Cancer's Curse (The Zodiac Book 4)

by Sating, Paul

  She shook her head, her dark hair swaying as one piece. "Absolutely not. I'm not leaving you alone."

  One corner of my mouth curled in a sad smile. "You don't need to protect me anymore. I can handle this. I have to, remember? Plus, this is torture, standing around, waiting for the inevitable. Everyone has to move on with their lives while I go through this, so why not start now?"

  She looked away. "Because it doesn't feel right." Her voice was soft, as if it required all her energy to hide the shaking from me.

  I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, pulling her into me. Together, we surveyed the recruits slowly growing by a trickle as demons arrived. Each of us, I noticed, had the same wide eyes, recording every movement and sound, trying to pick up every subtle clue to what the next hours held. Each new arrival carried a single bag.

  My chest swelled with anxiety and pressure. I gave her one more squeeze and stepped away. "I need you to go. This is too difficult."

  She faced me, her square jaw set, and brown eyes hardening. She crossed her arms. I knew what she was thinking.

  "It's okay. I need to focus, and I can't have you worried about me like this. Please?"

  She sighed, slight but apparent. The corners of her eyes leaked her turmoil. Her lips quivered. Right now, she was trying to hold herself together. "It's impossible to walk away, Ezekial."

  I rubbed the back of her arm. "Just take the first step then. That's where every journey starts."

  The corners of her mouth flickered up and down in a smile that wouldn't hold. "I know. I raised you, remember? But just because I get it doesn't mean I have to like it."

  I shook my head. "No, you don't. But I need this. I love you, Mother." I leaned in for a hug.

  Her crossed arms unlatched, and she fell into me, crying. Demons in the clumps nearest us turned, and then spun away.

  I broke contact, pulling away but not before kissing her cheek.

  Her hands lingered on my arms a little longer and then she, too, turned and walked away, looking over her shoulder once. Her shoulders shook as she broke down. Swallowing was impossible and the sight of her so distraught unbearable. I turned away, listening as her footsteps quickened, carrying her through the growing layers of Army recruits.

  I stood alone for a while. At one point, my neighbor attempted to start a conversation about his excitement at this opportunity. After a few questions, he realized I wasn't interested and found a more accommodating partner.

  Bilba arrived shortly after that, his father Akimon accompanying him, and Ralrek a few minutes behind him. Both wore long expressions, like sleep was slow in visiting everyone last night. Only Akimon dared smile.

  "He's proud of me," Bilba said, excusing away his father's joy and drawing a slow breath. "Are you ready for this?"

  My gaze found the gateway. "No. And I never will be."

  ***

  We stepped through the gateway and into a large, open room crowded with demon recruits, most looking as frightened as the others. Demons propped themselves along the long walls. The few standing milled around in the fragmented spaces in the middle of the room. One, a lanky red-head, dragged his bag behind like it contained a dead chimera. Imagine my relief when, in a room of fifty incubi, I spotted a few who also made the same mistake of bringing multiple bags. If ass-chewings were going to be handed out over the issue, at least I wouldn't be the only one receiving one.

  The room was as quiet as a library. We all knew what was coming. The explosion. Stories of drill instructors were stuff of legend. They were, purportedly, as angry as angels—though I struggled with that image ever since meeting Cassie—and twice as nasty. The smart ones among us kept our mouths closed. The dummies who spoke were at least smart enough to only whisper.

  Along with the absence of words was a complete void of military personnel. That the Army trusted us enough to congregate without a soldier overlord was a revelation. Did they not think us capable of burning down the waiting room, all alone and unsupervised as we were?

  We tried to find an open spot along the wall.

  "What do you think is going on?" Bilba asked, moving to a sliver of space next to a sleeping incubus with a towering high top fade hairstyle, setting his bag down and fiddling with the zipper.

  "No idea. Maybe this is where the torture begins?"

  Ralrek snorted, and slumped against the wall until he was laid out, his head rested on his bag. "Who knows what it takes to run something like this. I imagine it's a logistical nightmare; one I wouldn't want to deal with. I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. Probably should get some rest before then."

