by Peter Nealen
“No,” I said, “you need to stay here.”
Again I got the delicate raised eyebrow. “You need somebody to watch your back,” she protested.
“I need somebody to be ready to throw this thing in gear and get tearing down the mountain when I come running back with the hounds of Hell at my heels,” I replied. “I’ve done this before; you haven’t. I don’t want you getting hurt and I can’t be distracted worrying about you if things go sideways, which is pretty much the default setting for the Booker place.”
For a minute it looked like she was going to argue, but then she apparently decided that my logic was sound, and nodded. She didn’t look happy about it, but she settled back in her seat, the Smith in her lap. I had no doubt that anything that wasn’t me that came running toward the jeep was going to get a couple of good-sized holes in it. I was somehow sure that I didn’t have anything to worry about; she seemed level-headed enough not to just start blazing away at anything that moved.
I moved back into the woods, away from the jeep. It was quiet up here, except for the faint swish of the wind in the treetops. It wasn’t a peaceful quiet, though. There were no birds singing, no squirrels chirping. It was an oppressive quiet, a quiet born of fear.
I drew my .45, resolutely pushing any thoughts of Eryn out of my head. I scanned the woods, paying special attention to my peripheral vision, looking for the monsters just out of sight. I really wished I had my Winchester, but had left it at Father Pat’s place since I knew I was going to be disarmed going into McKinney’s office. I should have thrown it in Johnny’s car, just in case. I still don’t know why I didn’t.
They showed up sooner than I’d expected. They also weren’t making any effort to hide.
At first I couldn’t really tell what I was looking at. They looked like stumps or thick, dark bushes at first glance. When they rose up on spindly legs and opened three mouths apiece, they didn’t look so much like stumps anymore. More like oily, smoky wrongness made manifest.
I stopped where I was, pulled out the silver cross and kissed it before letting it fall to my chest. I’d never seen these things before, never even heard of anything like them. I had no idea what they were, but I was pretty sure they weren’t from the Otherworld. I was pretty conversant with most of the fae, spirits, and monsters from there. They had to be from the Abyss. This just kept getting better and better.
I didn’t have time to think any further about it, as they all charged at the same time with earsplitting, unholy screeches.
I had the 1911 at full extension in a heartbeat, the sights settling even as my finger took up the last bit of slack in the trigger. The creatures’ screeches were momentarily drowned out by the roar of the .45 as I pumped a round into each of them as fast as I could pull the trigger, bring the gun down from recoil, and shift targets. I was already coming back to the first one in less than two seconds. My guns might not be fancy, but I’m very good with them.
All three staggered back under the impacts. On a hunch, I’d loaded up with all silver jackets, and taken the time to scribe crosses into the round noses of the bullets before loading them. They had, mostly, the desired effect.
Almost as one, the three howling monstrosities staggered, writhed, and screamed. Then, still in unison, they straightened. Twenty-seven eyes focused on me, and nine mouths screeched a discordant howl.
Oh hell.
Running wouldn’t do any good. These weren’t hounds, they were demons. They didn’t have to abide by the same rules normal mortal creatures did. I could run as far and as fast as I could, and they could be waiting ahead of me. Most likely, they would be. I could fight now or die messily later, probably not much later. That was no choice at all. I leveled the pistol at the rightmost thing and dumped the rest of the mag into it.
That worked a little bit better. The thing is, when a demon takes a form that can interact with the physical world, the physical world can interact with it. Gunfire helps in that sort of situation, but the prayer is the heavy firepower. The gunfire is to keep the physical manifestation off you until you can finish the litany. The best I could hope for was to banish it, as there’s no way to actually kill a demon, and I was saying the words as I fired, even though they were drowned out by the reports of the gunshots, which blended together into a rolling thunder echoing off the mountain.
I pivoted on my heel and ran for a fallen tree as I dropped the empty mag and rammed in a fresh one. I jumped the deadfall, narrowly missing snagging my crotch on a jagged, broken limb. I landed badly on the other side, and fell, trying to twist and bring the gun up as I hit the ground.
