Anyone could be the traitor playing both sides. It doesn’t hurt to proceed with caution.
“Dante saw Plato and Socrates when he came here,” I say. “All I get to see is your stout ass.”
Benz grins, fingers his gut, and chuckles.
“It’s relaxed muscle, ya mongrel,” he says.
“Still, you need to get in better shape, old man.”
“I am in shape,” he replies.
“Since when?”
“Since round is a shape,” Benz says.
I smirk and let out a slight chuckle.
“It’s been a while,” I say.
“Too fucking long,” he says. “It gets lonely down here.”
“Centuries if I’m not mistaken.”
We hug. It’s as if no time has passed at all, and history is repeating itself.
I hope this time around doesn’t end in the same terrible and catastrophic way my last visit did.
“One of Father Cote’s mystics said you might be on your way down,” Benz says. “To what do I owe the pleasure? It’s not every day or even every century that a former archangel makes a house call.”
I see no reason to play games or engage in small talk. Time is short.
“Technically, I’m still an archangel. I’m just not allowed back in Heaven at the moment,” I say. “But that’s not why I’m here. Moloch took my boy.”
“I’ve heard,” Benz replies. “He’s a clever bastard.”
“What else have you heard?” I ask.
“What’s in it for me?” Benz asks, beginning the negotiation.
“A millennium of indulgences,” I answer. “Enough to nearly get you through the Pearly Gates…almost enough.”
“I’d like to see, for confirmation, if you don’t mind,” Benz replies.
“You have my word,” I retort.
“What good’s that?”
“My word’s my bond,” I say and thrust my hand out. “You should know by now that means something after all that’s happened.”
Benz hesitates.
“You abandoned Michael,” he says. “Your word isn’t enough for me.”
“We’re talking about my son,” I reply. “I have a more personal reason to see this through.”
After a brief moment of contemplation, he grasps my hand and shakes.
“I actually believe you,” he offers. “A mother’s love and wrath…Hell’s armies should be afraid.”
“No need to be so dramatic,” I say. “Just take me to Moloch, or as close as possible. I’ll take it from there.”
He then marches with me back up to the Suburban and unrolls a crude map that he spreads out over the hood.
I study the map as Benz’s finger traces a black line that leads out away from the underground city of the damned until it reaches a circled area.
“That’s the Foundry, the staging area for Moloch and his minions,” Benz explains. “If they just took your boy he might still be there.”
“Awfully remote,” I comment. “That’s out in no man’s land.”
Benz wipes a glaze of sweat from his brow. His eyes dart like guppies.
“That’s my best guess as to where your son is,” Benz says. “It’s not like demons advertise their dens. If we go through the dead zone, surprise the beasties, and hit ‘em hard and fast, then you’ll find what you’re looking for, and boom!”
“The ‘dead zone,’” I say, smirking. “Apropos down here, don’t you think?”
“You of all people ought to know there are different levels of torment and suffering,” Benz says.
“More than you know,” I admit.
“You’ll get your flesh and blood back, and I’ll get my indulgences,” he says. “Then, all things will be relatively right in the living world.”
My mind races.
It’s tempting to argue about how getting what we want won’t necessarily settle things, but I think better of it.
I nod in agreement.
He’s my best lead for finding Noah. I’m not going to ruin it by arguing ideology.
At his return nod I reply, “We get in and rescue Noah. Then you get yours, Benz. Do we have a deal?”
“Let’s embark on a misguided mission,” he answers and grins. “I’m all in.”
We load up together into the Suburban.
I hit the gas pedal hard as we take off. No time to lose.
12
War Cry
The suburban cleaves the half-light as we descend deeper into the underground, gliding along the makeshift highway.
It’s a single strip of pitted blacktop made of rare-earth materials that corporations up above would pay millions for, and it bisects ruinous encampments that are thronged with crowds of the damned.
Deathly demonic songs shrill in the distance, hammering at the damned and causing them to queue near large mesh pens.
Some in the crowd bolt toward the Suburban, hands up, gaunt faces pleading for help.
No matter how much I’d like to help the lost souls, there’s nothing we can do for them.
The Suburban blasts past them, heading toward a strand of industrial weapons-building factories that loom under an angry and tumultuous flurry of dark clouds that give the appearance of a sky.
Inside the Suburban, I keep driving as Benz sweats ropes in the shotgun seat. The bulbous little man fiddles with his hands.
“I remember somebody once wrote that the loneliest sound in the world is other people making love,” he mutters.
“I don’t follow,” I reply.
“You don’t follow because it’s not true,” he explains. “The loneliest sound in the world is the echo of the prayers of the living for those of us down here.”
“I’m sorry,” is all I can muster to say.
“I can hear my wife, Samya. God help me. I can actually hear Sarah praying for me, but there’s no way to respond.”
I glance over, but I still don’t know the right thing to say.
“What do you think? Am I going to make it back upstairs one day? Will I get a chance to see my Sarah one more time?” he asks.
I nod.
“It’s possible,” I lie.
“You really believe that?” Benz asks.