  And with that, he unchecked and passed the time sleeping while everyone who remained conscious paced, bit finger nails, zipped and unzipped bags or did whatever they could to relieve the building tension.

  "For Lucifer's sake! Will they just get on with it already?" Bilba huffed so time later, the tips of his ears growing a deeper shade of pink.

  His sudden, but tiny, outburst surprised me, forcing me to ignore a rhythmic clicking on the other side of the room. Though he hadn't shouted across the expanse of the room, he might as well have as quiet as everyone was. "Whoa there, buddy. How about we keep that attitude under wraps? Don't need you starting off on the wrong foot."

  He leaned in, quieter this time. "I'm tired of waiting, Zeke. This isn't right. It's torture."

  The thin and unremarkable demon seated next to Bilba pressed himself against the wall so forcefully I thought he was trying to back his way through it.

  "What's torture?" a new voice asked in a low but menacing growl.

  Bilba's head jerked up. Mine was slower, but just as nervous.

  Above us, a demon in Army fatigues planted two fists on his hips in a broad stance. He was tall and thin; from my vantage point squatting next to Bilba, he looked taller than Ralrek. Debatable height aside, the soldier could not have more than three percent body fat. I wondered if he'd ever eaten an ounce of stale chocolate or chewy Underworld meat in his entire life. His uniform was pressed and perfect, not a wrinkle anywhere. A wide-brimmed circular hat hid any hair he might have, exposing the shaved sides of his skull.

  His jaw flexed as he spoke. "Because I'm curious how you consider this torture. If this is, well, you've lived a very lucky life." His unhappy smile turned into a sneer. "Now, get on your feet."

  Bilba lips trembled.

  The tall Army incubus thrust his hand out, palm forward. "Best you don't say a thing because, I guarantee you, the next words you do say will determine how painful this experience will be."

  I noticed he didn't give us a range of possibilities, leaving the threat open for interpretation. I wondered if Bilba picked up on that. Ralrek was likely just as clueless because he'd woken from his sleep at the first barking syllable.

  Bilba's lips continued quivering.

  The soldier nodded with a jerk, his green eyes hard and piercing. "Get on your feet," he ordered before spinning on the rest of the recruits, watching apprehensively. "All of you! Get on your feet and pick up your bags! Now, move, scum!"

  I didn't feel like scum, nor did I appreciate being called it, but I followed his orders begrudgingly.

  And he was in my face before I knew it. "I said now, recruit! Is that too difficult for you to understand, or do you not speak the Lord's language?"

  "No, I do. And I did as you said."

  On the surface, there was nothing wrong with my tone or the words I chose, but his nose flared, eyes raged like I'd just called his mother a goose-necked sow's tongue. I swear he was on the verge of bursting a blood vessel in his eye.

  "You're in Lucifer's Army now, scum. You call me 'sir.' You call every single blessed Army person you ever see from this day forward 'sir.' You call your drill instructors 'sir.' You call the carriage drivers 'sir.' You call the cooks 'sir.' And so help me, Lucifer, as long as you're in my army, you call your blessed mother 'sir.' Got it?" Spit flew from his mouth as he shouted, his eyes drawn down to Creed. Fire burned in his gaze as if the ha
lberd's presence offended him. For a second, I was convinced he was going to try to toss it back through the gateway. Part of me wanted to see him try.

  My face flushed as hundreds of eyeballs watched us. The room faded into the background as he screamed. I'd even lost track of Bilba and Ralrek. For all I knew, they might have slunk home through the gateway. I couldn't blame them; I would have abandoned me too if I wasn't me.

  The tall soldier spun on the room, making the standing demons take a step back and the ones pressed against the wall sink further against it. "What are all of you looking at? You don't have anything better to do, like getting your asses in line?" He stabbed a finger toward the front of the room. It was the first time I noticed three other military personnel, all fierce and fit, watching us from the open arch like an ember cat eyes a rat. Behind them was what looked like a large foyer. "Line up on each one of those men. Now!"

