by Roy Bright
“Here,” she says, pointing to the offending area on her leg. “My knee hurts.”
He bends over and kisses it. “There, all better?”
She smiles and hugs him. “Thank you daddy,” she says, burying her head into his chest.
He closes his eyes, smiles, and rests his chin on the top of her head. “Don’t mention it, pickle. It’s my job.”
“How is it possible that I am supposed to look after the world when I can’t even look after my own knees, daddy?”
He chuckles. “Well, that’s why we’re here, sweetie. You get to be like this, and learn things while you’re here, and then you will be able to go out there and look after us all.”
“Even you?” she replies, looking up at him. She wipes a hand across her nose and sniffs.
He laughs once again. “Charlotte my angel, I absolutely promise you that before long you will be strong enough and tough enough to look after anyone – even me.”
“Then I will become strong, and I will look after you daddy. I’ll always look after you.”
He pulls her in close, returning his chin to the top of her head once more. “I know you will, sweetie, I know.”
He glances around as a voice calls to him from out of the forest behind them. It’s a woman’s voice but he doesn’t recognize it. He squints in its direction, hoping to see someone between the trees but he can’t. He looks back down and panics as he sees that Charlotte is gone, no longer in his lap. He whips his head around, back to where the voice came from and the forest is gone, replaced by a dank and dreary wall with lit torches embedded in it. He turns back around to see himself lying on the ground, his head resting in the lap of a young woman, although he cannot hear what she is saying as her mouth moves in silent slow motion, screaming into his face. To her left he sees five men standing next to her looking on with concern. Then a sixth, who materializes next to him without warning, draws his attention.
“Listen to her, Judas. She calls to you, she is bringing you back.”
He frowns, unsure of what he is being told and then the man smiles at him, a wicked smile that bares many teeth, all razor-sharp and glistening in the light. It hits him. His memory. Knowledge. Understanding. Who he is.
Charlotte’s voice screeches around the room in real time.
“Wake up dad! Dad! Wake up! I’m telling you to come back to me. Wake up, goddammit.”
He blinks, and he is no longer stood watching himself on the ground. He looks up into her face as she cradles him in her arms. He reaches up and wipes the tears from her eyes. “I told you that you would be strong enough to look after me one day, did I not?”
She laughs through her tears and then slaps him on the shoulder. “Oh my God. You scared the living shit outta me.”
“Help me up,” he says, groaning as he rolls onto his side.
She obliges, hooking an arm under his and pulling him to his feet.
He stands up straight and then puts his hands on his hips, forcing them forward and working out the kinks in his back. “Wow,” he says, blinking hard. “My head feels like it’s been hit by a freight train.” Michael’s voice causes him to turn around and face him.
“You have just gained countless years of knowledge in a few minutes. It may take some getting used to.”
He stops blinking and turns his attention to Azazel. “I know where it is.”
Azazel grins. “We both know where it is. Our knowledge is limitless.” He looks at Michael, “You have a serious problem within your ranks, Archangel.”
“What are you talking about? What is he talking about?” he says, transferring his attention from the demon to Judas.
Judas sighs. “Barachiel had help from the inside. Believe me Mikey, I am as pissed off as you are going to be. I should’ve seen this coming.”
“What are you talking about?” he says, perplexed, his irritation growing.
Judas stretches, working out the last of his irritations. “Barachiel isn’t, or at least wasn’t, working with Lucifer. He had his own agenda. The same as Lucifer’s I might add, but his own nonetheless. He needed him,” he points to Azazel, “to assist in making that happen. Azazel’s ability is his sheer strength and ferocity, the strongest of the three when he is fully activated, and Barachiel wanted to assimilate that into his weapon to first take on Lucifer and then the big man upstairs. But he had help.” He looks around the room. “Do a head count, Mikey. You’re missing one.”
Michael’s head snaps around to his team and his eyes dart back and forth. “Where is Samael?”
Judas screws his mouth up. “Exactly. He betrayed us all; he has been working for Barachiel all along. He was the one who told me about Azazel. He was the one who persisted that I take the sword. He did so knowing that the situation would lead us here.”
“He will pay for this treachery with his life,” Michael says, holding up his hands to open a portal. “But first, we have to deal with finding the last Seal.”
“You have a bigger problem than that Mike,” Judas says, causing the Hellwatch leader to stop and turn back toward him. “My guess is that he will now try to make a deal with Lucifer. He clearly doesn’t want to be on this side anymore. But to do that he will need some leverage.”
Charlotte places a hand on Judas’ arm. “Is he now demonic?”
“No,” he replies, “he is still Divine.” He looks at Michael. “He can see her!”
Charlotte shakes her head. “Oh God.”
Furious, Michael turns back around and rips open a portal. “Hellwatch! On me!” He glances at Judas. “You know where you’re going?”
Judas nods. “The catacombs beneath the Vatican City.”
“Figures,” Michael replies. “Then you must go and retrieve The Book and the Seal. Take Uriel and Jophiel with you. Raphael, Raguel, and myself will find and protect the child.”
