She missed Dad.
“Emma!”
Brad’s shout was drowned out by an ear-pounding roar, and Emma swayed on her feet, a grinding breathing running through her head.
Motion and cries and screams sounded all around her, and she blinked as she recognized it. The demon, so familiar…
She fell on her backside, her feet kicking at the dirt. Blood dripped down her chin, spattering against her shirt. A voice roared in her head.
It was the…the thing in front of her now, claws tearing into the fleeing humans, gore dripping from its maw.
Grigori.
The demon laughed and Emma clapped her hands over her ears, the barking rasp pounding inside her head. She couldn’t make it stop, couldn’t get it out.
Azazel.
She scrambled away on all fours, dirt and sand all over her, dust in her eyes, in her throat. She turned and crawled on her stomach, but her hand reached out and found nothing but air. She stopped short of the rock ledge, the jagged cliff falling away before her.
Flies buzzed past her head, and she nearly retched as the foul smell hit her. She blinked and looked down at the piled garbage below. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell slack, the breath catching in her throat.
It wasn’t garbage.
Bodies. Dozens, hundreds, tossed away like so much junk. Flies hovered lazily over corpses missing limbs, their flesh torn open or ripped off.
And then Emma caught the movement. Bodies shifted and flailed, hands reaching up, and she realized they weren’t all dead. Moans carried up over the ledge, feeble, agonized cries for help.
A man, so emaciated that she could see the outline of ribs poking through the skin, had climbed over the mountain of corpses, his nails digging into the rock. He looked up into the sky and Emma saw that his eyes were gone, black, blood-rimmed pits staring up at nothing.
She threw up, tears brimming over her lids, and scooted back from the ledge. She choked on a half-sob and spluttered, the Grigori in her head a churning mass that hammered at her mind until she let go and let the voices consume her.
▪▪▪
Lilith cried out as she opened her eyes, her fingers digging into her own skin. She stood in an antechamber, her free hand leaning against an ornate chair that sat near the wall. A rounded dais swept out from the wall, a dimly lit hall leading away to the terraced walkway that wound around the upper spire. A lesser demon stood on each side of her chair, their skinless bodies shining a dark red, their muscle fibers twitching. They stood on hindlegs that bent back, mimicking animals. Long, gleaming claws extended from their fingers, the wiry sinews of their arms trembling. Bone horns jutted from their ram-like heads, and they glared at Lilith with yellow eyes.
Somewhere nearby a pathetic human cried out, the sound of pleading sobs carrying through the stone walls of the Hellfont.
She stood still for several moments, gritting her teeth as the pain of her bodily exit surged through her. So foolish. She wasn’t a warrior, didn’t have the battle sense that her brother, or the damned Ithuriel, had. Her message to the Malakhi would hardly suffice.
The angel had surprised her, and she had been embarrassed. An unfamiliar feeling that soon shifted into a red anger.
She left the antechamber, her hooves clicking on the stone floor as she walked through the hallway. She stepped out onto the terrace, a reddish, wispy haze surrounding the land that Hell had claimed for itself. She leaned against the terrace with both hands, her skin on fire, and breathed in the sickly sweet odor of brimstone, struggling to calm her anger.
“Daemon,” she said. She waited until she heard the tap of hooves approach before glancing over her shoulder. She stared into the creature’s eyes and showed the daemon the Malakhi’s name. Ithuriel, the name burning as she spoke it, as she forced it out. The daemon hissed and shuddered, recoiling against the angelic name, then bowed its head obediently.
“Take a dozen of your brothers,” Lilith snapped. “Remind the Malakhi what it means to be hunted.”
She closed her eyes as the daemon chittered and ran back down the hall. Sighing as she let herself go, she touched Below, the link like a spark that flooded her senses. She spoke the Word, reaching out with her mind, seeking the former Blessed of Ithuriel. Now that she had touched the fool and made him her own, she would always be able to find him, always able to whisper into his mortal mind.
Lilith found him easily, and she could feel the man’s flesh shiver as she touched him, could almost see the giddy smile that spread on his lips.
Ithuriel. He is coming for you.