  Demons grabbed their bags, sometimes accidentally picking up their neighbors in the scramble, and raced to form lines.

  My face still burning, I picked up my possessions and stepped off to join the growing lines, before being yanked back and almost falling over. I turned to see what I got caught on and noticed the soldier held the arm of one suitcase. His smile was purely angelic.

  "Let me do you a favor, scum," he said with a snarl that promised torture. "You've got about three seconds to get your act together before your life turns uncomfortable. I recommend you leave whatever attitude you have in this room. Once you join that line and we march your sorry asses out of here, you'll have heaven to pay for thirteen weeks if you aren't smart enough to straighten up. If you make it that long."

  With his threat finished, he shoved my suitcase away, which kicked up and hit me in the shin. I instinctively yanked my leg up and hopped on a single foot.

  "Stop screwing around!" he shouted, making more demons near me scramble even faster.

  I joined the line and before we knew it, we were marched into a broader terminal. The glass ceiling rose fifty feet, exposing the now–darkened evening. Along the long terminal were other rooms like the one they had penned us in. Each held demons; some only held a handful, while others were as crowded as where we'd been.

  I turned to ask Bilba if he thought those were more recruits as well, but as soon as I did a new Army guy, this one barely old enough to shave, shoved his dark face into mine. His breath smelled like old cheese and he, too, spit when he shouted. It must be something they teach in the Army.

  "What is so interesting behind you that you can't follow simple orders and keep your pathetic eyes looking forward?"

  I jerked back, my suitcase swinging out and catching the leg of the recruit marching to my right. He tripped over it and managed one of the slowest, ugliest falls you're ever likely to see, hitting the linoleum floor with a loud 'ooof,' and dumping his bag, which burst open. The floor was littered with chocolate bars, a few too many bottles of skin lotion, and about a dozen succubi magazines, one flopping open and revealing the centerfold to every nearby eyeball.

  The recruit behind chocolate-porn guy tripped over him. The third barely dodged going down. Five seconds in the military and I'd already made a mess and made at least one enemy.

  "Halt! Lucifer bless it, halt!" Our new tyrant shouted from the front of the three marching columns. "That means to stop fucking walking, morons!"

  Everyone did. The recruits in front of me turned around to see what the commotion was while two more Army personnel strode back toward us.

  "What the fuck is going on, recruit?" A freckle-faced soldier screamed in my face.

  "I was—"

  The first soldier to start this mess back in the large room stepped up in latest in the Beat Down Zeke Round Robin tournament. "Who in the heaven gave you permission to talk? Do you think you're our equals? That you can talk to us like we're you're Lucifer-blessed buddies?"

  In fact, I did think I was their equal because all demons are, but something told me they weren't interested in hearing my opinions on equality, or anything else for that matter. My mouth remained shut.

  "You were asked a question," the dark-skinned soldier who'd made me trip screamed. "When you get asked a question, you answer it. From now on, every single time your weak mouth opens, you better start your sentence with 'sir, permission to speak?' Understood?"

  I nodded. "Sir, permission to speak?"

  "What, scum?"

  If he called me scum one more time I might introduce him to the blue heat of a Creed spell—though it was the halberd who usually decided which spell it was going to cast.

  "It was an accident," I said, raising my arm to point at Bilba, but before I could get my arm fully extended, the skinny soldier swatted it down.

  "I don't know where you got the idea that you are free to do what you want, when you want," he spat. "But you're part of Lucifer's Army now. You do what we say, when we say, and how we say it. And you do it without thinking. Now pick up your shit. Since you seem to think you're more important than the rest of the recruits because you need two bags, you can show us how important you are. Out in front. Now! Move!"

  I scrambled forward, feeling every incubus's eyes on me as I took the lead in the column. I don't think I swallowed as we were marched out of the building to open-top train wagons waiting outside. We stayed in line, no one daring to speak, as we loaded.

