Hell Cop

by David C. Burton

  “And you are not?”

  “Whoa, wait a minute.”

  We all froze for a second. We were moving again.

  “You must not let Mephisto catch you,” Major Molas insisted.

  “No shit.”

  “You must get off now.”

  He pushed a button on his Find.

  “Wait!”

  Too late. The Nexus pushed Brittany and me gently out.

  “Oh, man.” My legs went soft and I dropped to a crouch, leaning against the blank Nexus face. When I found my voice I said, “Well, Brittany, I hope you know how to climb a tree.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Even as a kid I didn't like climbing trees. It must have been that survival instinct Destiny talked about; trees are high and you can fall from them. So I was less than pleased to be pushed out onto 155, The Tree. The Tree was said to have been growing since Satan started Hell. I'd never seen the top or been to the end of the branches. Supposedly, The Tree grew out of the Abyss, turning a missed step into a long fall. It had its own particular wildlife as well as the usual serpents and insects and sharp-toothed mammals.

  I had absolutely no desire to venture out onto the twenty foot diameter branches. I couldn't trust the Nexus. Mephisto hunted me. Oh man, the knot of frustration in my stomach threatened to upset my usual method of operation; don't sit there, do something.

  Well, Brittany clung to my hand, waiting. I had to do something.

  Besides having water at each Nexus gate there was a phone, too. I knew records were automatically kept on Nexus use. I had to take a chance they weren't monitoring the phone. I assured Brittany that the Noose vines with struggling souls hanging from them in the gloomy mist that enveloped the Tree, would not get her. I drank, splashed water in my face, and picked up the phone.

  When Rack answered, I said, “Can they trace this call?”

  After a few seconds, during which I heard the rapid tap of a computer keyboard, he said, “Hang up. I'll call you.”

  The five minutes I waited was the longest two hours of my life. Screams came to us out of the dim, some fading in the distance, some cut short. Shapes moved in the shadows; souls pursued by their fears and guilt. A naked young woman soul with blood on her hands ran toward us, screaming. A girl about the same size as Brittany chased her. The side of the girl's head was smashed in, and she held a gin bottle as a club over her head. “Mommy, Mommy,” she cried.

  Fascinated, Brittany watched them disappear along another branch. She made sure to always be in contact with me.

  “I don't like it here,” she said.

  “Nobody who's sent here does.”

  “This is Hell, isn't it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Did my father pay you to come here and get me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  I'm always surprised how quickly children grasp, and accept, a situation. In some ways they are easier to work with than adult souls.

  “You won't ... You can't take me home, can you?” she asked. “Even if my father paid you more money.”

  “Sorry, I can't do that. Heaven is a nice place though.”

  “Have you been there?”

  “No, but I've talked with, ah, people who have.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds; then she sat down and leaned against the tree, her legs straight out, hands in her lap.

  “I don't deserve to go to Heaven,” she said matter-of-factly.

  That was a first. Usually souls couldn't wait to get out of Hell, whether they thought they deserved to or not. I sat next to her and asked why not.

  “Mr. Bujo was right. I did hurt my little sister.”

  “By putting the plastic in her crib?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But you didn't ... Did you mean for her to die?”

  “No,” she said, fighting tears.

  “Her death was an accident then?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You knew the danger to your little sister. Why did you put the plastic there?”

  “I don't know. I just wanted her to go away.”

  “So you could have all the attention?”

  “Yes. No. I didn't want him to ...”

  She curled into herself and sobbed quietly. I caressed her hair, hoping to bring some comfort, but she flinched when I touched her. I longed to hold her and wipe away her tears. I wanted to make it all right. Instead I sat helpless and frustrated. Then I remembered what she almost said before, “You won't...” It was almost as if she was making sure I wouldn't take her home.

  I rested my hand on her shoulder. She flinched slightly but let it stay.

  “Brittany,” I said. “If I could take you back home to your parents, would you want to go?” She shrugged noncommittally. “Yes or no,” I insisted.

