by Sating, Paul
"I hope you're right because I don't want to think about how I'm going to pay the rent."
"Maybe you'll have to move back in with your parents."
I hefted the notebook. "If this wasn't a demonic notepad, I'd bash your brains in with it."
Bilba smiled at my empty threat. So did I.
"Well, look at it this way. I'm not sure what we're supposed to do with the mortal bank account, but we've been paid the entire time in Lucifer's Army and we haven't been able to spend a single copper. By the time we get home, your account will be fat enough to take your time and decide what you want to do."
That was true. I hadn't given consideration to it, because I was busy trying to not die or being dulled by the daily routine of nothingness whenever we weren't outside the fence, patrolling Baghdad. The only change we saw, the only excitement we had, were those times ducking mortar attacks or dealing with Cancer, Chax, and the curse—an excellent argument for removing 'C' from the alphabet. But our Army-restricted lives saved a mountain of coin. Maybe there were actually no worries awaiting me in the Underworld.
I set Dialphio's letter on the nightstand, promising myself to get back to her. My thoughts were now fully on Cancer and the never-ending curse.
I hadn't seen her in over a month. I didn't know if she was still recovering or if she'd even left Iraq, an unattractive thought. That was one of the greatest struggles of being a deployed soldier, the disconnection from the entire world except fellow soldiers and the locals we sporadically interacted with.
But I thought about her and the curse at least a few times every day. Obsessive? Possibly. I thought about how I left her, less than thrilled with my offer. I knew she wanted more from me than a platitude promising justice. Her call for Chax's death was driven by emotion and turmoil, not a desire for blood. Cancer wasn't that type of demon, I was convinced of that. By now, I was sure she would be more agreeable to a less aggressive approach.
In that time, I'd only seen Chax once. It was in passing, at a commander's call, when our Central Command General came for a morale visit. With over three thousand soldiers in attendance, it wasn't like I could corner him and force an end to this situation.
He saw me too, giving me a smirk, like he wanted to remind me he had one up on me. I never got an answer from him.
Rumor had it we would be back in Cancer's neighborhood on our next patrol. I would get my answer soon enough.
For now, on this solitary day of relative freedom, I wanted, needed, nothing more than to enjoy the peace of not worrying about drama and strife. Tomorrow would deliver both. Refreshing my system, to allow myself to think about home and all those things in Hell I missed, like the bookshop and getting a bite of familiar bland demonic food at an expensive restaurant in Old Towne whenever I had the money, and a food stand when I didn't. The scent of sulfur on the manufactured wind. To be back where it didn't get so cursedly cold—who knew a place in the desert, like Baghdad, could get cold?
Thinking of home, I stood and pulled Creed out, going through my warm-up exercises. Using the weapon kept my rustiness at bay, but also kept the connection with what it meant to be a demon. Our accelerated training taught us how to blend in with mortals, but not how to sustain that act for so long. No offense to mortal soldiers, having served with them for a year now, I understood how amazing most of them were, but this role play had run its course.
"Watch out," Bilba said with a frown, scooting back against the wall.
The confines of the trailer were tight, and Creed was a long weapon, but I was proficient with it—if more than a little rusty. My best friend would be safe even on my worst day, unless I had a really bad one.
Running through my forms always felt good, making these Sundays the highlight of my week. Time with the halberd made me forget the past week, through the endless patrols and exhausting days. It was the only time I felt like me, and I soon lost myself in the forms. I'd even started naming them.
First, there was Rising Dawn, my basic warm-up form.
Then came High Sun, which I named a week after arriving in Iraq and understanding exactly why mortals complained about it so much.
There was Silencer, Frigid Bite, and Endless Dream. And, lastly, Shadows Fall.
By the time I finished the forms, the connection to the halberd and my true self was strengthened. I was my old self again. It was a wonderful reconnection on a transcendent level. My forms guided me, centered me, helped me wash away the stain of doubt, and the lack of confidence.