▪▪▪
Ren barely had time to catch his breath before Ithuriel latched onto him and carried him into the air. He held on with a nervous fright, his fingers digging into the angel’s arm as they climbed over the treetops and flew north. Ithuriel struggled to keep them airborne, his wings straining, and Ren wondered how long he would be able to keep them both in the air.
If it was long enough to find his Emma, then it would be enough.
Ithuriel flew low, barely clearing the tallest trees, sweeping from side to side as they scanned the area looking for Emma.
Despite the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, Ren tried to keep his eyes on the ground, squinting as he tried to spot movement below, or any sign of his daughter. He tried to keep his gaze from lifting, afraid he might spot the red haze that marked the fringes of the Hellfont.
They passed a narrow valley below, a cleft in the rolling hills that wound to the northwest, and the Malakhi paused, hovering over the ravine. Ren glanced over his shoulder, the breeze from Ithuriel’s beating wings running past his sweaty face.
“What’s going on?”
Ithuriel didn’t answer, his eyes working under his closed lids. He frowned, his grip on Ren tightening.
Ren winced, his ribs aching, and he raised his voice. “Ithuriel?”
The angel’s eyes blinked open, his grip on Ren easing. He sighed and looked at Ren. “Brad still has the relic weapon. I can feel it, and I know where he is.”
“What are we waiting for, then?” Ren shouted. Wherever Brad was, Emma would be there also. They could still reach her, still pull her free of whatever the demons wanted from her. They just had to move, right now.
Ithuriel opened his mouth, then closed it. His gaze trailed out over the trees and his voice was cold when he spoke. “Prepare yourself.”
Ren bit back the question on his lips as the Malakhi suddenly dove forward, his wings thumping as they soared towards the northern edge of the forest. Ren saw a wide clearing just beyond the treeline, spotting traces of white sand and pits that reminded him of the old plant that had become Haven. Past the pits he could see the outline of buildings in the distance.
They hurtled past the last line of trees. Ithuriel grunted as his wings beat against the air, and Ren could feel the angel’s sharp intake of breath as he brought them down to the ground. Ithuriel let him go and Ren nearly stumbled as he lurched forward.
They stood at the edge of a large, abandoned plant. Sand and malachite covered everything, and large pits had been churned up, flattened trails leading towards structures deeper within the plant.
A scream echoed through the pits and Ren recognized it right away.
“Emma!” He grabbed the knife from his belt and raced towards a trail that ran past a stone shelf. Ithuriel shouted for him to stop, but Ren ignored him. He couldn’t stop, not this close to getting his daughter back. He wouldn’t.
He sprinted down the trail, his heart racing, praying she was okay. He bit his lip against the doubt. Of course she was okay, he thought. Of course she was.
He heard a muffled shout, closer this time.
Adrenaline coursed through him. His heart pounded in his chest, and he swallowed against the nerves that dug into his gut. His fingers squeezed the crusted hilt of the knife, his palm already sweaty.
All his life he’d always avoided the fight. His job at the airport, anytime his overbearing boss confronted him, he was the one who’d walked int
o the office with his tail tucked. When Katie—Katie—got on him about something, he’d slink away, afraid that he’d say the wrong thing, or that she might leave.
He couldn’t avoid the fight anymore. He could feel it in his bones, running through his clenched fingers. When Brad had walked out with Emma. After Ren had killed one of the cannibals and scratched and kicked and fought against the other. After Ithuriel had told him to go back.
No.
He didn’t know how to fight, not really. But he would anyway, because now he had to.
Ren rounded the rock shelf that ran to his right, the jagged stone dropping away into a deep pit below, and slid to a stop, his chest heaving. No. Nononono.
Emma lay on her side a few feet from the pit’s ledge. Her eyelids fluttered, and blood streaked from one nostril, dripping down her chin. Her lips moved, like she was whispering quietly to herself.
More shouts sounded, cries and screams splitting the evening sky. Ren had no idea what was going on out there, and he was positive that he didn’t want to.
“Get her out of here.”