Judas nods. “Be quick, Mikey. We have been in here for around 40 minutes now and if Uriel’s time dilation estimate is correct, then she and the rest will have been out there for a day and you have no way of knowing how far a head start Samael has on you.”
Michael nods and then leads his team into the portal.
Judas thrusts his hand out, clenches it together and then whips it back. A dense, black portal opens.
“That’s new,” Charlotte says, the portal’s visual appearance giving her cause to frown.
“Let’s go, we have no time to waste. Ika!” he says, holding out his right hand.
Azazel glances at Charlotte, smirks, and transforms into Ikazuchi, landing in Judas’ hand.
He steps into the portal and the rest follow.
From out of the corner of the room, another of Astaroth’s spies emerges from the shadows, grinning.
Forty-Five
Gary blinks awake and, as his senses return to him, so too does pain and it is all-consuming. His head hurts a lot and it’s not just a headache, but his face also. He attempts to reach up and touch the sore area but he cannot as his arms are bound to his body. To make matters worse, his orientation is all wrong – he is suspended upside down. Panic sets in. He struggles against his bonds, wriggling from side to side, an action that causes him to swing. He vociferates and then breathes out hard. Looking around the room, he takes a sharp breath –the sight that greets him is like something out of a horror movie.
He is in a large, dim-lit, box-shaped space that resembles some sort of storeroom and on the floor all around him are scores of mutilated and butchered bodies, with even more hanging from chains in the same manner as himself. Covered in demonic symbols and splattered in blood, the walls complete the look of this macabre and horrific torture chamber and as he takes in the horrific scene, the smell assaults him and he retches. It takes him a good minute to gain control and get used to the gut-wrenching odor of death and decay.
Gathering himself, he looks to his right and sees a large mesh shutter. Through it he can just about make out retail stores on the other side. A mall, he thinks to himself, I’m in a mall.
He tries to look around as he hears Conrad’s voice from somewhere behind him.
“You feel better? The smell, you will become accustomed to it shortly.”
“Conrad? Is that you?”
“Unless they have taken another Ukrainian, then yes, it is I.”
Gary huffs a laugh. “You’re sense of humor is still intact I see.”
Conrad chuckles. A slow and sonorous sound.
“Are you in the same predicament as me?” Gary says, once again attempting to stretch his head around to see the man.
“No, not exactly. Too few of them. So they have chained me to post here and have gone to get more muscle. So we probably need escape before they come back, yes?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Post here is not part of normal room. Ground has been dug and post inserted, then concreted in. Have been working on it for a while now. Is weak. I break. Give minute.” He moves backward and forward against the post, driving into it with his powerful legs and then pulling at it with all of his weight and strength.
“Er, okay,” Gary replies, an air of disbelief within his tone. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. They snap open, “Abigail. Where’s Abigail?”
“Here. I’m here.” A timid and frightened response calls out from the corner of the room behind him.
Annoyed with himself for it not being his first thought, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Are you okay, sweetie? Did they hurt you?”
“I’m okay,” she says, her voice wavering. “No, they haven’t hurt me.”
“Are you free? Have they tied you?”
“No. They haven’t tied me but I am so scared. I can’t move. I’m sorry.” She sobs.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I know you’re scared and it’s okay to be. Just hang in there, sweetie, we are gonna get through this. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, okay?” Not waiting for an answer, he squirms once again, attempting to wriggle his way around to face the soldier. “Conrad, we need to get a grip of this,” he says, his voice commanding.
“I know, I know. Working on it.”
A rattle of chains and a voice from the opposite corner of the room catches their attention. “Hello. Who else is there?”
“Who is that?” Gary says, looking to his right to see a man hanging in the same manner as him, struggling. Terrified and confused, the man hyperventilates and Gary knows he must calm him down before it has a detrimental effect on Abigail’s state of mind. “Take it easy, fella. Just relax. We are working on getting us all out of here, but I need you to calm down.”
Fear has him gripped too tight to hear Gary’s pleas and he starts to call out for help, screaming at the top of his voice.
“Hey, hey!” Gary says in a forceful whisper, aware that his screaming will bring early and much unwanted attention. “You need to calm down. You are announcing our presence as being awake and we need to keep that down, so just take it easy will ya?”
But he cannot. Either unwilling or unable to stop, the man continues to cry for help. His terror has him. It owns him.
From outside, the sound of loud yet indistinguishable conversation filters into the room, drawing Gary’s attention.
“Okay, the situation just became critical Conrad.”
“I know,” he replies throwing more force into working the post loose.
“You need to get free, Conrad.”
“I hear you.”
Even more pushing and pulling.
“Now, Conrad.”
“I… am… working on it,” he says, his irritation piqued.
Goading him seems to have had the desired effect as Gary hears a crunching sound that can only mean he has loosened the post within its concrete base. He can’t believe it, knowing that it must take not only serious strength but a ferocious desire for freedom; yet somehow, he has done it.
A door to the side of the shutters slams open and four men step through, laughing among themselves.
“Ahh, dinner’s awake,” one of them says, laughing even harder. He strides over to the dangling, screaming man and slaps a forceful hand across his mouth that muffles his cries. Unsheathing a large machete hanging from his back, he slices up one of the trouser legs and leans into the man as his screams intensify. “Hush now little piggy. Be good.”