  Slowly at first, then with increasing vigor, she shook her head. “No, no,” she repeated in a whisper that grew into a shout. “NO, NO, I won't go back!”

  I gathered her in my arms and held her till she calmed down. I was pretty sure I knew what had gone on. While I held her, my anger grew. To be denied a daughter and then have someone so misuse theirs was almost too cruel a circumstance to stand. I thought some crazy thoughts in the next minute, though in the end it really wasn't my business, was it? Still, I needed to know.

  “Don't worry,” I said, brushing the hair from her face. “I won't take you back home. I'll take you to Heaven where you'll be safe. But, Brittany, I need to know what happened, with your father.”

  It was simple really, the same old story. Her father had been sexually abusing her for years. When he started on the little sister she became frightened for her, didn't want her to go through what she had. So, one day, scared and confused, eight-year old Brittany took the plastic off her mother's dry cleaning and went into the sister's room. She had in mind just to get the sister out of the house to a hospital. Her mother called her, and she left the plastic in the crib.

  It wasn't up to me to judge, either Brittany or her father, but I definitely planned to have a private talk with Mr. Hightower when I got back to Life.

  The phone buzzed, yanking me back to the immediate predicament.

  “Getter, what the hell are you doing in 155? It's a long fall from there, Bud.”

  “It's a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  “I don't. I was told I was being tracked, any way to avoid that?”

  “Man, I don't know. The wires have been hotter than a lava pool at high noon. Mephisto wants your ass bad. Let me try something.”

  While I waited, I punched buttons on my Find. I expected Helland Security guards to come tumbling out of the Nexus any second. I told Brittany to get ready to run. Unfortunately, I didn't know where to tell her to run to.

  “Rack,” I said, when the Find told me what I wanted to know. “Can you get me through the Nexus to 83? It's the next closest to the Gate.”

  “Yeah, man, I could block the sensor data and set up a feedback loop so you'd be invisible, but it won't do any good. I just detected a platoon of troops arriving at 83. They got you covered.”

  “Can you get us anyplace? I don't know how to get out of this damn tree.”

  “Shit! Wait one.”

  Standing up, I waited, tense as a hangman's rope. “Getter, you have about thirty seconds before troops start popping out. Get out of there.”

  “Where?”

  “Go up, I think. Just go. I'll keep on it.”

  I grabbed Brittany's hand and ran out along the branch the woman and the demon baby came from. I wanted to put distance between us and the troops. It finally dawned on me that Rack said troops. Troops meant Army, which meant Mephisto was beginning to show his hand.

  I'd been on the lower level of the Tree before, down where the huge trunk split and spanned the Abyss. I'd been a half mile out to the sides, also. But I'd never been up. As we ran, Noose Vines dropped with uncanny accuracy from the upper branches. The first one lifted me five feet off th
e bark before I got loose. My heart stopped dead as I hung over the Abyss. Those few seconds gave me plenty of time to decide to move to Nebraska. After that, I widened my focus and brushed them away.

  Souls ran on other branches. Those that avoided the Vines might step into pools of blood red sap that held them till something like the Tiger Toothed Tree Toads got them. Or they might run onto a camouflaged Tree Serpent. Mutant Monkeys paralleled us a couple of times, making great leaps of up to fifty feet between branches. One of them leaped at us from a higher branch. I flipped him over the edge with my staff. Small flocks of Needlebills flitted through the branches.

  I took us up whenever I could. The cries of the troops spurred me on when I had to jump over the emptiness below. I felt a bit uncomfortable going up. It reminded me of all the movies and TV shows where the bad guy, being hotly pursued, climbs a building or a tower where there is no hope of escape. I hoped Rack knew what he was talking about.

  Visibility was never more than a hundred feet into the mist. I became disoriented. The only direction I knew was up. Brittany proved herself a real trooper, but then souls never tire. What sport would it be for the demons if the souls had to stop and rest? She got caught up in some Strangler Moss. I cut her loose before the attendant Stripper Ants got to her.

