Hell Cop

by David C. Burton

  “One more!” Sneaker said, with glee.

  “One more!” I said after that.

  Five tables went over before cries from the approaching demons brought us to our senses.

  “Dinner's over,” I said.

  The scene as we ran from the hall was a grotesque parody of a college cafeteria food fight. The souls scooped the food off the floor, or themselves, with their pudgy fingers so fast they sometimes missed their mouths and splattered the food on another soul who might do the same thing. The noise they made could have been a feeding frenzy involving Stickylips and Bonebreaker Crabs. Nevertheless, we ran down the corridor giggling like kids who had just pulled a prank on the town grouch.

  We slowed down and finished our stolen meals at a leisurely pace. I had swiped two exquisite chocolate eclairs for dessert.

  The nature of the halls changed. One contained souls who were forced to eat. Another had cigarettes, pipes, and Cuban cigars available, if the souls could only reach them. The same with booze and drugs. We went through a long section with no halls. I felt different stirrings as we approached the next section.

  The atmosphere changed. The air turned sultry and close. The odors were not of gourmet cooking, tempting to the gastronomic appetite, but appealed to a baser, more primal need. The sins were more serious there. Sins of the Flesh.

  Sneaker, in front of me, sucked in a quick breath as she peeked into the hall. I pressed close to look over her shoulder. I held my breath, too. A naked woman danced to inaudible music. She was impossibly beautiful, with long blonde hair, a narrow waist, and long, lean legs. The way she touched herself left no doubt as to what she wanted. Next to her swayed another woman, darker, smaller, but just as beautiful and enticing. A couple was next, the man handsome, muscled and hugely erect, the woman, oriental, delicate, and sensuous. They stroked and rubbed each other until she took him and guided him into her. The couple's moans and grunts of pleasure were soon overshadowed by wails of desire from the watching souls.

  The souls, men and women, were chained to the rock in such a way that they could not touch themselves. For some sin in life they were doomed to an eternity of arousal with no chance of release.

  My own arousal grew. The pheromones in the air intoxicated me. I slipped my arm around Sneaker. She moved my hand to her breast and pressed against me. Mesmerized, we watched the couple reach their fevered climax.

  They separated, then smiled with satisfaction. The anguished cries from the souls reached a fever pitch as they strained against their chains, trying for a release that would never come.

  Sneaker turned to me, and our lips crushed together in a kiss that had nothing to do with love, affection, or even simple lust. We were driven by a deeper imperative. A sexual need carried within us for a million generations that had been triggered by what we saw, what we heard, what we smelled. Have sex or die. The rutting instinct was firmly implanted in us, and there was no denying it. Satan himself walking down the corridor would not have stopped us.

  The long blank space between halls had a five foot deep niche carved in it. We ran to it. Inside we dropped our gear and stripped off our clothes in a panic of compulsion. I picked her up. She wrapped her legs around my hips. I slammed her against the hot rock wall and buried myself in her. In a frenzy, oblivious to anything but the need to orgasm, we thrust at each other like two machines out of control.

  My orgasm came like punch in the stomach. I gasped for breath, and my legs went soft. My body quivered. Sneaker's fingernails gouged my back, and her teeth drew blood on my shoulder. I sank to my knees, Sneaker still wrapped around me. When we caught our breath, we had sex again, though in a slightly more sedate manner.

  For a few minutes we sat together. I don't know what she thought, but I was glad it was her I was with. Dressed, we exchanged a kiss and a hug and proceeded down the corridor. We hadn't uttered a word.

  As I passed the first hall, the dancing women and men were still beautiful and the souls still pathetic. The edge was off, though the pheromone thick air had things stirring in me again. Then I looked back.

  I stopped. Sneaker bumped into me. Jesus, I should have known. The spectacular blonde I'd seen from the front was neither blonde nor beautiful from the back. Black leathery skin hung in folds, three rows of curved barbs ran down the middle, ending in a stubby tail. A single hooked claw stuck out from the heels. The next woman had a scaly backside. The couple had matted fur and tails wound in tight piggy curlicues.

