by Tim Lebbon
The air in the chamber began to move, and Richard hoped it was because of an evening breeze in the Jerusalem streets above them.
Gal's chanting grew louder, and he swayed on his knees, leaning down to the left, the right, then forward over the chunk of burned demon he was trying to send. His clothes, loose on his thin frame, shivered as his muscles tensed and untensed, and Richard could see sweat dripping from his brother's nose and chin.
"It's going," Gal said.
Richard crawled back against the wall of the circular chamber. He heard a sigh — his brother, or a breeze coming along the tunnel from the drainage ditch, or something else entirely. A wavering white flame sprang up on Gal's right shoulder, smoke rising from his jacket as the fire ate into it, and Richard almost shouted a warning to his brother. Almost. Because then the shape Gal was hunkered within was scoured from the floor of the chamber by a blast of air, and the blackened shard of demon disappeared.
"It's gone," Gal said, and he fell onto his face.
Richard stood and hurried to his brother, terrified of what he would see, certain that the white flame would have found a new home in Gals fresh flesh and that he would lie there burning for a thousand years. But the flame had disappeared, and though Gals eyes had closed, he was still breathing, fast but regular.
A blackened patch on the floor was all that remained of the portion of Leh which Gal had sent through to their father.
"I hope you know what you're doing," Richard said, talking to the man he had not seen for fifteen years. "I really hope you know."
* * *
They stayed down there until morning, and then Richard helped Gal hobble up out of the tunnel. The Jerusalem sun felt good. On Gals shoulder, beneath his singed jacket, was a wound that would never heal.
* * *
American Embassy, London — 1997
"HEY, JIM. A BEER would be really good about now."
"I happen to have a few bottles of Abbot Ale in my office. You two wait here, and I'll be right back. Liz? Drink?"
"Whiskey?"
Sugg smiled. "Glenlivet." He left the room, and the door swung shut behind him. Fray had already gone to try to set up a meeting with the British minister of defense.
Hellboy ached. His muscles were sore, and his bones felt abused. He wished this were the end of something, not just the beginning. He could not remember the last time his stamina had been pushed so far. "Got to say it about the Brits," he said. "They do know a good drink when they see one."
"God bless them and all who sail in them," Liz murmured. She was lying on a leather sofa, while Hellboy had taken a huge floor cushion. He was not quite sure what to call the room — entertainment suite? — but it was tastefully furnished and pleasing to the senses. He could stay here, given half the chance.
Jim came back within a couple of minutes with their drinks, and the three of them shared a few silent moments. But that was all. Hellboy knew it was coming, and he knew that Jim knew, so it was no surprise when their peace was broken.
"They're scared of you," Jim said.
"Who?"
"The British government. They don't know what to think of you. You're ... strange. Out of the ordinary. They can't trust that, especially now, today, when all this shit is going on and Heathrow has just taken a battering."
Hellboy frowned. "Any casualty figures yet?"
Jim shook his head. "Too early. It'll be four figures, for sure."
"Damn." Hellboy closed his eyes, but his mind was full of flames. It was too hot in there. He looked at Liz and smiled, wondering how she could live with what she had.
"Don't they realize we might have an answer?" Liz asked.
Jim nodded. "Of course they do. Tom Manning has been on the phone for the past couple of hours trying to find someone who'll listen. So far as I can tell, he's been promised that a couple of helicopters will scout the approaches to London on land and sea, see what they find."
"A couple of helicopters?" Hellboy said. "London is hosting a huge gathering of international leaders, its main airport is fried by dragons, and they can spare the BPRD a couple of helicopters?"
"They're scared, Hellboy. Petrified. They don't know what the hell is going on, or who's doing it, or why. And think of the responsibility ... a major disaster here could leave half the countries on the globe without a leader!"
"Yeah," Hellboy said.
"We don't have time for this," Liz said. "We — "
"Why's he killing so many people?" Hellboy said.
"What?"
