Tribulation (29 page)

“It doesn’t
have to be like this though,” said Samyaza.

Something in
the Watcher’s tone brought Sam up sharply. “Go on,” he said. “I’m
listening.”

“You are the
son of Satan. As such, you have great power - power that largely
remains untapped at present. With my help, that can change.”

“So I can do
what exactly?” asked Sam.

“With the help
of my brethren, you and I can make our own plane of existence, a
plane that is neither Heaven nor Hell nor Earth; a place in
between, where we will be safe, always welcome. A place to call
home. Think about it. I am like you. When Christ returns, there
will be no place for me. I am not welcome in Heaven or Hell
although I am able to travel to both parts freely. I make my home
here, on Earth but shortly that will no longer be an option. Join
with me. Together we can make this a reality.”

Sam thought
about it. He had to admit it was tempting. Finally he had an
alternative to spending eternity in Hell. But surely there would be
repercussions? Would Heaven and Hell just allow this to happen?
There had to be a catch – there always was with Samyaza. The
Watcher had his own agenda. “What about Aimi?’ he asked.

Samyaza smiled
again. “I knew you would ask and I have an offer to sweeten the
deal. I have just explained that I can travel to Heaven. What do
you think should happen?”

Sam had known
the Watcher could travel where he liked, it was just that the mere
thought of it was too ridiculous to contemplate. Him travel to
Heaven? Impossible!

“You can
transport us both?” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound too
eager. So far, he’d been rather proud of how he’d controlled his
emotions.

“Most
certainly.”

“And get Aimi
out too?”

Samyaza nodded
mutely. “We will discuss the details later. Right now, you have
other pressing matters to attend to. Time is up once again, I’m
afraid.” The Watcher was looking over his shoulder again. Sam
guessed that the Devil’s Hand were closing in. Even engrossed in
the conversation, Sam was ever conscious of their movements,
knowing that ever minute he delayed, they got that much closer.

The Watcher
took flight. He hovered above Sam for a moment as if he’d forgotten
something.

“You know, you
never told me how you got out of Hell,” said Sam, yelling in order
to be heard above the flapping of Samyaza’s great wings. Years
earlier, during the battle between Sam and in brother in Hell,
Satan had banished Samyaza to a deep pit in his Kingdom for
interfering. The Watcher had never mentioned it and Sam had never
thought to ask. He did now though.

“Perhaps
another time.” The Grigori winked at him. “Now is the time to
run.”

Sam turned.
Approaching down the highway in the darkness were five figures.
They were spread out, equidistant from each other in a rough line,
still several hundred feet away but closing rapidly thanks to their
long, loping gait.

Sam would face
them. Eventually. But now was not that time. He had things to do,
plans to make.

He turned east
and sprinted off. The true test of his endurance was about to
begin.

New Jersey

“
The rest of mankind
that were not killed by these plagues still did not repent of the
work of their hands; they did not stop worshiping demons, and idols
of gold, silver, bronze, stone and wood--idols that cannot see or
hear or walk.”
Revelation 9:20

H
e ran through the night, his heart feeling lighter
than it had for a long time – perhaps ever - despite being hotly
pursued by the Devil’s Hand. Samyaza’s offer was indeed intriguing.
The thought of having a safe place to spend eternity, perhaps where
Aimi and he could spend it together, was almost impossible to
resist. It was certainly an appealing proposition, especially in
light of Gabriel’s betrayal.

But the Watcher
was cunning. He had given him the news of Gabriel’s and Satan’s
pact at that exact moment for a reason: to confuse Sam, make him
more susceptible to other offers. Despite knowing this, it didn’t
affect the allure. Sam wanted to believe, wanted to believe that
what Samyaza offered was honest and true. Time would tell.

Right now, he
had to focus his mind. The Devil’s Hand, while not exactly closing
on him, were certainly not falling back, keeping pace even as he
accelerated. Unlike him though, they had probably not already been
running for many hours, arriving refreshed a few hours ago from
Hell. Idly, he wondered if they trained like him. Had they spent
their youth running for mile after mile like he had? Probably not.
Hell no doubt had its own less subtle ways of training its
warriors.

He probably
would have out-distanced them more easily but he ran into a few
problems. First, an earthquake had caused part of the road to
collapse completely, leaving a gaping hole in the earth that
appeared to go on forever - so deep, in fact, that Sam kept
expecting to see Hell somewhere in its depths. It was also rather
wide. He was forced to make a wide detour around it. Behind him,
the Devil’s Hand closed the distance between them.

Then, near the
town of Bethlehem, he was hit by a fire-storm. It wasn’t a huge
problem. He was, after all, almost completely immune to fire as
he’d imagine the Devil’s Hand were. But that wasn’t the issue. They
were a relatively new phenomenon, becoming increasingly frequent.
Fire-storms took the form of balls of lava falling from the sky,
deadly to normal humans and highly destructive, largely responsible
for most of the burnt towns and cities he had encountered. They
struck the road in front of him. So intense was the heat that they
melted the tar, creating a sticky mess that spelt ‘death trap’. If
he ran through that, the tar would stick to his boots, further
impeding his progress.

He detoured
again, off the road, thrusting himself through smoldering plants,
long since dead but still able to burn. The detour cost him time
but he knew it was worth it. Experience had taught him well. The
Devil’s Hand might not be as wise.

Sure enough,
when he’d completed his detour and returned to the Highway, Sam
cast a look over his shoulder. The Devil’s Hand had not bothered to
avoid the burning road. They lacked Sam’s experience on Earth,
running straight through the viscous black tar. Four immediately
ran into trouble, their black boots becoming encased in the sticky
sludge, slowing their progress considerably. If Sam got lucky, they
might even have to retreat back to Hell to get new boots.