I ate, then I slept—because I could, and that was good enough of a reason. I only woke to watch a movie in the rec tent in the late afternoon. One thing about the Overworld I'd miss when I finally did return to Hell was the timely access to mortal movies, being able to watch them as soon as they're released instead of having to wait months before they showed up in the Underworld through market runners. Mortals had no idea how good their lives were.
Fed, rested, reconnected; I fell into a peaceful sleep as night fell on the desert.
***
Pounding on the door woke me. Even as I was coming out of my slumber, the fist struck the door in rapid succession again.
Bilba grumbled, waking slowly. "What is it?"
"Someone with a death wish," I said.
I pulled on my PT shorts and T-shirt—sorry for that mental image, but I sleep in as little clothing as I can, a remnant of spending six thousand years in Hell and choosing comfort over warmth in the Overworld. Now dressed, I went to confront the source of commotion.
Charlie stood outside the trailer in his utility uniform. He stepped back when I swung the door open. "Hey guys, sorry to bother you."
By the expression on his face and tone in his voice, he was a reluctant messenger.
"What's up, Charlie?" I said as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
"We've got orders to head out within the hour," he said, taking a chance to check his surroundings. "Seems like there's been trouble in Khadra, something about a missing soldier, and patrols are being dispatched. We're one of them."
Nothing like starting the work week early.
"Thanks," I said and closed the door without waiting for a reply. Rudeness aside, Charlie could be loquacious and if we were leaving within the hour, that didn't give us much time.
Before long, we were rolling off the Baghdad International Airport compound we controlled and headed back into the suburb of Khadra.
"Supposedly the Russians are kicking up some trouble through the damn insurgents," Sergeant Jones shouted over the roar of the rattling Humvee. "Bunch of civilian casualties and, worse, I guess they're setting up a sleeper cell headquarters in and around Khadra. That's how the soldier was abducted, apparently. About two weeks ago. I remember hearing rumors, but that shit got squashed quickly. Now, guess it was true, and they're sure he's in our old stomping grounds. Keep your ear to the ground and eyes open. Last name was, is, Vicu. We need to shake them out if we can find them. I need you to work your charms on that doctor and see what you can find out."
I only half heard him. Chax was the missing soldier? That explained why I'd only seen him once in the past month. I had to run it over in my mind a few times. If this was true, it had so many dangerous and troublesome implications.
We started our patrol from the pharmacy that had become one of our checkpoints. It looked vacated. In fact, more homes and buildings than ever looked abandoned. There was a chill in the air, and it had nothing to do with the time of year. Even before Jones warned us to be ready, I already was, sensing hidden danger lurking in between buildings, hanging from the rooftops, and just about any other hiding hole in the section of the city.
Life, minimal, was still happening in this part of Khadra, but it was noticeably muted, as if those who hadn't yet fled had the joy of life sucked out of them.
As always in situations where I expected things to turn to crap in the blink of an eye, I felt for Creed, ensuring it was still strapped in. I needed the confirmation; I just hoped Creed didn't
recognize my dependence on it. Thank Lucifer it was not sentient.
We walked towards Cancer's clinic without a problem, though I sensed eyes on us the entire way. Hidden. Secreted behind the blackened walls that scarred a few buildings. But watching. We moved carefully, deliberately, but it was hard to resist the urge to run.
We rounded the corner at the bakery where our translator leveraged his friendship with the owner to get intel. The glass windows had been shattered since our last visit, the glass cases that used to be filled with Iraqi delicacies, now lay empty.
"Be on your best, boys," Sergeant Jones said, noticeably tense. "You've got the lead on this, Sunstone. If she's there, get us every bit of information you can."
"Yes sir," I said.
The neighborhood held no hope or promise. Only despair resided here. Residents, the few we saw, scurried at our approach. Once they fled inside, nothing moved except the chilling desert breeze.