"You read the message from that psycho Blake, Liz. His stated aim is to put the world to rights. Give it back to those who should really rule. Cleanse the planet. Not your average psycho raison d'etre, granted ... but think about what he's doing here. A thousand dead at Heathrow? The kraken that took that cruise ship? What possible good is all this doing him?"
Liz frowned, bit her bottom lip. "None."
"None," Hellboy said. "Maybe he's losing control of his little pets."
"They're a diversion," Liz said. "This stuff has been happening all over the world for the past few days as a diversion away from his main attack, here and now. The environmental conference. Wipe out a load of world leaders, cause chaos and anarchy, giving the world's rightful owners their chance to take control."
"Dragons and kraken?" Jim asked.
"And more," Hellboy said. "Plenty more."
"But now they've launched their first attack in Britain," Liz said, "and soon he'll go for the conference. He doesn't need the diversion anymore."
"So why do the airport?" Hellboy said.
Liz shrugged. "As you said, in a war you take out enemy airports. Jim, any reports of other attacks in the British Isles yet?"
Jim shook his head. "None that I'm aware of. Could mean that the military has been hit, but that's not something they'd release quickly."
"Nah, it's not that," Hellboy said. "From the beginning he's been relying on surprise and disbelief. Now that the dragons have hit Heathrow, he's lost his surprise — "
"Has he really?" Liz said. "Even after that, Tom still can't get the Brits to do anything more than commit a couple of choppers."
Hellboy nodded. "That's where the disbelief kicks in." He took a swig of beer and sighed. There were three more bottles lined up on the table, but he knew he'd never get to touch them. Those bottles would be opened when all this was over. Who would drink the beer inside? That depended so much on the next few hours.
"Jim," Hellboy said, "can you give us a rundown of the situation here? Conference arrangements, defenses?"
"The British are being very tight-lipped about it all. Understandable. But then we do have Fray." He smiled, poured himself a drink, and sat down. "The conference is being held at a new hotel in the London Docklands, the Anderson. Huge place. There's a heliport there, a train link from central London, and there's easy access by water. I've been there once, a year ago when they were building it. Visited in a professional capacity." He swirled his whiskey, staring into the amber fluid.
"Find anything?" Hellboy asked.
"The docks are old. Ships from all over the world have docked there. Of course I did." Jim glanced up from his drink, looked at Hellboy and Liz, smiled thinly. "But that's for another time."
"We've all got stories to share," Hellboy said. "So defense and security. What have they got?"
"Officially the largest police posting in London's history, armed units on all the surrounding rooftops, security checks throughout the land and sea approaches, heavy security at all air and sea ports."
"And unofficially?"
"Unofficially the British are taking the conference even more seriously than they're letting on. There are two dozen SAS and SBS units in and around London. The army was quietly put in place weeks ago. There are fast-response units housed in old abandoned warehouses scattered across Docklands — tanks, helicopters, hundreds of troops. Their presence isn't exactly secret, but it's been heavily played down. The Royal Navy has upped its patrols
in the English Channel and the North Sea, and the Royal Air Force has a squadron of Tornados on standby."
"Yeah, we've met those guys already," Hellboy said. "About as effective as a fart in a hurricane."
"They're ready," Jim said. "Remember, the Brits had the Irish Troubles for the past thirty years, and they're very good at this sort of thing. They're ready ... but they don't know what for. Dragons? Kraken? A bunch of terrorists sail up the Thames, and they'll be blown from the water before they smell London. But things like you're describing ... well, they don't exist."
"Didn't," Liz corrected.
Hellboy stood and drained his beer. "Look, Jim, we know who's been the cause of this crap over the last few days, and so do the Brits. All we have to do is convince them of the seriousness of the threat. And if they're not talking sensibly to Tom, even after Heathrow, then we've got some work to do."
Jim looked pained. He finished his drink and went to pour some more, then stopped. "It's not even that easy," he said. "British Intelligence thinks the message from Blake was a hoax."
"What?"
