Hell Cop

by David C. Burton

  Mephisto spoke, his voice soft on the outside, unmerciful on the inside. “I can make you scream.”

  He drew a line of blood across the top of her breast with the tip of a claw.

  Sneaker did not flinch. She did not turn away. She did not scream.

  Mephisto left her. He stopped in front of me. Met my glare. Made sure I knew exactly how he would make her scream.

  “Forget the prophecy, Getter. You have no future.”

  He stalked into his tent. McFetter followed.

  I wanted Sneaker to look at me. To tell me that what had just happened didn't affect her. That I was the only man who could leave her so stunned, head tilted back, mouth open, eyes fluttering, breathing so heavy. For a few minutes I felt completely insignificant and inadequate.

  Survival instincts kicked in. I got over it.

  We hung on our crosses in silence while two Guards set up a crude table with water and food—bread, peanut butter and jelly, potatoes, meat, veggies. Another table held an assortment of pain infliction devices, mostly sharp objects and hot things. Two sets of two Guards stood on duty at the edge of the open area.

  Sneaker's breathing had slowed. Her voice was rough. “You shouldn't have come. Now both of us will die.”

  Neither of us ever mentioned the incident.

  “Did you think I'd just let Mephisto have you?” I said.

  “Yes. Your duty is to Brittany first.”

  Despite her strong outburst to McFetter, Sneaker was weak. She'd been hanging for almost twenty-four hours with no food or water. Bruises, cuts, burns, sweat, and blood covered her. She was beautiful. And McFetter would never make her scream.

  “Brittany wanted to come with me.” I told her what had happened to me, how I got there. And while I spoke I opened the Swiss Army knife Gregory had pressed into my hand back at the cave. Hiding it from the Guards who weren't paying any attention anyway, I began to slice through the rope that bound my forearms.

  “Sneaker,” I said, when I'd cut as far as I dared. “If I cut you loose, can you stand, or run?” I whispered.

  “Whatever I have to do,” she answered. “Will it be now?”

  “A distraction would be nice, but without one now is as good or bad time as any.”

  “Getter.”

  “Yeah,” I said, watching for the Guards to turn away.

  “Thank you for rescuing me.” Her eyes glistened behind the sweat and blood soaked hair falling over her face.

  One of the unwritten Hell Cop codes was don't fall in love with another Hell Cop. Well, some codes were meant to be broken. “You're entirely welcome.”

  She tried a smile. Couldn't quite manage it. I got the point.

  “Maybe they will be your diversion,” Sneaker said.

  To our right two Guards stood snout to snout, fists clenched, voices rising with each insult. The other two Guards moved slowly toward them, laughing, anticipating violence. Demon Guards were the bad ass fighters in Hell, but they weren't worth shit on guard duty.

  I worked the knife. If Mephisto heard the growing commotion and came out, we were dead. The lashings on my right arm gave way. The other side parted with one slice. A sharp knife is a thing of beauty. I dropped to the ground, ran behind Sneaker and sliced the rope that held her. Three things happened: Sneaker fell to her knees, the two Guards drew swords, roared battle cries, and went at each other, and Mephisto came out of his tent.

  I dragged Sneaker behind the cross. Her legs worked after a few steps. Her arms were useless. We almost made it past the tents and into the surrounding dark.

  “GETTER!” Mephisto's voice echoed off the Fire Cliffs. The Guards froze. Pragons and Demon Steeds muttered and growled. I stumbled. Sneaker fell.

  “GET THEM!”

  I hauled Sneaker to her feet and led her into the dark, right into the one Guard that was on the ball. He grabbed my arm. Sneaker wasn't stopping for anyone. She launched into a flying front kick that smashed his helmet and his face. I yanked out his sword and rammed it into his neck.

  We ran.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  The Fire Cliff flames lit our way. We angled left toward the bare safety of the rocks; then, with skill, bravery, intelligence, and an enormous amount of luck, we'd find Heyjoe's cave.

  We had everything but luck. The Guards, now united and focused, streamed out of the camp, their voices one with the enthusiasm of pursuit. Mephisto led them, his huge golden sword slashing the air, eager for blood.

  The rocks rose pale and inviting ahead. Sneaker stumbled. I grabbed her arm, ignored her involuntary cry of pain, dragged her after me. That was enough to erase the little advantage we had.