As I crossed the street, I found hope underneath the silence. Noise, life, came from the bottom floor of the building that used to serve as Cancer's clinic. I ran into the building even before Sergeant Jones gave the command.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I smiled at the succubus who tended to Khadra's injured for nearly three years.
If she was angry or frustrated, she hid it well. She dropped the towel she held and hurried toward me, unable to hide the exertion required. When she embraced me I felt how weak her grip was. I hugged her back.
"Bet you never hear this from succubi, but it's so good to see you," she said, pulling away and grinning.
"You'd be surprised how often the ladies miss me." I laughed.
So did she. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that. But, seriously," she said, her voice turning sober, "I am glad to see you."
Cancer, and her clinic, were an encouraging sight. Gone, were the bruises and cuts from when she was attacked. The clinic had two hospital beds, instead of the four she used to have, each accompanied by a table. A cabinet in the corner held a few, not many, packages of bandages and splints. No blood stained the floor. The clinic was not fully recovered—yet—but Cancer appeared to be.
I cocked my arm, thumb thrown toward the door and street beyond. "What happened around here? The entire neighborhood feels deserted."
She tugged on the stethoscope hanging around her neck. "Oh Zeke, it's been horrible. One group of insurgents fighting another group, fighting another, and so on, and so on. It seems like every day there's a new faction fighting the old ones they're trying to replace."
"All Iraqis?"
Cancer shook her head. "With the war expanding like it is between the Russians and their allies, the Americans and theirs, it's getting worse. They're trying everything imaginable except for bombing this region of the city from the map. I don't doubt angels are getting involved now. That's why I opened the clinic again, hoping to help. There's just so much death and harm; I'm not sure I'm even making a difference. But I've got to try because I don't know what else to do."
"I get it. It was creepy getting through the neighborhood to you."
"Imagine what it's like for the people living here. Most of them don't even have access to clean water and electricity now. The food lines are getting longer each day."
I took comfort in knowing that she was well enough to have resumed her clinic operations. Now I needed to know the truth.
"Where's Chax?"
She straightened. Her hands dropped, and she stared as if I was speaking a language she didn't understand.
"What did you do with him?"
Her eyes narrowed in that dangerous way succubi did when incubi pushed them too far. "What are you talking about?"
"Listen, this can stay between us. I won't implicate you. The Army is looking for him. It's too obvious, and it's only going to get worse if we don't find him. Where is he?"
"I don't know what you're talking about and don't appreciate you thinking I am involved in anything to do with him. If something happened, it wasn't me. He probably pissed off the wrong person, or maybe another demon. The Vicu family is good at that."
I searched her eyes. She was being honest. Well, maybe our dilemma was solved for us.
I closed the distance between us, checking over my shoulder to ensure no one from the crew was within hearing distance, including Bilba and Ralrek. I lowered my voice. "I swear, if you tell me you don't know anything, I'll believe. But if you're covering for someone, I swear, I won't say a word. You can blame it on whoever. But if the Army can't find him tonight, they'll start doing house-to-house searches and no one wants that. Help me help them."
"I said I don't know anything," she said each word as sharp as a razor's edge. Her hands gripped her stethoscope like she was trying to choke herself with it. "This is more proof that you believe him over me."
Her voice rose, nearing a level that would draw attention. "No, it's not. And I don't. I believe you. I'm on your side, Cancer."
"It sure as heaven doesn't feel like it."
"I'm sorry."
She spun, stomping away, disappearing around the corner. Clanking came from the back room seconds later and she reappeared as quickly as she was gone, holding a piece of bent and twisted black metal in her hand. She shoved it at me. "You see that? Take it. Take it," she said more forcefully when I didn't. "There's your proof he's still terrorizing me. So if he's gone, I say good riddance."
I studied the blackened metal. It was rough and twisted, heavy. A tube ran down the center, filled with dirt. At one end, four fins were twisted in a design that rivaled modern art. The other end was ripped open, the thick, shredded metal bent back on itself. A homemade bomb.
