefting up the canister, slapping a hand against it to try to silence the organ inside. “We’ve got to work out a way of destroying this, and something tells me we don’t have long.”
He was right, they didn’t have long. Minutes, maybe, before the Devil reclaimed its heart.
Before it became a god, Pan thought, and ate the world whole.
BE WHO YOU ARE
Marlow struggled away from the river, following Herc until the old man’s arms gave up on him and the canister fell.
Herc dropped on top of it, growling. Marlow slumped down next to him, taking a shot of his inhaler. The carnage behind them was screened off by the burning trees but he could still hear the Devil feasting on Ostheim.
It was a good sound.
“Hey,” said Herc, clicking his fingers. “Focus. All of you. I need your full attention. We’ve got one shot. One shot to make this right. Maybe not even that. And if we don’t take it…”
He let the world answer for him, the air shuddering with the force of Ostheim’s screams. Herc wiped his face with a shaking hand.
“I’ve worked my whole life to stop this from happening,” he said. “But I don’t think it was ever really up to me. I don’t think there was ever anything I could do. I think it was always supposed to be like this.”
He was right. Ostheim had used them all; he’d been able to look ten moves ahead and he’d played them like pawns, like fools. And behind it all had been it, a creature of dark intelligence that had been planning this for a hundred thousand years. How could anyone, any mortal, ever stand a chance against that? How were they supposed to know whether the next move they made was their own thinking or part of that same infernal plan?
“I don’t understand any of it,” Herc said. “But I won’t let it end like this. I won’t let him win, not while I’ve still got breath in my lungs. And I know you’ve been through too much to give up now. I know you’ve seen too much to let him win.”
The ground shook, the Devil almost done.
“Nobody else is coming to help,” Herc said. “It’s us, that’s all. The four of us against all of hell.”
“But what do we do?” Marlow said. “How do we stop it?”
“Open it,” Herc said, nodding at the canister. “Open it and then destroy that bastard thing inside.”
“What if we can’t?” said Marlow.
“Not an option,” Herc said. “You do it.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” he said, and Herc’s face fell for an instant before he caught it.
“Not an option,” he said again. “You do it.”
“Me,” Marlow said. “So where are you going?”
Herc looked back, his teeth grinding, his eyes bulging.
“I’m going to show that creep what happens when you mess with the U.S. of A.”
“I’m with you,” said Pan.
Herc shook his head. “I’m not sure if there’s any coming back from this one, kiddo.”
“I’m with you, Herc,” she said again. “We’ll buy you some time, Marlow. Find a way.”
“No,” Marlow said, shaking his head. “We can’t split up, we … We have to stick together.”
“Eggs and baskets,” said Charlie. “Marlow, I’ll come with you. You guys see if you can slow it down a little, we’ll get it open.”
“No,” said Marlow again. He looked at Pan, felt himself reaching for her. She shrugged, smiled sadly.
“You play the game, you take the pain,” she said. “Always knew it would end like this.”
“With the Devil chasing us through Jersey, looking for its heart after betraying Ostheim after Ostheim betrayed us?” said Marlow, and she almost managed a smile.
“Well, almost l
ike this,” she said.
“Please,” he said. And what he wanted to say to her was we can go, we can all just get in a car and drive the other way, we can survive. But it was a lie, because however far they went, it would catch up with them eventually. The Devil wouldn’t stop here. Sooner or later, the whole world would be reduced to silence and ash.
And it was a lie because he knew that however scared they were, however much they wanted to run, none of them would abandon their post. His brother, Danny, had been the hero, but somewhere down the line Marlow had become a soldier, too.
You play the game, you take the pain.
He wondered if, deep down, he too had always known it would end like this.
Farther down the river a fleshy shape bounded from the trees, a fury of bunched muscles already slick with blood. A demon. It looked the other way, loosing a cry from the ragged hole in its head, then set off toward the sound of traffic. More were coming, though, announcing themselves with their hyena calls. The gate was still open, the nightmares flowing through.