  I had just boosted Brittany up a steep branch when I heard a yell behind me and then a loud whoosh. I barely had time to grab a thick piece of bark and swing out before a fireball smacked into the Tree where my hands had been. Sparks burned my face. Brittany screamed. Troops converged on us along the lower branches. I scrambled up and ran, fireballs close behind.

  A darkness loomed in the mist. With no time for caution we ran toward it. Twenty feet away I knew what it was, the main trunk rising straight up, ringed by a stairway of branches. I looked up and saw light. Not bright light, a clean glow free of interference from branches or moss or dead leaves. The top of the Tree.

  More troops arrived from all directions. Fireballs flamed all around adding their own flickering radiance to the scene.

  Crouched low by the main trunk, Brittany tugged at my arm and said over the whooshing and yelling. “Mr. Getter, save yourself, if you can. I'll be okay in the school. Thank you for helping me.” She wiped away her tears and wouldn't look at me.

  A lump formed in my throat and my eyes watered, not from the smoke that surrounded us. This kid was going to Heaven if I had to die and fly her there myself on my own demon wings. As she spoke, a fireball flew over our heads. In its orange light I saw something above us.

  I touched her cheek and said, “Don't give up on Heaven, or me, yet.”

  I pushed her ahead of me, and we clambered up the branches that spiraled around the last twenty feet of the main trunk. The very top was cut off flat, leaving a level platform about six inches in diameter. And about seven feet above that was a thin strand of rock a foot wide. The bridge faded in the distance, and I didn't know where it led. If we could get on it, we could gain some time, which was quickly running out.

  “I'm going to boost you up there,” I told Brittany. “If I don't make it, pick a direction and run. There may be help on the way.”

  That last was a lie, but it sounded good.

  “I'm not leaving you,” she said.

  I was too busy trying to balance on the top to reply. Brittany stood on the next to last branch. Using Tai Chi balance and concentration techniques, I placed one foot onto the top of the Tree. Slowly, smoothly, as if my Sifu, or teacher, was watching, I brought my other foot up. From a crouch, back straight, I stood up.

  “They're coming,” Brittany warned.

  “I know,” I said. “Climb up so I can lift you.”

  Brittany scrambled on to the stone bridge, and then it was my turn. The stone was only a few inches thick. It was smooth, and the bottom was level with my fingertips. I looked down. The troops approached fast. Some were on the last big branch already. There was no time to think about what I had to do. I jumped.

  My arms wrapped around the bridge. It took all my fear-driven concentration to keep hold. I swung my legs up and hugged the rock, then began to inch around to the top side, expecting a fireball to burst against my back at any second. Brittany tugged at my leg, giving me the help I needed.

  I lay still to give my heart a chance to settle back into my chest. That's when I noticed the silence. I chanced a look down at the Tree. The troops were there, Mephisto's own stubby horned, spiky-tailed demons, Lizardheads, KKCs, all with their flammers raised up to us. They made no move to fire, just stared. This was curious.

  As we were in a vulnerable position and had no time for mysteries, I rose slowly to my feet, testing my balance, concentrating my chi, my reservoir of energy. Movement beneath me drew my attention. The troops on the big branch below me moved aside, obviously expecting something. I peered into the mist. Maybe it was Major Molas come to escort us to Heaven Gate?

  No such luck.

  A figure strode out of the fog. I had a few more seconds to check him out this time. His armor had an organic quality to it. Black, with a dull sheen, it had no visible joints, it seemed to flow with his movements. The clawed left hand rested on the bejeweled hilt of a two handed sword. His black hair trailed from his head as if blown by its own personal breeze. Thick horns swept back in a shallow curve, tapering to sharp points. They were red now. I assumed that meant he was not happy. He stopped and raised his long, wrinkled face and blazing eyes.

  “Getter,” his voice rumbled. “We meet again, with no door between us. You murdered Heret, one of my daughters.”

  “It was self-defense,” I told him.

  A gnarly, clawed hand waved my excuse away as irrelevant.