"Where's it from?"
Cancer shuddered. "That was planted under garbage along the route I take to the clinic. It went off as I was walking to work. He tried to kill me. Chax tried to kill me."
"That would explain the blackened walls on the buildings," I said. "When did it happen?"
Cancer's eyes rolled up as she thought. "Last week. I'm still shaken, Zeke. Every day has been a blur."
Chax could not have done it because he was already missing by that time. Someone else was responsible, and in the middle of a war zone, everyone was a suspect. The attack possibly was not even targeting her, but the general populace, to strike fear into their hearts. Toying with civilians for military aims was a favored tactic of militaries for thousands of years.
"Zeke?" Cancer said. "Are you okay? You look … confused."
I nodded slowly.
"Please," she said, emphasizing the word the second time around, "please find out if he's truly gone. I won't be able to focus on my patients until I know. I don't care about this stupid feud. I just want it to stop. And I want to be left alone. Does that make sense?"
Again, another nod. "I'll do what I can. I promise."
She reached to grab my hand that held the remains of the bomb. "Thank you more than you know. Please find out if he's gone for good."
"I will. Listen, use this," I said, reaching into my cargo pocket and pulling out a few sheets of paper from my demonic notebook, handing them to her.
She took them, staring down. "Is this one of ours?"
I nodded. Relief washed over her face. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. I don't know if I could wait another week or two, or a month, to hear from you again. This really means a lot. Do I need to be careful?"
"No. I leave it at my bedside, and Bilba is my roommate. Any message you need to send will be safe."
She hugged me one more time, and I left, waiting until we were away to brief Sergeant Jones. We finished our shift patrolling the neighborhood until the sun hugged the tops of buildings and darkness started its creep over the world—yes, I still hate looking up at that expanse. Darkness stripped us of safety, and all patrols had to be back on post long before it became unsafe.
Back on post, we debriefed and went our separate ways to prepare for the next day.
"I'm hungry. Want to grab chow?" Bilba patted his stom
ach.
"Sure thing," Ralrek answered. "I'm starving."
"What about you, Zeke? Hungry? Zeke? Hello?"
"Huh? Oh, sorry. What?"
"Man, what happened back there?" Bilba asked.
I stared at the gravel pathway. "I'll tell you when it's safer. Not out here in the open."
They both understood.
"So, food?" Bilba prodded.
"I'm going to hit the showers before the rush," I said. "I'll grab food later. Save some carrot cake though, in case I miss out."
"Again?" Ralrek snorted. "Aren't you tired of it yet?"
"We're almost halfway done with this deployment and you know our cake tastes like paste. I'm eating as much of it as I can before we head home."
"Deal," Bilba said with a chuckle, and they bounded off toward the mess hall.
I headed back to the trailer, lost in thoughts of Chax and where he might be and who was behind his disappearance if it wasn't Cancer. He was gone, and I had a gut feeling his disappearance had nothing to do with insurgents, Russians, or any aspect of this mortal war.
I had no energy left to think about the increased tensions around the city, especially Khadra, that might force Cancer to flee. If that happened, I might not be able to help her anymore.
At least she now had pages from my demonic notebook and could send a message if she needed. No matter where she went, somewhere in the Overworld or back to her Circle, she could reach out, and that gave me a rare moment of peace.
I was so distracted I almost bumped into a grouchy officer, dodging him right before we collided. Apologizing as I saluted, I watched him stomp away as I unlocked my trailer door, making sure I had not inspired him to come back and chew me out for my inattention. He didn't. But that did not prevent me from stepping inside my trailer and failing to notice the demon sitting inside, bundled against the cool air of the Overworld. I froze in my tracks when she spoke.
"About time you got back. I was beginning to worry I'd have to go look for you myself," Seraph said, seated in the only chair in the living space I shared with Bilba.