"They don't believe it. Fray met with one of them yesterday, had a drink, read him ... all he found there was confusion and indecision. No plan, no acknowledgment, no understanding of what's going on."
"So the diversions have worked," Liz said.
Hellboy grunted. "Guess so. And here I was thinking some of them were for us."
"That had crossed my mind too," Liz said. "Spread BPRD thin across the ground. But then why the statement? There were enough hints in there that he's targeting the conference, why flag that up?"
"Maybe because he knew how the governments of the world would react." Hellboy sighed. "They don't believe. Most people don't believe. Down in Rio, as soon as that damn dragon flew away, everything went back to normal. Maybe it was shellshock, but it was also a deep-rooted disbelief in things beyond the norm. That's where Blake has his advantage, and will for some time. Whatever happens in the next day, it'll take the world some time to come to terms with recent events."
"But what if we — "
"Ah, crap, Liz." Hellboy strode to a wall and slammed his left hand against it, palm flat. "I just want to hit something! Jim, can you take us to the minister of defense?"
"We've been trying to set up — "
"And you'll try forever. But can you take us to him, now? Do you know where he is? If I have to break a few heads to get in there, maybe that's better. Get the asshole's attention."
Jim raised his eyebrows and smiled. "I'd forgotten how unique it was working with you, Hellboy."
"Hey, I'm here to please." Hellboy fisted his right hand, heavy knuckles crunching, and the pain from his various wounds seemed to fade even more. The bullet holes on his chest were little more than bruises now. Dangerous. Sometimes he thought of himself as invincible, but in calmer, more reflective moments he knew that there was an end waiting for him somewhere out there. What hurt the most was that he guessed it would not be gentle and kind.
The door burst open, and Fray came in. "Jim, the British have lost a submarine."
"Where?"
"North Sea."
"Who did you pick that up from?" Hellboy said.
Fray smiled. "Telephone. I have a friend at the Admiralty."
"Nuclear sub?"
"Yes, but it wasn't armed. Out on maneuvers after being refitted. The core's stable, and they've already launched a salvage operation."
"What happened to it?"
"It's confused. But my contact says the final transmission from the sub talked of something attacking it."
Hellboy nodded. "He'll be coming in by sea."
"How can you know that?" Jim asked.
"It's the only logical way. He's been out there for years, somewhere, creating these things. Pulling them out of the Memory. Whatever. Where would he be safe doing that? A South American jungle base? No mobility. Easier to move around by sea." Hellboy turned to Fray, who immediately averted his eyes. "Thanks," he said. "And hey, you can look at me. I don't bite."
"One day you will," Fray said. Then he hurried from the room and slammed the door, suddenly keen to be elsewhere.
Hellboy, Liz, and Jim Sugg were silent for a few seconds, deep in their own thoughts. Then Hellboy punched the wall once, hard, and the patter of shattered plaster ended the moment and moved them on to the next.
"Jim," he said, "the minister. Now."
"Meet me in the lobby," Jim said. "I'll sort out a car."
* * *
Manchester Airport — 1997
ABE SAPIEN WAITED until Abby had pulled out of the Avis parking lot before following her. The Jeep was big and comfortable, the wheel chunky enough for his webbed hands to grab, but it was hardly discreet. He only hoped she was not looking out for pursuit.
He could have stopped her any time since she'd disembarked. His own flight — chartered using the BPRD account, although if Tom were being picky, he'd probably class Abe as AWOL right now — had been diverted to Manchester after the trouble at Heathrow. He had landed and passed through private customs, and he'd been thinking about where to go next when he heard Abby's flight announced. Baltimore. Perhaps it had been a hunch, or maybe just a long shot, but he'd stood in arrivals, hidden away behind a pillar, and watched as the passengers came out of baggage claim. And there she was, Abby Paris, the girl he'd rescued from her own suicide and who was now running away.
Or perhaps she was running toward something.