  I whispered in Sneaker's ear. “At least you're beautiful on both sides.”

  She patted my ass and said, “You too. Let's get out of here before I lose my virginity.”

  “Again?”

  That got me a pinch on the rear.

  The next halls were similar to the first. Soon, though, the atmosphere turned darker, meaner. A sense of depravity and degradation filled the place. The smell of blood, excrement, and decay assaulted my nose and stomach. Screams echoed down the corridor. The false beautiful people did more than entice in those halls. They interacted with the souls, but the roles were reversed. Now the souls suffered the beatings and rapes and tortures they had perpetrated in life. The cries were of pain and hopelessness. The masquerading demons became men, old women, homely women, children. The damned souls suffered for their sins. Their blood ran and pain racked their bodies as they spent eternity begging for forgiveness that would never come.

  Sneaker and I didn't speak about what we saw. We hurried on. Quickly we passed halls where tobacco, liquor, drugs, even chocolate were not withheld, but forced. Souls were perpetually hungover, lying in their own vomit, continuously ODing or going cold turkey, forever breathing cigarette and cheap cigar smoke. Souls were boiled in vats of chocolate.

  The smoothing of the edges from the food and the sex wore off. My body twitched with nervous energy, as if I had to go to the bathroom real bad and there was no toilet paper.

  We were running when we found the door to 101, the Schoolyard.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mrs. Scritch's School for Wayward Young Souls spread out in a clearing in the middle of a two-mile diameter bowl surrounded by steep cliffs. Two small, swift rivers fed a small lake, and in the middle of the otherwise calm water a whirlpool spun patiently. Above the cliffs, black clouds roiled lit by internal lightning that periodically escaped to blast the rock. Gray cells of intense rain roamed around the rim. Thick forest enclosed the central clearing. From inside the circle, the trees looked green and inviting with soft grass in their cool shadows. But behind those trees were scraggly dead trees with dark Shapes flowing among their shattered trunks. Four roads led away from the rambling building in the center of it all.

  Sneaker and I found a good vantage point on top of an outcropping of scorched rock. With field glasses we scanned the black, four story fortress for our individual souls. I took my boots and socks off, to great relief. Sneaker wasn't so incautious, though she did loosen them up a bit.

  “Do you think Destiny's okay?” she asked after a while.

  “He's fine,” I said. “He's flying the friendly skies.”

  Sneaker sighed and stared into the distance.

  “There's so much I don't know about this place.”

  “There's a lot we all don't know. You just have to be prepared and learn as you go.”

  We watched in silence for a few minutes. The “kids” were still in class.

  “Destiny is no threat to you, you know.”

  I kept my gaze on the ragged, rambling building. “I know.”

  “My father was killed when I was young. When he was home, Destiny took his place. He was nice to me.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “He never touched me.”

  I stared at the rock by my feet and said, “I'm glad he was there for you. But he's Hell Crazy and—.”

  “He's not Hell Crazy.”

  “Okay,” I admitted. “He doesn't think he's a demon, but he likes Hell way too much. That's trouble waiting to happen. I'll be civil if he
is. Look, it's recess time.”

  Kid souls streamed out of the main building. We watched intently for our client souls.

  Bullies in life were now the victims, set upon by scrawny kids with glasses. Some of the new victims ran away into the trees, where the Shapes waited. Huge butterflies appeared. They selected several kids and yanked their arms and legs off. A prowling band of cats with matches set some souls on fire or tied firecrackers to their asses.

  “There's mine,” Sneaker said low.

  “Which one?”

  “The chubby red haired one getting his ass kicked by that group of demon girls. You see yours?”

  “No.”

  Young souls continued to pour out of the great black stone building. Most were surrounded by demon children, there to learn how to torture and torment. Some, though were isolated. They wandered around alone. The demons shunned them, and the pitiful souls went from group to group searching for contact even if it meant suffering abuse or pain.

  Brittany Hightower was not there, which gave me a sinking feeling in my stomach.

  “Oh, shit,” Sneaker said after a few minutes.