“We’re still alive,” said Herc, watching a helicopter wobble into the air from nearby, somebody lucky enough to be able to escape. “We’re still fighting. Just remember that. However much we’ve played into the Devil’s hands, however much it’s used us, it hasn’t managed to kill you yet.”
Because it needed us, thought Marlow. Because it was trying to keep us alive so that we could open the gates.
“And we saw it fall,” Herc went on. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know where it came from. But we all saw it fall, right here. We saw it struggle. It calls itself a devil but it’s not one, it’s not a god. It’s a piece of crap, nothing more. You remember that, okay? You remember it.”
“What are you gonna do?” Charlie asked. Herc smiled.
“I got something in mind,” he said. “Now say your goodbyes, ’cause we gotta move.”
Marlow stared at the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to look up.
“Marlow,” Pan said. Still he didn’t look, he just studied her bruised and bloodied feet as she walked in front of him. “You can do this.”
“What if I can’t?” he said. The exhaustion pressed down on his head, his shoulders, so heavy he thought he might snap. “What if I can’t?”
“Then you can’t,” she said. “Then it all ends.”
“No pressure,” muttered Charlie.
“You’re only human,” she said. “All of us, we’re only human.”
He felt her hand on his chin, pulling gently. He resisted for a moment, then he raised his head and met her eyes. They glinted like copper pennies, those little pieces of hell that they had brought back with them. They were so alien, but they were so real. They were her eyes, the same ones that had glared at him back in the parking garage, a million years ago, when he’d first seen her die. The same ones that had watched him as he stepped into the Black Pool, as he emerged a superman. The same ones that had melted as she’d moved in for the kiss. He and Pan had died together, they’d gone to hell together. Somewhere in the last few days he’d resigned himself to the idea that they would lose themselves to eternity together, living forever in that nightmare underworld. However bad it would get, he’d always have her by his side. He’d never have to let her go.
Yet here he was, saying goodbye.
“I’m sorry I rode you so hard,” she said, swallowing something big. “You were a good soldier.”
“Pan,” he said.
“We wouldn’t have got this far without you,” she said, shrugging. “Even though it was kind of all your fault.”
“Pan.”
“Don’t spoil it,” she said. “Don’t be your usual douchey self and ruin the moment. Yeah?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, nodding. He wanted to hug her, wanted to kiss her, but in the end, for a reason he couldn’t quite understand, he just stuck out his hand. She looked at it, then back at him, then she grabbed it and shook it like they’d just finished a business meeting.
“You really are a dick, Marlow,” she said, but she didn’t let go, and after a moment she threw herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him like he was the only thing stopping her from drowning—so hard he could barely breathe. He hugged her waist, held her, felt the sobs there rather than heard them, felt her tears against the skin of his neck, so warm.
Then, just as suddenly, she pulled away, scrubbing at her face. Marlow wiped away his own tears but they kept rolling out of him, impossible to stop. He felt as if there was a piece of him connected to her, an invisible line that would pull him in her wake.
“Go on,” she said. “Let’s give the Devil something to cry about.”
Marlow sighed, nodded. He looked down at the beating heart, locked away in its metal-and-glass cage. The thought of having to open it, of having to destroy it, was like a neutron star tied around his neck, heavy enough to pull him into the ground, to make a grave of the earth. Charlie was already wrestling with it, his skinny arms trying to pick it up. Marlow grabbed the other end and together they managed to get it off the ground. If anything, it seemed heavier now than ever.
“As soon as it’s done with Ostheim, it’s coming after you,” said Herc. “And I’m guessing it’s gonna be juiced. Find a way. I would say stay safe, but it’s a little late for that. Just do what you do. Be who you are.”
Marlow nodded. Charlie was walking away and he had to follow, but he kept his eyes on Pan and Herc.
“What are we, Herc?” Marlow called out. The old guy looked back, smiled.