One of the nine-eyed demons was already looming over the log. I shot it as fast as I could, running the magazine dry in a handful of seconds. It staggered back, smoke and black ichor running from the bullet holes. The wood smoked where the black stuff hit the log, smelling like hot tar and acid.
I was frantically looking for the third one when more gunfire erupted off to my left. It sounded like a shotgun. There was more screeching.
I looked past the demon I’d shot, that was struggling to pull itself back together. Eryn was standing there, maybe twenty yards downslope, thumbing more shells into a Mossberg shotgun. I didn’t know where it had come from; I guessed she’d had it in the back of her jeep and had decided that the Smith wasn’t heavy enough when she heard the screaming and shooting up here. The fact was, she didn’t have the kind of ammo I did; lead or steel was only going to do so much against these things. She was putting up a fight but was about to get eaten if I didn’t do something fast.
I reloaded, acutely conscious of the fact that this was my last mag. I cussed myself, again, for not finding a way to bring my Winchester and my bandolier. I could picture them sitting back at Father Pat’s place. I hadn’t figured on going on the hunt this soon after a yelling match with McKinney. Stupid.
I finished the litany of banishment over the second demon, albeit a little quickly. It wasn’t going anywhere, but continued to thrash and howl as its unreal flesh dissolved. The stench was horrifying. As soon as I got the last word out, I turned on the final one, which was bearing down on Eryn, all but ignoring the blasts of her shotgun.
I bellowed the litany at the top of my lungs, calling on the Lord, the Saints, and the Archangels to hurl the foul thing back into the deepest cracks of the Abyss, while I opened fire, advancing on the thing as I did. It staggered back, the silver-jacketed bullets tearing great smoking, oozing holes in its un-flesh. Its screams felt like they’d split my head open all by themselves.
I finished the litany as I stood over it. The slide was locked back on an empty mag. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my secondary knife. My Bowie was sitting next to my rifle. The big Espada snapped open with a flick of my wrist. I pivoted the knife and stabbed it down into the toxic mass of unnatural scum with a final, “Begone! Go back to the pit you crawled out of!”
There was a final horrid scream, and the thing was gone, just a spreading puddle of black tar on the forest floor. I went back to the other two and repeated the process before going to Eryn.
“I thought I told you to stay with the jeep,” I said crossly. She had finished reloading the shotgun, and was now staring at the puddle of tar on the forest floor.
“I heard the gunshots, and it sounded like you needed help,” she said, still not taking her eyes off the remains. She’d seen the goathead, but that wasn’t nearly as weird as these things had been. It had at least had the decency to only have two eyes and one mouth. Once its rider was gone, anyway.
I gestured to the tar. “And it barely sneezed at your buckshot,” I pointed out. “Things from the Abyss don’t react much to most conventional weapons. Next time, maybe you should listen when I say something about this? You could have been killed, or worse.”
I think I let something into my voice that I hadn’t intended to when I said that. She looked at me with an intensity I wasn’t used to, and I probably would have blushed and turned away, stammering, if she�
�d kept it up a moment longer. I was saved, if such is the word, by a presence on the edge of the clearing.
My blood ran cold. I was holding an unloaded 1911 in one hand and a knife in the other. I had no more ammunition. And there was the shape of a tall man standing between the trees, dark as midnight except for the faint red pinpricks of eyes, watching us.
The Shadowman had arrived.
For what felt like an eternity, he just stood there, while we stared at each other. The knife in my hand, as hefty a piece of hardware as it was, felt wholly inadequate to take on that ancient horror. I had stepped between Eryn and the thing as soon as it appeared, but if it came down to it, I’d have a hard time even slowing it down.