  Mephisto snagged her other arm, ripped her from my grasp. He held her two feet off the ground.

  “Watch her die, Getter. Just like you watched my daughter die.”

  He swung his sword out and up.

  I couldn't hope to stop the big sword once it swung down to Sneaker's neck. But maybe ... ? I swung the Guard's sword over my head and sliced down, aiming for Mephisto's wrist. I hit his finger. Two inches of the tip flew off.

  “Ahhh!” He didn't even drop the sword. Mephisto looked at the shortened finger. Then laughed. “You'll have to cut off more than that for her to keep her head.” With a flick of his blade he sent my sword spinning. Two Guards held my arms.

  Defiance, resignation, and sadness mixed on Sneaker's face. There was nothing I could do.

  McFetter pushed his way through the circle of Guards. He ripped open her coverall front, exposing her stomach and black sports bra. “One scream, Hell Cop, give me one scream.” He touched her skin with a sharp ripping hook.

  There was one thing I could do. I let the Guards hold my weight and reached out with a foot and kicked McFetter in the balls. Dead or not a kick in the nuts will slow a man down.

  “Enough!” Mephisto ordered, kicking a doubled up McFetter out of the way. “Watch, Getter.”

  A great sadness filled me.

  Mephisto raised his sword again.

  A high pitched shriek froze everybody. “EEEEEEEEEE.” A great rush of wind roiled up a dust cloud around us. Mephisto's sword fell to the ground, still gripped by his massive hand. Dark blood spurted from his severed wrist. His remaining hand dropped Sneaker. “AHHHHH!” he roared, more in anger than pain.

  The high pitched battle cry of the Skyhooks drew all eyes upward. The Guards dropped me and drew their swords. Dust swirled as the giant birds dove, hovered long enough to raise an obscuring cloud, then climbed into the night.

  Suddenly, from the dark, from the rocks, dead Hell Cops swarmed among the distracted Guards. Their swords ineffective against the body armor, they wrapped rope around the Guard's legs and yanked them off their feet. Once down, the Hell Cops could get at the vulnerable neck.

  The deep howl of bloodthirsty Pragons joined the bellows of fighting Guards. I crawled to Sneaker. Together, we wove through the churning legs to clear space. A Pragon smashed to the ground and exploded close by. A headless Skyhook quickly followed. Mephisto's voice cut through the battle, “To me! Follow me!”

  I half carried, half dragged Sneaker into the night. I still intended to circle back to the Cliffs and Heyjoe's cave. Two Guards stumbled out of the swirling dust cloud and spotted us. With a whooping battle yell, they ran an interception course toward us.

  Now we had no choice but to get to the rocks and hide. Sneaker was game, but the loss of blood and water weakened her too much. We staggered on, with little hope.

  Then hope dropped from above.

  A Skyhook with a rider swooped out of the dark. Its hook pierced the back of the second Guard, lifting him off the dirt. With one deft move the Skyhook reached down with its long jaws and plucked the head off, then spit it out as he flew out of sight.

  The other Guard kept coming. I swung Sneaker into my arms and ran. The Guard was twenty feet away, sword raised for a killing blow. Sneaker gripped my neck. She mumbled something about, “be together in Hell.”

&nb
sp; I thought that at least Brittany was safe and would get to Heaven.

  A small, pale shape darted from the rocks. It thrust a knarly, three foot stick into the Guard's legs. He went down in his own little dust cloud. The sword clanged at my feet.

  Brittany!

  Grace!

  Grace ran from the rocks, picked up the sword, and neatly severed his neck.

  “Guards were not very nice to me,” she said with satisfaction.

  Brittany tugged at my arm. “Come on, Getter. They're waiting for you.”

  Grace, sword in hand, took my other arm, and they hustled us to the end of the rocks. Ixsess and a band of Taurs waited.

  You alive. By the warmth in my head I assumed Ixsess was pleased.

  “Thanks to you all,” I said. “Can you fly us out of here? Sneaker needs help.”

  Dangerous to fly. Taurs take you.

  “Wouldn't you be faster? Sneaker really needs ...”