I place a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll put in a good word for you myself.”
Benz’s smile quickly wilts when my eyes swivel to an LCD monitor on the dashboard showing a 3D GPS synched view of the surrounding area.
He sees what I see, and it’s not good.
“They’re coming,” I say. “Get ready!”
On the LCD monitor, an approaching section of the area is speckled black like a flock of birds clouding the air.
“Demons,” Benz spits and makes the sign of the cross. “Lesser demons. Carrion. They swarm out here like bloody passenger pigeons.”
I reach under my seat, pull out a CD holder, snatch one of the discs, and insert it into a CD player that’s been jerry-rigged into the dash.
Streaming music, believe it or not, doesn’t reach into the underbelly of the world.
The high-powered speakers welded to the vehicle’s armored exoskeleton hummed to life.
In the distance, swarms of dog-sized and winged demons pierce the sky, swooping down toward us like vultures.
Inside, I push the ‘play’ button on the dash CD player…silence for a second, then a low chanting begins.
I reach over and amp up the volume.
The sound of Gregorian chanting booms in all directions.
“It’s a special liturgy from the early Middle Ages that’s supposed to ward off Demons,” I shout over the top of the music.
“Supposed to?” Benz asks.
I nod.
Who knows for sure? It’s worth a shot, right?
“Yeah, well, I’ve never actually tried it before,” I reply.
Catching a glimpse of Benz’s worried facial expression, I look and see that we’re rocketing along the highway directly into the middle of the demon sw
arm.
The speakers continue blaring the Gregorian chants.
The demons look agitated.
Their gargoyle faces twist in agony at the chants.
They begin to look confused, disoriented, and unable to attack.
A few seconds later, they begin to scatter, but we slam into some of them in our path.
I key the wipers as the demons splat against the windshield in sprays of black blood.
Benz’s hands cover his ears, while the sound of the demons splatting blends with the chants like hail on a tin-punched roof.
I let loose with a rebel yell, enjoying the destruction of the evil creatures immensely.
It’s a brief victory, but a victory nonetheless.
The Suburban plows through the end of the swarm and continues on toward the industrial buildings.
The highway is a free-for-all at this moment, and we have free rein.
We come upon the Foundry.
I hit the brakes, and the Suburban screeches to a halt a mere hundred yards outside a cluster of blackened industrial buildings that have an effervescent illumination to them.
They’re a puzzle of remnant shells, fused architecture, and partially eyeless windows.
They rise three and four levels into the air, smack dab in the middle of the outer ring’s dead zone.
I hop out and head to the back of the Suburban just as the rear doors pop open.
Inside is an arsenal of holy weapons from the mundane to the exotic.
We have machine-pistols, assault shotguns, ammo, grenades with glass cones, and a cylindrical mini-grenade-launcher.
Benz watches as I grab a grenade launcher and a bandolier of forty-millimeter shells.
I hold up one of the shells, which has a wooden, flechette tip as Benz looks on.
Regarding the tip, I say, “From the Tree of Life and embedded with shavings that have been soaked in water from the Well of Sychar in the West Bank and the Well of Zamzam in Mecca. This is going to be messy!”
I stow the launcher and shells and grab several grenades with liquid-filled glass tips.
Regarding the liquid, I say, “In Greek, it’s called chernips—angel tears, which incinerates any beast that finds favor in Lucifer’s eyes.”
I clip several grenades onto a combat belt and sheathe my Tokarev pistol while pocketing a lighter and shouldering an assault shotgun with a feeder tube of ammo.
Regarding the shotgun, Benz asks, “That some kind of holy weapon too?”
I shake my head as I rack the slide.
“It’s just full of really, really big bullets,” I say and pivot.
After I quickly recon the area, I signal for Benz as we head at an angle across an industrial yard.
As we march forward, Benz’s eyes hop to the desert-like ground.
A shudder passes through the sand, a fleeting ripple of movement as he kneels.
He reaches a hand out as the sand begins to spin and rotate as if some mini-whirlpool is directly under the surface.
A thick, clawed hand explodes out of the sand and grabs Benz’s arm.
The little man shrieks at the sight of...a dusky demon...who rises out of the ground like a resurrected reaper, twisted jaws unhinged as Benz shields his face.
A blast rips from my shotgun atomizing the demon as I grab Benz and we sprint across the industrial yard.
The ground quivers as more demons emerge like scorpions from spider-holes as I lead Benz to building number one.
The structure is a rusted, warehouse structure with a thick metal door that I plow into.
On the other side of the metal door, is a cluttered space with debris and shadowed by an inky, almost impenetrable darkness.
My eyes glow as I haul Benz inside and slam the metal doors.
The demons pound on the metal door. We’ve got seconds before they intrude.
I unload in anticipation of their assault right as they enter.
My shotgun cuts down the demons, but more emerge to take their place.
Benz and I backpedal into the gloom, looking for a way out, the demons closing in when Benz spots a light.
A luminous glow grows larger through a hole in the wall at the other end of the building.
“Something’s coming, Samya!” he cries out.
I turn to see the light widen and then...