Ren spun to face Ithuriel, who stepped beside him, his boots crunching against the sand. “And what are you going to do?” Ren asked, and he glanced around nervously. “Is it Brad?”
“No.” Ithuriel shook his head, and he looked past Ren. “Something much, much worse.”
“Where am I supposed to take her?”
“Ren.” The Malakhi laid a firm hand on Ren’s shoulder. He leaned down until his face was almost even with Ren’s, his mouth a thin line. Sweat trickled down his forehead. “Take her away from here. Now.”
Ithuriel released his grip on Ren’s shoulder and walked towards Emma. He clenched his hand and the spear manifested in his fist. He paused as he neared Emma, his stride slowing. The angel glanced back at Ren, nodded, and ran forward, pumping his wings. He flew several feet off the ground and disappeared over another shelf twenty or thirty feet away, his flight whipping up a swirling cloud of dust.
Ren stuffed the knife back under his belt and hurried over to Emma. He knelt beside her and began to slide his hands under her when the foul smell hit him. He swallowed back the bile in his throat and winced as he glanced over the ledge of the pit.
He wished he hadn’t.
He swallowed again and picked Emma up, the stench of rotting flesh wafting over him. He cradled her in his arms and turned around, walking as fast as he could towards the trees. If he could just get back into the forest and out of sight, then he could put something together.
Ren didn’t know where to go. Could he trust the survivors back in Haven? Could he and Emma survive now, out here alone, with her in her condition, and Ren so sore and beaten that he didn’t know how much further his adrenaline would carry him?
Get into the woods first, he thought, his mind racing, searching for some way out. Just get lost in there, and then figure it all out.
Emma’s skin was so pale, her hair stringy and wet. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she breathed. The bleeding from her nose had slowed, but because of how he carried her now it seeped between her lips. He carefully stepped over a fallen tree and set her down gently on the grass. Lifting her shirt up to her nose, he wiped the blood off her upper lip and cleaned off her chin as best he could.
He started to pick her up again when he heard a scuffing sound behind him. He closed his eyes, his hand darting towards the knife at his waist. His fingers slid over the hilt.
“I’d put it down if I were you.”
Ren recognized the voice, but he kept his hand around the hilt of the knife. He stood slowly and turned around, staring into the face of Haven’s traitor, at the man who had taken his little girl.
“You’re tougher than I gave you credit for,” Brad said, a corner of his lips curled up into a half-smile as he glanced at the gash over Ren’s eye. “Nasty cut, though.”
He took a step towards Ren. “I’d hate to open it up again, so why don’t you put the knife down and leave the girl where she is.”
Ren shook his head. He hadn’t realized it but he’d pulled the knife free of his belt. “No.”
“Put it down.” Brad took another step, his nostrils flaring. “I won’t make her wait, Ren. I promised I wouldn’t kill you, but if you don’t put it down...”
Ren’s knees shook, fear gnawing at him, and he swallowed the bile that crept up the back of his throat. He felt the sharp bite of anger and latched onto it. If he didn’t stand his ground now, when his daughter needed him to, the only thing he loved, then where would he run? Where could he?
No.
Something snapped. He let loose all the fear, all the anger and despair within, the savage cry bursting from his lips, driving him forward. He jumped over the fallen tree and rushed ahead, the blade glinting in his white-knuckled grip. He bared his teeth at the Blessed in front of him.
Brad crouched, his hand flailing at his neck, grasping at nothing.
Ren lunged forward, another shout escaping his lips. He was ready to fight.
He was surprised at how good it felt.
▪▪▪
Kevin ran his fingers over the pendant at his neck again and swore at himself. He tore his hand away from the cross and stared out over the compound from his view on top of the central hub, three stories up.
Smoke still drifted up from a couple different spots, the building where Ren and Emma had stayed now little more than a smoke-filled ruin. A smaller structure next to one of the silos to the south had caught fire, but luckily the rain had washed it out, leaving behind a charred black streak at the base.
Some of Haven’s inhabitants had not been so lucky.
The compound had lost six good men and women, and that wasn’t counting the wounded. Might be that Kevin had a dozen he could count on if another attack came. Too many wearing bandages, or on crutches, or stuck on a stiff cot praying they made it into next week.