  “What?”

  “The kid's heading for the woods.”

  I found him with my glasses. Tears streamed from his freckled cheeks as he puffed toward the trees to our left. The demons made a show of chasing him, then stopped. They knew better than to go there.

  “Come on,” Sneaker said, gathering her gear. “We've got to get him before the Shapes do.”

  We ran through the dead trees, leaping downed trunks and brushing aside reaching branches. The kid sat against a splintered stump, knees drawn up to his chest, sobbing. When he heard us he started, his eyes bugging out, expecting some new horror. Shapes lurked around us.

  “Are you Bobby Johnston?” Sneaker asked him from twenty feet away.

  Too terrified to speak he nodded quick little nervous nods.

  Sneaker approached him. I watched out for Shapes.

  “My name is Sneaker. I've come to take you out of here.”

  “You ... you have?” he sniffled. “Are you going to take me home?”

  “Sorry, Bobby, I can't do that, but I can take you where you belong.”

  The kid stared at her, fascinated, wanting to believe, yet not quite trusting her. Hell will do that to a soul, live or dead. Yet again, he might have been attracted by her wild, oriental beauty. He was a male, after all. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  “Where's that?” he asked, then hiccupped.

  “Heaven, Bobby. Your parents hired me to take you to Heaven.”

  “They did?”

  “They sure did.”

  His face scrunched up in thought. “Is this Hell?”

  “It certainly is.”

  His eyes squeezed shut, and his voice became a piteous whine in its search for understanding.

  “Why am I here? I didn't do anything.”

  “I know you didn't, Bobby. It was a mistake.”

  “I didn't do anything wrong,” he insisted. “I was always good. My dad said I was the best son he could ever have.”

  “I know, Bobby. He told me the same thing.”

  The Shapes still lurked, drawn by Bobby's fear. One in particular came close, a shadow cloud flowing hesitantly toward us. I had my gun out. Though it wouldn't do anything against the Shape, it made me feel better.

  “Sneak,” I said, pointing to the bold piece of fog.

  “I know.”

  She turned to Bobby who still sat with his knees drawn up and his eyes wide with fear as he stared at the Shape.

  “What's that?” he said, voice breaking.

  Sneaker knelt beside him.

  “That's a Shape. It's attracted to your fear. It can't hurt you if you're not afraid of it. Look, Bobby, we have to get out of here, okay? Just do what I say and you'll be in Heaven before you know it.”

  “I'm scared.”

  “I know you are. Now, we have to go. Unless you want to go back to the school?”

  On his feet he stared uncertainly at me.

  “Who's that?” he asked.

  “That's Getter. He came to get another soul out of the school.”

  I took a picture out of a pocket.

  “Have you seen her, Bobby? Her name is Brittany Hightower.”

  He nodded, then looked at the ground.

  “Is she in the school?”

  Nod.

  “Where did you see her?”

  His lips scrunched tight.

  “Bobby, where? She was sent here by mistake, too.”

  “In the office,” he said low.

  “Mrs. Scritch's office?”

  A shiver and a nod.

  “Why was she there?”

  “The Superintendent wanted to see her.”

  “Shit,” Sneaker and I said together.

  “Bujo?” I asked, already knowing.

  Big nod.

  “Lovely,” I said, not meaning a word of it.

  Sneaker laid a hand on my arm. “You think he'll try and turn her?”

  “Hell yeah. He won't be able to resist. When did you see her, Bobby?”

  “Yesterday?”

  They did have night in the Schoolyard. The kiddies needed their rest, and the night monsters that came from under the bed or out of the closet needed their chance at them. Brittany would still be there, in the staff wing. I'd have to go in and get her.

  “Getter, let's go,” Sneaker said. “I can't leave the kid, and I won't take him back in there, but we'll wait on the Nexus road. I'll cover you if you have to run for it.”

  We made our way through the dead woods as fast as Bobby's little legs would take him. Being a slightly insubstantial soul, it was easy for us to each take a hand and lift him over obstacles. The Shape followed at a discreet distance.