  “She was a disappointment to me,” he admitted. “Hanging about with the lesser demons. But I had great plans for her. Queen of the Scum she would have been.” He sighed a universal, paternal sigh. “I would prefer to take you alive and torture you at my leisure before taking your life force, but more important matters press for my time.”

  “Like war against Satan,” I said.

  His laugh was so deep the rock under my feet vibrated.

  “It will be no war against that old demon. He can do nothing to stop me. He grows senile, cowering in that golden palace for centuries at a time. Once he was a great demon. True. Now, his greatest challenge is what side of the bed to get out of, if he gets out at all.”

  “And what will you do if you take over?”

  “Bah! Hell has grown too lenient,” he said, as if giving a campaign speech. “The souls are tormented with boredom, not pain. The demons have become sloppy. Look at you Hell Cops. You come down here and steal souls with impunity.”

  “The ones we take do not belong here.”

  “Doesn't matter. That practice, I promise you, will cease. For some, it already has.”

  “For who? Who have you taken?”

  “You tell me, Getter. Are you missing someone?”

  I couldn't help but blurt it out. “Dimitri.”

  “Yes, Dimitri. Come with me, Getter. I will take you to him.” His eyes blazed and his mouth bunched into a malevolent grimace. “And I'll take that young soul with you for myself. Get him!” he ordered his troops.

  With a yell they rushed to the branch stairway and began to climb. Mephisto's cry was our signal to start running. Before I did, I drew my gun and fired. The blast shattered the top two feet of the Tree and sent two soldiers falling into the depths. Then we ran.

  Fireballs flew all around us. One grazed my arm, knocking me to my knees. I jumped up and kept running. No time to be scared. The Tree spread out under us like a dark green canopy that had been firebombed. At irregular intervals the leaves were burned away, exposing areas of charred, scraggly branches that showed against the gray mist like a fine pen and ink drawing. Occasionally movement could be seen, sometimes a flash of pale soul flesh, sometimes a darker form.

  I had no idea how far the stone bridge stretched or where we would be when it ended. It widened grad
ually which was a good sign. I had the Find out, simultaneously trying to figure where we were and not run over the edge, when I heard my name called, twice.

  It was no mystery who called the first time. Mephisto's bass voice cut through the fog like a laser. It almost knocked me over with its power. “GETTER. I'M COMING FOR YOU.” I knew then he was on the bridge. There was no way to outrun him. The other voice was faint with distance, yet somehow familiar. I couldn't place it in direction or identity. It didn't matter. Mephisto was gaining on us, and there was nowhere to run, except down.

  Brittany ran in front of me. “Brittany,” I said. “Mephisto is coming. I'll try and slow him somehow. Maybe you can get some place. If you see another Hell Cop, ask him for help. Otherwise, I'm sorry. I tried.”

  “Don't leave me alone, Mr. Getter, please. I want to go to Heaven.”

  “Me too, kiddo, but not this trip, I'm afraid.”

  I chanced a look behind me. Mephisto's form emerged from the mist like a true Specter from Hell should, eyes burning, hair a nimbus around his horned head, sword held high. I stopped and faced him. Running twenty more feet would not make any difference.

  “Run, Brittany, run.”

  “No, Mr. Getter, I want to stay with you.”

  “Do as I say. You might have a chance.”

  Suddenly, I heard a whistling sigh. A hard blast of wind buffeted me. I had to step toward the approaching Mephisto to keep from falling.

  “Ahheeee,” Brittany screamed.

  I spun around. She was gone.

  “Brittany!”

  Forgetting my fear, I looked down, expecting to see her pale face and hands tumbling into the dark Tree. Nothing.

  “Brittany!”

  “She be all right, Getter, my friend,” a familiar voice called from over my head.

  Shapes swooped in the mist. One of them resolved itself and became clear. A Skyhook glided in a lazy circle, with Gregory sitting astride it, beaming a welcome grin at me.

  His expression went from happy to alarm. Mephisto! I twisted into a crouch. He loomed fifteen feet away, closing fast. I drew my gun. He raised his sword.

  “You're mine, Getter.”