Unfortunately,
the fifth member, ever so slightly behind the others, saw the
difficulty they were having and followed Sam’s detour around. On
closer inspection, Sam realized this member of the group was one of
the two females.

He slowed
slightly – not obviously – but enough to allow the isolated female
to close the distance. This was almost too lucky. It was exactly
what he’d been waiting for: an opportunity to isolate one of them.
If he faced them as a group, he knew that his chances were slim.
But one on one? That was a different story. Silently, he called to
Yeth, willing his great Hellhound to appear. The timing couldn’t
have been better. Sam could sense a church nearby, a portal that
Yeth could use to his advantage.

Still cloaked
in his glamor, Sam sprinted ahead. There was a mass of cars piled
ahead of him on the highway, scattered like so many child’s toys.
Enough to obscure his movements. He somersaulted over the first one
he came to. Ahead of him was a jumbled maze of other cars. He
darted in amongst them and then skidded to a halt and crouched
down. He didn’t have to wait long.

He sensed her
mind state first, of course. As she got closer, her thoughts became
clearer to him. She didn’t expect an ambush, confident that Sam was
like a deer being pursued by a pack of wolves, certain that his
fear would drive him on.

Her footsteps
and the sound of her breathing became apparent before she did and
for once, everything went exactly to plan. He waited until she just
gone past the car he huddled behind and then leapt after her, as
silent as death. Some sixth sense or desperate self-preservation
must have warned her at the very last moment, but it was too late.
To her credit, she swiveled with surprising speed, brought her
sword up and almost managed to block his blades despite not knowing
exactly where the attack was coming from. It was impressive and
something Sam would have struggled to do himself. He was careful
not to kill her straight away though, which would have been
pointless. He needed the scent trail.

His Wakizashi
knocked her block sideways, even while his Katana was already
curving upwards, biting underneath her arm and slicing through it
almost without resistance. Blood spurted. She screamed once and
tried to drive her remaining blade-like hand straight into his
eyes. He blocked it again, removing the other hand just as easily.
Unarmed and completely defenseless, Sam thought she might have
surrendered or perhaps even pleaded then. But this was the Devil’s
Hand he was dealing with here. A Cambion like him, unafraid of
death and confident that if she died here, she’d just come back to
face him stronger next time.

She screamed
defiantly and threw herself at him. He plunged both swords though
her, one through the neck and one in her chest, killing her
instantly. She disappeared. Yeth appeared at his side as if her
death had summoned him, his body flaming, sensing his master’s mood
and prepared for battle. His Hellhound was to be disappointed this
night. There would be no more fighting.

Sam pointed and
understanding blossomed in the great demon’s mind. A fight might
not be on the cards now but it was coming and soon. Sam assured him
of that, patting Yeth’s great flanks reassuringly. The Devil’s Hand
thought they had the upper hand, but things were about to
change.

He thanked Yeth
and cautioned him to escape. Four more Devil’s Hand were rapidly
approaching, intent on avenging their fallen comrade. Sam could
sense their mood and it was dire. Even he and Yeth might not be a
match for them.

As Yeth faded
back to Hell, taking refuge in his own plane, Sam took to his heels
and fled.

He managed to
stay ahead of them through the rest of that long night. It was
taxing – he’d rarely felt this exhausted having run almost non-stop
for twenty four hours. And that was after spending a whole night in
a rage-fueled binge of destruction.

The Devil’s
Hand were relentless. The four that remained pursued him doggedly,
intent on revenge. A part of him even admired their persistence.
The pursuit also taught him something valuable – how long it took
for one to be ‘re-spawned’.

He sensed her
reappearance immediately, joining the others as they ran along,
presumably emerging from a nearby church. Swiftly, he did the
calculations. He’d killed her just after midnight. Now it was
almost dawn – probably five am if he was any judge. So basically,
it took them about five hours to, well, reconstitute themselves
again. Re-born. Sam envied them this ability. To be released from
the fear of death … and not only that. To be re-born stronger each
time. How exhilarating! He caught his envy before it got out of
control. To be jealous of a demon. Ridiculous!

By dawn, he
found himself in Springfield, New Jersey. Thankfully, the Devil’s
Hand once again returned to Hell to avoid the hated daylight. Sam
didn’t think it would last. One day soon, they would adapt like he
had, able to continue the pursuit no matter what time of day it
was. Sam hoped that that day was still a long way off.

He could
probably have pushed on through to New York - through Jersey and
into Manhattan, his ultimate destination – but he wanted to scout
out the lie of the land first. Things didn’t look promising. To the
east, in the general vicinity of where Sam thought Manhattan was,
black smoke was drifting up in the warm morning breeze. Not a great
sign.

It wasn’t much
better in Springfield. The fire-storms and other natural disasters
had wreaked havoc. Most of the town was destroyed, only the brick
buildings having survived the fire-storms. Signage on the
interstate informed him that there was a golf course nearby and he
could just make it out in the distance. Or what had once been a
golf course. It was now nothing more than a large open area,
covered in blackened grass. People lived in the town though – he
could perceive their presence, although whether they were demon
worshippers or not, he couldn’t determine. He kept well away from
them. Even if they weren’t in league with his Father, there wasn’t
much he could do for them at the moment. Besides, Colonel Wheat and
his troops would be along in another few weeks. Small comfort for
those dying of the plague but Sam just couldn’t help everyone –
even if he’d had enough antibiotics which he didn’t.