A sense of foreboding and understanding of what is about to come next hits Gary and he calls out to Abigail. “Don’t look, sweetie. Close your eyes tight and keep them closed.”
The man glances at him and grins through rotten, black teeth, sharpened to points.
One of the other men strides over and punches Gary in the face causing him to swing back and forth.
The other two men, stood at the back of the room, roar with exaggerated laughter, their madness contorting their faces as they howl at one another.
The first man releases his hand from the hanging man’s mouth and then slices flesh from his thigh, all the while grinning as the man’s screams reach fever pitch, bouncing off every surface. The men are clearly enjoying the spectacle, shouting encouragement as flesh is stripped from bone.
Abigail shuts her eyes tight and tears bead out from them. She clamps her hands to her ears, wishing to be anywhere other than where she is right now. The screaming has damaged what little calm she had left. Hiding from demons was one thing, but this terror was too real, too intense, and much too human. She never knew that someone could do such a thing to another person.
The man finishes slicing and then pulls at the flesh, ripping the last inch from the thigh.
The pain is too much. The man’s brain shuts down, unable to cope with the amount of nerve endings screaming at it, and he slips into unconsciousness.
The cannibal chuckles and then lowers the flesh into his mouth, his head back, slurping it down.
Blood gushes out of the severed femoral artery and cascades down the man’s body, over his neck, and onto his face, coating him crimson.
The one who had punched Gary jumps up and down, moving toward his comrades, performing some sort of tribal dance and as he reaches them, they join in and howl, their faces turned upward.
“Motherfuckers! You motherfuckers!” Gary screams while intensifying his struggle against his bonds.
Conrad, driven by blind rage goes into overdrive, finding a reserve of inhuman strength. He digs his feet hard into the ground and pushes back. Beneath him, the post buckles and breaks away, leaving a crumbling bulb of concrete beneath it. He rolls onto his side and, placing his feet on the bulb, pushes himself away and up the metal post. Digging his feet into the ground, this time, he pushes again, traversing all the way to the top of the ten-foot pole.
To their detriment their captors are too busy celebrating their own insanity, and the maniacs fail to spot the enormous man wriggling free on the floor. They fail to see him pass his shackled hands over the top of the pole, down his back, and then slip his legs through them. They also do not see him pick up the post with the wedge of concrete still attached and come at them with it.
Conrad swings the makeshift weapon at the cackling men and it connects with a sickening thud, the two nearest to him taking the brunt of the impact. The neck of the one closest snaps under the force and the side of his head cleaves open, splattering blood over the others and up the wall. The second receives a lesser blow but still strong enough to smash his jaw into pieces and open up a large gaping wound in his face.
The cannibal eating the man’s leg stops and lunges at Conrad with his machete.
Conrad steps to his right to avoid the blow but, encumbered by the weight of the concrete hammer, he is much slower and unable to dodge the attack. The blade catches him below his left shoulder blade and opens up a two inch wound on his back. He screams, but not in pain; he is angry, furious even, and he drops the weapon then spins to his left and swings both bound hands, his fists clenched, at the machete-wielding psycho. They connect against his left temple and send the man crashing into the shutters. He follows up with a vicious kick to his face
, knocking him unconscious just as the other cannibal he had not yet had chance to deal with leaps onto his back and sinks his teeth into his neck. This time he does scream with pain as the deranged man chews into his neck.
“Run, Abigail!” Gary screams, attempting to spin around and see her. “Get out of here and find a safe hiding place.”
She looks up at him, shaking her head.
“Just go,” he says, urging her on with his head. “I’ll find you, I promise.”
She doesn’t move, instead stares at Conrad as he wrestles with the feral cannibal stuck to his back, screaming and snapping at him. Her eyes dart to the left as one of the other’s from the back rises to his feet, blood pouring out of his grotesque and mangled mouth. He screeches and staggers toward her, the massive blow he received from the concrete post causing him to stumble and sway as he makes his way across the room.
“Move, child!” Gary screams.
It does the trick and she jolts into life, rising to her feet and scrambling away. The crazed man lunges at her but she is too quick and slips underneath his advance causing him to trip and fall.
He screeches again as he smashes into the ground with a heavy thud, his broken jaw flapping wildly, no longer under tension from its muscle and skeletal structure. He turns to locate her but she is gone and, not concerned with chasing, he turns his attention to Gary. Springing to his feet and into a crouching position, he hisses.
Gary looks at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend how such a severe wound appears to have had no effect upon him as he creeps his way toward him. “Conrad!” he screams, unaware that the Ukrainian is powerless to defend himself and has nowhere to go.
“Busy!” Comes the frantic reply as he struggles to remove the enemy from his back. He turns and powers backward, slamming the attacker into a wall, loosening its grip on him, just enough for him to reach over and with his bound hands, grab the man, and pull him over his head. He throws him to the floor and brings up a huge foot, then smashes it down into his face. The man’s head crunches under the weight, his skull cracking in several places.