Brad. Logan. Jackson. All three Blessed gone, and Rachel wasn’t far off herself, even with Ithuriel taking away the worst of it. Kevin couldn’t afford to lose any more.
He turned towards the hatch door, inset on the slate roof, rusted railing surrounding the opening. He grimaced at the soreness that had seeped into his muscles and stopped to lean against the top rail. He sighed and arched his back, wincing at the pop that rattled up his spine.
A loud boom sounded, and Kevin’s gaze shot towards the south.
Another quarry lay next to the river, southeast of Haven, the sand and white malachite gleaming. To the west of the quarry a small lake, its waters a greenish cast, sat tucked in the woods that ran to the south as far as he could see.
Someone shouted. One of the scouts perched on top of one of the tall silos pointed, and Kevin followed the pointing hand.
A cluster of trees just beyond the boundaries of Haven twitched and swayed, their leaves shaking. Kevin’s mouth fell open as one of the trees groaned, twisted and fell over to one side. He heard a deep voice shout, and it took his mind a second to comprehend the name behind the booming roar.
Someone was calling for Ithuriel.
Kevin leaned forward on the railing as a form stepped clear of the trees, his eyes squinting. His brow rose as he spotted black, gleaming armor, and white wings. He only knew of one of the Malakhi who wore dark armor like that.
Abaddon the Destroyer.
The angel shouted again, the name of Ithuriel reaching Kevin’s ears. Abaddon crossed the old one-lane road that led into the compound and a weapon appeared in one of his hands. The weapon dragged across the paved road and the overgrown cement cracked and pitched behind him.
“Hartman!” he shouted, gesturing towards the scout. He pointed down, and waited until the man began to scurry down the ladder.
Kevin cursed and went down the stairs, closing the hatch behind him. He had no idea why Abaddon was here, or why he called for Ithuriel, but he’d brought out his weapon. That meant trouble, no matter the reason.
He wound down t
he stairwell and jumped down the last few steps. He burst through the door on the third story, shocked faces turning towards him. “Get out!” he shouted, running towards one of the windows facing the south.
A puff of smoke drifted up over one of the structures, then another. He heard a rumbling sound, like a pile of gravel falling, and one of the walls collapsed.
He didn’t need to watch anymore.
“Everyone out!” He raced towards the stairs that led down, almost knocking over two survivors working near the stairwell. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried past the second floor, his ankles tender and swollen as he landed on the bottom floor.
Abaddon wasn’t like the Ashen. Haven had fought off the sadistic, cannibalistic bastards, but the survivors couldn’t stand against the Unmaker. Not like this. Not without Ithuriel.
He burst through the wide doors, one of the doors slamming against the frame. The hinge squeaked as the door swiveled shut behind him.
Anderson dragged a body towards a long channel dug into the dirt, other men and women of Haven hauling off the corpses of Ashen alongside him. Many paused, looking up at the smoke trailing into the sky. Anderson saw Kevin and nodded towards one of the survivors, who grabbed the body by the shoulders.
“What the shit?” Anderson motioned towards the drifting smoke as he strode towards Kevin.
Kevin put a firm hand on Anderson’s shoulder. “We got trouble,” he said under his breath. “Trouble we can’t handle right now.”
Something crashed in the distance, and Abaddon’s booming voice echoed, the shouted name unmistakable. Anderson leaned over to one side, his brow furrowed as he looked past Kevin.
“Anderson, you need to get them out of here now,” Kevin said. He racked his mind, struggling to think of some place, any place, that they could go, where they would have at least a chance. He snapped his fingers. Kennett’s Castle. “Northeast. Follow the river, there’s an old, ruined fort just off-shore.”
“What, that place? There anything left of it?” Anderson paused. “And what the hell are you gonna do?”
Kevin nodded. “It’s that or head over into what’s left of town. You wanna try that instead?” He pushed Anderson towards the interior of Haven. “Hurry up, man. I’ll slow him up.”
Ash & Flame: Season One Page 15