  "Cram in, you idiots!" A female soldier screamed as we filled the benches. She was at the end of the line of recruits, ushering them forward faster than they could fill the seats. A few rows in front of where I sat, she stopped to lean into the face of a frightened looking demon with a dark complexion that was lightening toward pale. He kept rolling his lips into his mouth, making his cheeks dimple. "You better get over your intimacy issues and squeeze in. Make room."

  "But my bag, I need space," he started.

  "I don't care what you need!" she predictably screamed. "The Army doesn't care what you need. Lucifer doesn't care what you need. Move your ass over until his leg asks yours out for a date!"

  The recruit mumbled something but scooted over just the same.

  I'd lost my friends in the suitcase debacle but did not dare turn around to look for them. I was squeezed between two demons bigger than me, like everyone else. The demon to my left must have preferred a more bohemian lifestyle, embracing the elegance of natural fragrances. Unfortunately for me, his funk was overwhelming, forcing me to spend the entire ride breathing through my mouth. Whatever our destination, we couldn't get there soon enough.

  I'd regret that thought when we finally arrived.

  We pulled up to the base gate, whispers and groans spread down the length of the wagon. The night was so dark, and full of chaotic distraction, I never even got a good look at the part of the Seventh Circle we sped through before arriving at the base. Heads turned toward the buildings we passed, each identical in shape and color. Street lamps cast a blue glow in fuzzy pockets of space along the sidewalk and under the overhangs of each building. Nothing moved, as if this place had been abandoned.

  All heaven broke out when we pulled up to a square building three stories tall. Out of nowhere, a pair of soldiers rushed the wagon, pressing us off from the front and back. Another small squad directed us underneath the overhang where four more Army personnel waited. They were spaced out evenly along the wall of the building, hands clasped behind their backs, unmoving.

  "Line up on us scumbags!" A male demon on the left shouted.

  Recruits looked at each other. The dimmer among the recruits rushed up to the soldiers, only to be screamed at so aggressively they scurried away. Someone, I wasn't sure who, definitely one of the recruits, begged us to line up in four different lines, so we did.

  Columns formed, one to each instructor, they moved up and down their respective line of recruits, each at least thirty deep. So much shouting and screaming made it difficult to make out which instructor was responsible for our line. From my spot toward the back of the line, I could only sense his presence by his e
choing shouts to pick up our bags, followed by an angrier shout to put them back down again. I thought the dismembered voice was joking until he repeated the command. We complied. So did the recruits in the lines on either side of me.

  "Quicker!" the angry voice shouted. He repeated his order so often my shoulders burned out before his voice did.

  Over and over, we repeated the cruel and tedious game. And each time, he demanded we get quicker, faster, with more snap. No matter how fast we were, at times almost anticipating his command, it wasn't good enough. Having grown tired of the game, I started counting the number of repetitions. We did it another forty times before he lost his patience.

  "Lucifer bless it!" The tall, dark-skinned soldier screamed, striding into my sight, his shoes clicking on the concrete. He kicked a recruit's bag. Glass shattered, and I winced.

  The soldier spun on the recruit, who looked like someone had just stolen his devildog. The round, wide-brimmed hat obscured most of the soldier's face. He shoved the brim in the recruit's face. I could only make out the thick lips of the soldier's wide mouth, cracked in a sadistic smile. "Don't worry. Whatever that was, you won't need it." Lack of remorse and empathy expressed, he marched to the front of the line. "I'm Sergeant Kelem, and I'm officially your worst nightmare."

  I already didn't disagree with that.

  Sergeant Kelem stood to the side of the line, exposing himself clearly for the first time. He was a sturdy demon, with a narrow waist and broad, rounded shoulders. When he yelled, I could see the strain of his vocal cords against his dark skin, which was almost as black as the night. The round hat hid the top of his shaven head—and probably a blessed halo.

  He yo-yo'ed up and down the line, growling as he did. "In approximately twenty-three seconds, we're going to march through that door there." He thrust out an arm toward a dark green door in the corner of the building. Faded blue light emanated from behind it. His head swiveled to examine the line of exhausted and frightened recruits. His face scrunched in a scowl. "What the heaven are you waiting for? Move!"