Even though its face was a featureless shadow, it almost seemed like it was smiling. Impressive, it hissed. I didn’t know if the voice was in my head, or if what was left of what might have once been a human in that darkness was actually physically speaking. Few can face the Brothers and keep their sanity, much less survive. The Enemy has clearly favored you.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. Why was it talking? Why didn’t it attack already?
Oh, no, little mortal, it continued to hiss, in that fingernails-on-a-blackboard voice. It won’t be that easy. I suddenly had a vision of such inventive sadism that it actually brought me to my knees, retching. And I’ve got a strong stomach.
Eryn was down on the ground, her hands wrapped around her head, making agonized little whimpers. The shotgun lay beside her. I reached over and snagged it as soon as I could see straight. It didn’t have silver in it, but it was better than nothing. I jammed the empty .45 back in my holster.
The shadow took a step forward, and my guts clenched with fear again. “Eryn, you’ve got to snap out of it,” I said desperately. “I’m not going to be able to carry you and hold this thing off at the same time.”
The Shadowman’s laughter could hardly be described as such. It made my sanity hurt just to hear it. Hold me off? It hissed with amusement. How will you do that? It took another step.
Holding the shotgun so tight that I thought my fingers were going to start bleeding with one hand, I reached up to my chest and drew out that silver crucifix. When I held it up, while it didn’t actually recoil, the Shadowman quivered. One red eye dimmed, as though squinting against a painful glare. It didn’t like the sight of the sacramental, and didn’t want to come too close to it. But at the same time, it wanted us, and I knew just the sight of a crucifix wasn’t going to stop it forever.
Now, silver-jacketed bullets and big knives are not the only weapons in my arsenal. In fact, I’d never have been able to take down those three demons with only the weapons by themselves. They help, but they’re rarely enough to administer the coup de grace. And one such weapon wouldn’t have been recognized as such by McKinney’s door goon.
“Eryn,” I hissed frantically, “you’ve got to get up and run for the jeep. Now!”
She was still sobbing, but she got up and started to stagger down the slope. In the fraction of a second I had to spare to think about it, I was glad she didn’t protest or ask questions. I needed her away from this thing.
I drew the little steel hip flask out of my back pocket. I silently gave thanks that I’d thought to have Father Pat refill it with holy water after the clash in his living room.
Unfortunately, my options were still limited. I’d have to wait for the Shadowman to get close, and actually splash it on him. Just laying a barrier wasn’t going to work, unless I was willing to stand here inside a small, sanctified circle until it got bored or decided to go after Eryn.
I just hoped that I didn’t turn into a gibbering sack of snot and lunacy before I could do anything. I whispered a prayer to that effect as it took another step closer.
You will live long enough to see the woman violated in ways you cannot imagine, then devoured while still alive, it hissed to me, taking another step. But each step seemed more hesitant, more labored than the last.
“You talk a lot of smack, for something afraid of a little silver cross,” I said. I guess my fear had reached the point of going away to be replaced by defiance. “And you know what kind of liquid pain for your kind is in this flask, too. Real tough for an immortal evil, huh?” My defiant side is kind of a smartass.
It took another step with a snarl that made my ears hurt, made my teeth feel like I’d just bitten down on a nail, and put a metallic taste in my mouth. It was pissed. But it was also afraid of what that little flask contained. Holy things and its brand of evil really don’t get along.
It was trying to figure out how to get to me without getting burned. And that was when I realized that it was stalling.
I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye first. Snakes. Big ones. They looked like rattlesnakes, only about twice the size of a normal one. And they were closing in on me. There probably were more behind me. I could sense the Shadowman’s triumphal grin.
But while the shotgun might not have any more effect on it than a stiff breeze, I was pretty sure it would do something to Otherworldly snakes, even if it just messed them up long enough for me to run past.
I realized I didn’t know how many shells fit into the shotgun. A quick glance showed it was a Mossberg 500. I was pretty sure that was a six-shot, but I could be wrong. I’d have to time this very carefully.