  The Nexus was at the end of the road on the other side of the schoolhouse. We planned to circle through the forest, they'd hide by the road, and I'd go in and find Brittany. Then we'd jump in the Nexus, go directly to Hell Gate, deliver the kids to the Purgatory Guardians, and go home. It was a good plan and might even have worked, if the Wolfpack hadn't gotten our scent.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The baying of the Wolfpack spurred us on. The river came into view through the tangle of trees. If we could get across, we'd be safe from them. They didn't like water.

  The Shape homed in on our spike of new fear. I let go of Bobby's hand and ran toward it.

  “We're not afraid of you,” I yelled.

  The thing reared up as if startled. If it had had a mouth, it would have dropped open with surprise. I spun around and ran after Sneaker and Bobby.

  The river had several broad shallow crossings. The others were halfway across when I reached the bank. A loud rumbling like thunder caught my attention, and I stopped to listen. I saw what caused the noise. That's when the point demon for the Wolfpack attacked.

  Its paws slammed into my chest, and I tumbled backwards. The beast stuck its lizard head in my face. I gagged at breath rotten as death. As I went down, I drew my knees up and planted them under its belly. I kicked up. The thing went flying. I drew my gun and blew a hole in its gut in midair.

  I rolled to my feet and jumped off the four foot bank. Sneaker's yell stopped me. I looked upstream and scrambled back up to high ground. A two foot high wave rolled past. Another wave swung around the bend. Four feet high, it pushed a breaking crest of steaming white froth ahead of it. Even at the normal six inch depth I couldn't have made it across before the flash flood got me.

  Sneaker called out. The roar of the water and the baying of the Wolfpack drowned out her words. But, after all, what was there to say? Once a soul was retrieved, getting it to Heaven Gate had to be a Hell Cop's first priority. No Hell Cop would expect another Hell Cop to jeopardize a retrieved soul to effect a rescue. I indicated she should go to the Nexus, that I would be okay, that I would head up to the cliff rim. I almost indicated that I loved her. But did I? Then I thought that
if she loved me, too, I was putting a heavy burden on her—help me or jeopardize Bobby Johnston's soul. I had no doubt which she would choose, and no reason to make it any harder on her. Anyway, that was my excuse.

  Our eyes held for a few seconds before she turned and ran. I wasted a few more seconds staring after her, then headed upstream, fast, as the flash flood wave roared past.

  To my right the steaming river swirled right up to the top of the bank. The heat coming off it was like a barrier that I had to punch through. To my left I heard the Wolfpack's howls as they raced through the dead wood. Sure of themselves, they made no effort at stealth. I caught an occasional glimpse of them through the thick brush and trees that lined the river bank.

  The Wolfpack was made up of two different, though similar, creatures. The beast I shot had the shaggy body and legs of a wolf with a long, flat lizard head featuring four canines and swept back eyes. Its tail was a whip it could crack over a successful kill. The other beasts had flat scaly bodies with six long reptile legs, a bushy tail, and a misshapen wolf's head with backward slanting teeth—cousins to the Hell Hounds. Unlike their Lifer counterparts this Wolfpack had no problem hunting humans, live or dead.

  On the other side of the surging river I caught a glimpse of Sneaker dodging around burnt tree trunks. I didn't have time for the sudden wave of loneliness to slow me down; a wolf's head member of the Pack leaped out of the brush, plunging both of us into the water.

  The heat of the water took my breath away. I barely had time to suck in a steam-filled breath before the beast, its talons gripping my arm, pulled me under. It attempted to gut me with its hind claws. The current rolled and twisted us about like dead leaves. Completely disoriented, I couldn't tell up from down. My lungs cried out for air, my eyes burned. A wave of nausea swept through my body as the river suddenly lifted me up, then slammed me down against the rocky bottom. I had only seconds before I breathed in the first lungful of scorching water.

  In the murky dimness, a dark shape loomed ahead. With the last bit of strength and will left to me, I pushed off the bottom, twisted about, and smashed the wolfhead beast against the boulder. It released me and vanished in the gloom.