  Ixsess cut short my plea with a deafening cry and burst into the air. Two seconds later flames from a diving Pragon engulfed him. He came out the top of the flame. Fire dripped from his wings. His hook snagged the Pragon like a fish, jerking it backward. The Pragon wasn't done yet, though. Flaming, snapping, clawing it went after Ixsess. They tumbled upward through the air, blips of flame tracing their track.

  “Come, Getter,” Flipsit said. “We must go now.”

  The Taurs took over. They gave Sneaker some water and placed her gently on a burly Taur's back. Grace climbed up behind her. Brittany mounted a female Taur as if she'd been doing it forever.

  I found my voice. “Brittany, you should be at the River. Why are you here?”

  She looked at me like I was the dumbest demon in Hell. “To rescue you, of course. Come on. We have to go.” A ten year old telling the stupido adult the obvious. I climbed up on Flipsit and held on.

  We went.

  As the camp and battle and Fire Cliffs receded, one image held my attention. The silhouette of Mephisto, sword raised in rage, watching me. I had the unpleasant feeling we would meet again and that there might be something to that damned prophecy business after all.

  Skyhooks shadowed us, flying escort out of the Fire Cliff night into the perpetual Styx Plain day. I worried about Ixsess. Skyhooks seemed fragile compared to Pragons. But they were smarter.

  The Taur's six legs gave them a smooth gait over the flat ground, and I think I dozed. Excited chatter among the Taurs woke me.

  “What is it?” I asked Flipsit.

  “The Steeds are after us,” he said.

  The knot in my stomach tightened. “Can you outrun them?”

  “No,” he said. “But know some tricks.”

  The group of twenty Taurs had spread out. It came together. They yelled back and forth in their own language then spread out again. They did not seem too concerned.

  A Skyhook circled low over us then climbed away.

  “What's happening?” I asked. I didn't like not knowing.

  “Steeds are close,” Flipsit said. “Time to run, now.”

  The Taurs stopped chattering and picked up the pace. Behind us a dust cloud quickly grew larger. I caught glimpses of black at the leading edge. The thunder of hooves roared in my head.

  After a few minutes of all out running, small groups of Taurs split from the main band. The small groups joined with other groups coming from other directions forming a new band. Grace and Sneaker, Brittany, peeled off in other directions.

  Trails of dust crisscrossed the Flats, confusing our pursuers. Some would follow a breakoff group, then lose it in a veil of dust kicked up by a band crossing their path. Some Taurs were caught. The riders decapitated them with their swords. Or the Steeds reached out with razor sharp teeth and seized the Taur by the neck. One quick snap and the Taur was finished.

  Throughout the chaotic race across the Flats one Steed and Rider followed only Flipsit and me. Mephisto. No matter how or where we turned, or what veil of dust we ducked into, he stayed with us, closing fast. Close. Closer they came. I saw the smoke from the giant Steed's nostrils, the orange fire in its eyes.

  I had no weapons except the little knife. That would be like fighting a Dinocat with a toothpick. My gun, staff, and pack were back at Mephisto's camp.

  Closer, he came. A hundred feet. Fifty feet. Flipsit strained. Taurs could run all day, but not at full gallop with a rider. A shadow flew overhead. I looked up, expecting a Pragon to flame me. No Pragon. Gregory.

  “You forgot something, my friend,” he yelled.

  His Skyhook dove over me. Gregory tossed something to me. My pack with the staff attached. Then a Pragon did attack. Gregory led it away.

  Mephisto's Steed nipped at Flipsit's tail.

  My gun was useless without ammo. I withdrew the staff and connected the halves, then shrugged on the pack. The next time the Steed nipped at Flipsit, I whacked it across the nose. It screamed and jerked its horned head back. It fell behind ten feet.

  I chanced a glance after Gregory. I didn't see him. I saw something better. I shouted to Flipsit, “Go left. Do you see it?”

  The Taur changed direction so fast I almost fell off. The Steed lost more ground during the quick change. Tenacious as ever, it kept coming.

  “Can you go into it?” I asked Flipsit.

  “Yes,” was all he had energy to say.

  I told him my plan, such as it was. Fatigued and winded as he was he swiveled his head a hundred eighty degrees and favored me with an are-you-crazy? look.

  “What choice do we have?” I answered.