I sent up a simple, wordless, desperate prayer, then took three fast, long steps forward, and splashed the holy water at the Shadowman in the Sign of the Cross.
It hadn’t expected that. It recoiled with a quivering scream that felt like having needles driven into my ears. I turned on my heel and dashed downslope, bringing the shotgun up as I stuffed the flask back in my back pocket. I blasted a snake that was in my way, coiled to strike, and it vanished in a puff of black, oily smoke. Then I was out of the circle and running like crazy for the road.
Behind me, the Shadowman screamed again, sounding like a screech owl from Hell. I knew it would be after me soon—I couldn’t be sure how badly I’d hurt it. A little holy water goes a long way with these things, but it obviously wasn’t dead. I still wasn’t sure if it was possible to actually kill a Shadowman.
I came out of the trees at a dead sprint, my breath burning in my throat and lungs. Eryn was right there, the jeep already running and the passenger door open.
I piled in, keeping the shotgun pointed out toward the woods, where I could still see those spectral rattlers coming after me, slithering far faster than any natural snake. I hadn’t even closed the door when I was yelling at Eryn, “Go, go!” and blasting the closest rattler. Just like the other one, it vanished in a puff of evil black smoke.
She didn’t need to be told twice. I hadn’t even gotten the second “go” out of my mouth before she was flooring the pedal. We fishtailed off the shoulder and onto the road with a screech of skidding rubber and a spray of gravel, and then we were moving downhill toward the town far faster than the speed limit signs said we should be. I still thought we were going too slowly.
I got the door shut and latched about a half mile down the road. I still didn’t relax, but kept twisting around to look behind us. While there wasn’t a mob of supernatural snakes following us, what I saw looked more ominous.
Massive storm clouds were billowing up over the ridge. They were darkening past the threatening gray of an impending thunderstorm and all the way toward black. And they were building more quickly than I’d ever seen.
I faced forward. My mouth still tasted of fear and bile. I had to consciously relax my grip on the Mossberg. “Straight back to Father Pat’s place,” I rasped.
Eryn nodded. She was white-knuckling the wheel, and there were tears on her face. I couldn’t blame her. There aren’t many experiences on Earth worse than what she’d just faced. Or at least I didn’t think so at the time. I still had a lot to learn.
Chapter 9
We came roaring into town just ahead of the storm front. It was coming on fast. Eryn didn’t slow down unti
l we got to St. Anthony’s, and then it took her a few moments to peel her hands off the wheel. I was out of the truck like a shot, going for my duffel and, more importantly, for my Winchester and the rest of my ammo. I was under no illusions what was coming.
Only once I was well armed did I go back for Eryn. She was still sitting in the driver’s seat, her hands in her lap, staring at nothing.
“Eryn?” I ventured carefully. “We’ve got to move now. This isn’t over yet.”
She turned to look at me. There was horror in her eyes. “He…he showed me…” She gulped back a sob. “He showed me what he was going to do to me…”
On impulse, I took her by the shoulders and pulled her close. She swung out of the jeep, put her arms around my neck, and sobbed into my shoulder.
“I’m not going to let it happen,” I assured her. I rolled my eyes heavenward. I’m going to need some help keeping that promise, I said silently.
Eryn had started to calm down, but was still holding on to me. Under any other circumstances it would have been awful nice, but the fact that she was clinging to me in terror took something away from it. I was too strung out myself to be thinking about much of anything else, either. I just held her tightly, as if the strength of my embrace alone would help protect her.
I don’t think we’d been standing there for more than a couple minutes when Johnny showed up.
He got out of his car looking grim, and didn’t even get that smug smirk of his when he saw Eryn in my arms. That couldn’t be good. I gently extricated myself as he walked up. Eryn looked up at me for a moment before straightening and standing next to me, watching Johnny approach. She didn’t move very far.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Not out here,” he replied. “Inside.” He pointed to the church. “McKinney might think I’m crazy, but I’d rather have this conversation on holy ground, if it’s at all possible.”