“You’re Hellraisers,” he shouted. “Go raise some hell.”
PAYBACK
Pan watched as Marlow and Charlie struggled back toward the street, the canister slung between them. It seemed to dwarf them, even though she knew it was just an optical illusion caused by the pulse of black light it threw out, one that rippled through reality, that called to its master.
What were the chances of them being able to open it when even a bullet couldn’t shatter the glass? And more to the point, what was the chance of them opening it before the Devil finished its meal?
“You’ve really got a plan?” said Pan when the boys were finally out of sight. “Or shall we get on a boat and leave them to it?”
She was exhausted: four days in hell with no food and barely any sleep would do that to anyone. But she’d lasted longer than this without rest. However bad hell had been, the few sleepless days she’d had after caving Christoph’s head in with a lamp, when she’d hidden out in the sidings near the Harold, sobbing and screaming and knowing she could never go back, had been worse.
Herc started to run, old but fit, jogging like a drill sergeant. He looked back, and there was a smile on his face. She ran after him.
“I hear the Keys are nice this time of year,” he said. “Grab a couple of cocktails, moor the boat offshore, front-row view of the end of the world.”
She laughed as best she could, picturing Marlow’s face if he could hear them. But the vision of him there was a weight tied to her soul, like she was pulling the world behind her. She had to stop, sucking in air until everything stopped spinning.
Herc realized that she’d halted, turned back to her.
“They’ll be okay,” he said. “Marlow’s the luckiest son of a bitch I know.”
The words hadn’t even left his mouth before the Devil howled, a noise that churned the river into a frenzy, that snapped trees in half. Pan ducked instinctively, Herc dropping with her, both of them watching as a tornado of shadow twisted up over the land. It began to move, carving out a path of darkness. She had to turn away after a few seconds, but there was no denying which way it was heading.
It was going after Marlow.
Pan swore, was halfway to telling Herc to hurry up when she heard it—a noise coming from the space the Devil had just vacated. It took her a moment to recognize the voice, and it was the sudden twisting jolt of realization that made her double back, that made her step between the
corpses of the trees, into the spiraling clouds of ash.
Ostheim was there, or a mess of parts that had once been him.
And somehow, he was still alive.
He was trying to claw his way out of the river. He had one half of his enormous mass on the bank, but he was bottom heavy, beached. He was an empty bag, most of his limbs lying flat and still. Only those at the front seemed to work, churning grooves in the mud as he tried and failed to escape.
“What do we do with him?” asked Herc, catching up with her, but Pan was already on the move, driven by fury. She broke into a run, tripping along the walkway that tracked the river. The air here was dense with smoke, fire devouring trees and buildings.
“Pan!” yelled Herc. “Wait!”
But she couldn’t. Her rage was too much, it was overpowering. All she could think about was Ostheim, his voice on the phone telling her that she was doing the right thing, that she was saving the world; the joy she’d felt when he had sent her down to the Engine, on a new mission. She had done something terrible, she had killed Christoph, and it was Ostheim who had offered her a way back to something good, a way back to herself.
And it had all been a lie.
She’d killed for him, she’d sent people to hell, for him. He’d played her like a puppet, and he’d brought about the end of the world.
Whatever happened now, he was going to pay for that.
The closer she got, the more immense he became. His deflated bulk had to have been fifty yards long, trailing into the unsettled water like a fishing net. The top half was a chaos of movement, his skin made up of what looked like leeches, millions of them squirming and coiling. There were glimpses of machinery there, too, flashes of bronze cogs, obsidian bones. Pan skirted around him, scanning the riverfront for anything she could use as a weapon, finding nothing. She splashed through puddles of black blood until she stood before what could only be his face.
He looked just like he had when he’d slaughtered Mammon, an engine of moving parts, as far from human as it was possible to be. And yet there was something there in that kaleidoscope of motion, a glimpse of humanity in the alien chaos. Half of his face had been eaten away, a gaping, car-size hole where the Devil had made a meal of it.
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