A vehicle shatters through the rear of the building.
Out of instinct, I shove Benz out of the way, barely avoiding the other armored Suburban, which blasts past.
When I finally get a better look, I see that Brody is at the wheel, pumping his fist as he slams the Suburban into the attacking demons who scatter and break like matchsticks.
The other Suburban shoots out of the building.
Benz and I sprint to greet it in the industrial yard.
The vehicle spins around to a halt.
Brody, Jessup, Hines, and even Dominic dismount.
They’re armed to the teeth, and they don’t look happy to be in Hell.
A tense vibe fills the air as I confront the team. What the fuck are they doing here anyway?!?
“What the hell are you doing?!” I demand.
“Apparently saving your ass,” Brody answers with a sneer.
“And risking yours,” I reply. “Which is completely unacceptable. This is my fight.”
“Like hell it is,” Jessup says. “We’re a team.”
“Are we,” I snap. “Says the one who makes rules that he doesn’t even follow.”
He flinches but doesn’t defend himself.
“We’re also risking yours,” Dominic adds as he kicks at the ground.
“Believe me, Samya,” he continues. “I had a real problem risking my chance at reentering Heaven one day to come down here and save your spawn.” He pauses. “I put the idea of that right up there with having a penile, razor-wire catheter shoved into my—”
I interrupt. I don’t need to hear this.
“You’re late to the party,” I say with a smirk.
“We fell as one, and we fight as one so end of discussion,” Jessup says. “Now where’s Noah? We’re here to help.”
Benz reaches a trembling hand up and points at building number two, the largest one in the industrial yard.
It’s a darkened, metal-framed structure that looms over everything like a fallen idol.
The team falls in line behind me.
Things are changing.
Jessup can’t be liking it, but it’s happening nonetheless.
The team wants a leader who’s willing to risk it all for love, not someone who’s afraid and hides behind rules.
We move out as one.
13
The Belly of the Beast
Inside building number two, moments later, an atrium lies in ruin, debris crunching under my boots as I inch forward.
Benz follows, then Dominic, Brody, Jessup, and Hines.
Hines grabs my arm while whispering.
“Seeing that I’m the new guy,” Hines says, “may I ask the obvious? Why’re these buildings here?”
“The outer ring’s segregated like prison into the short-timers and the lifers,” I answer.
“The ones that are here the longest forget where they are, begin to try to reconstruct some semblance of a home...of a life,” Benz says. “So, you get houses, buildings, and weapons factories, but it never really works. How could it? They’ve even tried forging weapons, but that doesn’t work either. There’s no one here to bless them. The irony of it. Yet, they try.”
“Guess you can never go home again,” Hines says.
Dominic shoots Hines an icy look, puts a finger to his lips and whispers through clenched teeth.
“Silencio, Halfling. Before I’m forced to hurt you,” Dominic warns.
“You’re awful salty today, Dom,” Hines replies.
“How salty?” Dominic asks.
“Like Lot’s wife,” Hines answers.
We looks up to see that we’re approaching a massive metal staircase tha
t ascends upward like a mini Tower of Babel as Dominic moves side-by-side with me, breathing heavy and whispering.
“This place gives off bad juju, Samya,” Dominic says. “It reeks of death.”
“We’re among the dead,” I retort. “What were you expecting, a grand welcome?”
The team snickers. This is a sign of respect. I really am accidentally becoming their leader.
The team and I slowly ascend the staircase, which is just light enough for us to maneuver upward safely.
At the top of the stairs, I halt the advance with a fist in the air.
Dominic and Brody take up defensive positions as Benz waddles over.
He doesn’t mince words. He dives right in.
“If he’s here, they’re holding him captive at the end of one of these halls,” Benz says.
I pivot and spot two hallways that branch off in different directions.
I signal for Brody, Hines, and Jessup to take hallway number one, while Dominic, Benz, and I take hallway number two.
Before we separate, though, I pull a body-cam out of a cargo pocket and attach it to Jessup’s shoulder.
“It has a two-way feed,” I explain. “This way, if you find him first we can double back.”
Through the feed that’s pumped directly into a transparent overlay inside my iris, I keep an eye on the others as they enter hallway number one.
Brody advances on point, removes his prosthetic hand, reaches in a pocket, and pulls out a rocked-out mini Gatling gun. He attaches it to his hand, and with the squeeze of his wrist, the barrels rotate furiously as the sound of wind whipping through a hole in the ceiling far overhead echoes.
Hines shivers.
Brody senses his fear and smacks him on the shoulder, trying to lighten the vibe. Brody begins to ramble on with one of his trademark riddles.
“Devil appears to a lawyer and says the world will be yours if you agree to sell me your soul. Lawyer considers this for a sec, then says ‘Sell my soul? What’s the catch?’”
Hines forces a smile.
“Still scared?” Brody asks.
Hines nods. “Shitless.”
Brody turns back and uses his Gatling-gun hand to open a door at the end of the hallway.
DEATH SUITS HER_A Supernatural Reverse Harem Romance Adventure Page 8