And that thought had prevented him from approaching. Kate Corrigan had called to fill him in on Blake and Hellboy's discovery of London as a possible target. Abe had called back later to tell them of his suspicions about Abby. And suddenly her disappearance had meaning. If she really was a product of Blake's peculiar blend of science and magic — and all evidence suggested that was the case — then her fleeing at this moment could surely not be coincidence. For whatever reasons, Abe believed that she was going back to Blake.
The thought of betrayal crossed his mind, and that made him uncomfortable. But then he kept thinking back to the dead werewolf, brains leaking onto a morgue trolley, and that was not the action of someone keen to be going home.
She knows, he thought. Somehow she knows where he is, and she's going to him. Tempted as he was to stop Abby and question her, he had decided that allowing her to pursue her own course could be the best tactic. If she led him to Blake, he could contact Hellboy, call in the cavalry. If not, then he could still pick her up. Either way, Abe was determined not to lose her.
Abby drove fast. Abe glanced at his dashboard clock. It was almost two in the afternoon. London was maybe three hours from here, and this evening there would be a full moon.
Full moon ...
The idea of what Abby would become sent a shiver down Abe's spine. The potential for what she could do come moonrise was another reason he should be picking her up right now. He was taking a huge risk She was a sweet girl, Abby. But she was also a monster.
He had seen her changing many times. There was a room at BPRD Headquarters that they had used several times before to contain ... things. When they first suspected what Abby might be — that first full moon, when her shape began to change and her mind turned to violence and blood — he and Hellboy had locked her in that room and observed what happened. The change was very fast and very thorough. One minute she was Abby, a young girl still scarred by whatever had happened to her, still shadowing Abe as though he had saved her from a fate worse than death, not just death itself. The next minute she was a wolf. A big wolf, fur patchy and exposed skin pale, but a wolf for sure. Scraps of her clothing had hung on the beasts shoulders and thighs. Blood had pooled on the floor beneath it, leaking from every orifice. And in its face, as it turned to the reinforced window they watched through, Abe had seen Abby's tortured eyes.
It had thrashed around the room, breaking bones and scraping long gouges in the walls, until Hellboy opened the door and shot it with a heavy tranquilizer.
She had been in th
ere for three days.
Their mistake during her first change was not to feed her. As the full moon waned she had transformed back, the reversion much slower than the initial change. She was much thinner and weaker than she had been before the change and had lost far more weight than should have been possible in three days. It was as if her werewolf incarnation consumed much faster, swallowing her own body when there was no fresh meat to be had, and that had almost killed her.
Next time the change approached, she went in voluntarily. They watched the transformation and immediately introduced several small deer into the room.
For a few minutes the werewolf had glared at the terrified creatures as if transfixed. They were huddled in one corner, hardly moving, staring anywhere but at the creature Abby had become. Abe had started to think that it would refuse the food. But then it had lunged, and blood splashed the window from the inside, and when it finished an hour later, there were only scraps of fur and bones spread across the blood-slicked room.
They got through a herd of twenty deer in those three long nights.
Coming out again, Abby was strong and powerful, her naked skin gleaming with health, unabashed at her nudity. Dried blood was crusted beneath her fingernails, and her chin was black with it. Her eyes glimmered with satisfaction, and when she looked at Abe and Hellboy, she smiled.
That had been the pattern for the next several years. Abby had cost BPRD a fortune in cattle, but Abe insisted that they were saving her. She grew stronger, and the Abby he knew between full moons developed more of a personality, a confidence, and even a history. She was making her own life hour by hour, day by day, and he and the others at BPRD were doing their very best to help her.
And yet ...
And yet there was a hunger in her that had never been sated. He could sense that every time he talked to her, and on occasion he walked into a room and found her staring out the window, musing on something he could not know. She never admitted it in so many words, but he knew that she was unfulfilled. Abe started to grow nervous before each full moon, and Abby grew more and more fidgety. He had always suspected that she would flee one of these days, free herself to find the true food she had always craved, and the potential of that had terrified him. He had always thought that there was a fine line between those who worked at BPRD and the things they hunted. He did not want Abby to be the first one to cross that line.