  Small tornados inhabit the center of Tantalus Storms. They suck up dirt and mix it with water to form a special mud that forms a deep, narrow track behind the storms. If our timing was right, if Mephisto and his Steed cooperated, we had a chance to survive.

  Flipsit plunged into the storm. Rain lashed us. Wind staggered the sturdy Taur.

  Mephisto bore in after us.

  Flipsit skirted the inside tornado. The suction tried to pluck me off his back. The Steed screamed in my ear. Its strength powered it through the ripping wind and piercing rain as if it did not exist.

  Flipsit jumped right and suddenly we were out of the storm, Mephisto twenty feet behind.

  “Now!” I shouted.

  Flipsit stopped fast. Staff in hand, I leaped off his back and put myself in a ready stance dead in front of the Demon Steed. The Steed skidded to a stop and reared up. Voiced its surprise with a startled cry. I ran under the beast and planted one end of the staff on the muddy ground. The other end pointed at its massive chest.

  At that moment, a few seconds before I might be dead, I smelled musty odor of wet horse and the thick redolence of fresh mud. I heard the brute's heartbeat. I saw the shine of its black hair and the different textures of mud and dirt. I had no desire to kill the magnificent creature. But I had more of a desire to survive. I held the staff steady as the Steed returned to earth.

  The Steed screamed in pain. I hated what I'd done. Knew I had to. It reared up to get away. I held tight, yanked the staff out, rolled away. Smoke poured from the hole in its chest. It attempted to run. Mephisto struggled to hold on with his one hand. The Steed staggered, dropped to its knees. Blood poured from its mouth. I didn't want to watch, but I did. The Steed gained its feet. Shuddered. Flame vented, then flickered, from its nostrils and chest. Its rear legs gave way, putting Mephisto off balance. I charged. Shouted to concentrate my energy. Struck his chest with the butt end of the staff. He tumbled backward into the narrow track of Quick Dry mud laid down by the Storm.

  Movement activated the mud. It dried in seconds. Mephisto struggled valiantly. Was caught. The Quick Dry too much even for him.

  “Damn you, Getter. I will take great pleasure in killing you and your friends. You will die.”

  “Someday,” I said. “But not by your hand.”

  The Great Demon Steed died. I felt no elation at my triumph. Only sadness. A horn off a Demon Steed's head was a rare artifact, and it would prove my story. Killin
g a Demon Steed was a rare feat. I left the beast intact, mounted Flipsit, and rode off toward the dunes.

  The Nexus terminal is located two dunes away from the River. Because things in Hell tend to not be where they were the last time you looked, a Find is essential to avoid a hot thirsty death, provided a critter doesn't get you first.

  There are plenty of nasty things in the dunes—sand fleas (cousins to Jumps Bugs,) sand worms, sand Spiders, sand holes, sand storms, water sand, and plain old sand and heat.

  Flipsit needed no devices, markers, or maps. He took me through the high dunes without incident or injury, and we arrived at the only relatively good thing in the area—The Swizzel Styx Bar and Marina.

  Chapter Forty

  The Swizzel Styx Bar and Marina looked like an abandoned Seafood restaurant at the end of a long bad road along the Maine coast—clapboard, paint peeling, windows broken. The bar perched on a high, sharp cliff overlooking the River Styx. Stone steps, worn deep by millennia of souls climbing up to their eternal damnation, descended to a wooden dock that stuck out over the black water. No yachts or sailboats were tied up. Only one vessel used the dock—Charon's Ferry, bringing its cargo of damned souls. The souls in their chains trudged up the steps and passed in front of the Bar. Delicious aromas spilled into the air around them. Their first whiff of torment.

  The original band of Taurs waited for us. Dimitri limped out the doorless entrance onto the Bar's open deck which hung over the cliffs.

  “Damn, Getter, it's about time. Cappy is fading fast.”

  “Nice to see you too,” I said. To Flipsit, I said, “Thank you for the Taurs’ help, and for taking care of my friends. Will Mephisto cause you trouble because of me?”

  All the Taurs knelt on their right front lizard knee.

  Bowing, Flipsit intoned, “It is an honor to aid the Lifer of the prophecy. Mephisto's trouble will be nothing.”

  “Ah, okay,” I said, not sure if there was a ritual something I should say. “I will not forget the assistance of the Taurs. Thank you.”

  “You will return and fight against Mephisto?”