by Ryland Thorn
Lennox turns to Jack and grins as if she is proud of herself. “After you,” she says.
Jack doesn’t argue. He knows what they will find on the other side of this door, and Lennox is still in training. Jack is more than happy to be the first one through.
Chapter Eleven: Department Store
The door opens to a narrow corridor that is bright and clean and, surprisingly, full of people. More than half a dozen of them.
Jack stands at the entrance for a moment, unsure what to say or do. The people are just ordinary folk, men, women, and children who have chosen the wrong day to visit the department store. There are a couple of store workers among them as well, still wearing their tan and gray uniforms with their plastic name tags on display.
It takes Jack a moment to realize that these people had tried to escape from the Hell-beast but had been unable to unlock the door to get out. Most of them are huddled on the floor. Some have been crying, and all of them are just as surprised to see him as he is to see them.
For a moment, they look at him, their faces filled with fear and desperation mixed with hope. Jack imagines that captives locked in containers by people smugglers might have the same look upon being rescued.
“What are you waiting for?” Lennox asks.
Jack hasn’t opened the door fully and is blocking her view. He steps out of the way, and Lennox stiffens beside him. It is her turn to be surprised. But she understands and recovers more quickly.
“You’re safe now,” she says to them. “Let’s get you all out of there.”
Lennox’s friendly face and soothing words are enough. The people climb to their feet and file out, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and joy. It is like they never expected the door to open for them. Nearly all of them offer their thanks as they pass, and more than one reaches out to Jack and Lennox like worshippers might reach out to their savior.
To Jack, it is an unexpected and unfamiliar experience. He usually works in the shadows and is gone before those he helps can thank him.
Lennox accepts their gratitude with a broad grin on her face. When the last of them has left the corridor, she turns to Jack. “It’s nice to see the faces of the people we help,” she says.
Jack just grunts. “There is more to do yet. Let’s get to it,” he says.
<<<>>>
The corridor is short and opens to the ground floor of the department store. Jack and Lennox pass by doors that say ‘Men’ and ‘Women’ in clear, unambiguous fonts, and pause at the corner.
There are no doors at this end of the corridor, and Jack can see the chaos in front of them clearly. It is like the department store has been hit by an earthquake. Ceiling panels and fluorescent lights are hanging down from their corners or have crashed to the floor. It is dimmer in the store than it should be, but there is still enough light for Jack and Lennox to see.
Kitchen appliances that had once been displayed neatly on stands are now in disarray. The stands themselves are twisted and broken as if trampled by a herd of beasts. Further in, there are piles of cushions and soft furnishings in amongst kitchen tables and chairs that have been splintered and broken.
It looks as if the Hell-beast’s rampage has been deliberate and thorough. As if it has taken the department store apart in a methodical way, looking for prey. In that, it has been successful. Jack can see several patches of red in the wreckage that can only be blood.
Those half-dozen people Jack and Lennox helped to escape had been very lucky indeed.
“I can smell it,” Lennox says.
Jack breathes deeply, and he too picks up the distinctive whiff of sulfur in the air. But it is not strong. The Hell-beast had definitely been in this part of the department store, but it isn’t there now.
He nods and shrugs the duffel bag from his shoulder. “What do you want? Crossbow or shotgun?” he asks, making sure to keep his voice low.
Lennox’s eyes light up at his words. “Shotgun!” she says eagerly. She is already wearing the Amulet of Ducent.
Jack hands it over. Then he prepares the crossbow for use, clicking the steel bow into place and testing the cord. It is an automatic bow with a dozen bolts in a circular cartridge. If he needs to do so, he can discharge the whole cartridge in under a minute.
With the crossbow in his hands, he feels ready. “The Hell-beast must be upstairs,” he says. “We’ll take the escalator. Keep your eyes open.”
As if to confirm Jack’s statement, the Hell-beast again lets out a shriek that sounds like the rending of metal. This time it is muted, the sound suppressed a little by the ceiling between them.
Jack takes the lead with Lennox behind him. He can almost sense Lennox’s enthusiasm. It is like she is eager for combat, excited to see a creature from Hell that she is unfamiliar with. Nor, in Jack’s estimation, is this a bad thing. Better to be excited than paralyzed with fear and unable to act.
As for himself, Jack’s anger and hate have yet to kick in. Instead, he is wary. He has fought Hell-beasts occasionally in the past and knows exactly how powerful and dangerous they can be. He isn’t scared of them, not exactly, but he fears what they can do. He is afraid of the damage they can do to those around him. To Lennox.
Despite his instinctive urge to protect her, Jack knows he cannot simply leave Lennox behind. It is her choice to be here, and she is ready. She has been fighting Hell creatures at his side for some time and knows how to look after herself. And, of course, her talent for magic might prove useful.
They pick their way through the wreckage to the escalator. It isn’t working. Perhaps the Hell-beast has damaged it, or perhaps someone has turned it off. Either way, it is now no more than a staircase.
Without saying a word, Jack and Lennox cautiously start to climb.
They move quietly past a sign hung on an angle that advertises everything from Menswear and Electronics to Toys and Cosmetics. When they reach the top, they crouch low to avoid the Hell-beast seeing them before they are ready. Jack plans to steal a quick glance or two around the edge of the handrail to learn where the Hell-beast is, then decide how best to approach it.
This plan lasts only until the Hell-beast screams once again.
It is an awful, raucous, ear-splitting sound that can only be made by monsters from Hell, although Jack thinks that predatory dinosaurs could once have sounded the same. All by itself, the noise is enough to freeze strong men in place and turn their guts into water. Not even Lennox and Jack are entirely immune. Lennox grimaces in discomfort and Jack can feel the blood drain from his face.
But what he hears next is far worse.
It is a whimper. A human sound of pure terror, pitched too high to have been made by an adult.
A survivor is hiding somewhere nearby. A child who fears for his or her very life. Who it might be, how the child has survived for so long with the Hell-beast on the prowl, Jack doesn’t know. All he knows is that the Hell-beast will murder the child without hesitation unless he and Lennox can do something to stop it.
Chapter Twelve: Hell-beast
“Hell and Damnation!” Jack’s anger will not let him stay silent. He has been a hunter of demonic creatures and their ilk for many decades. It is his calling, and he is good at it. It is a way for him to channel the rage and hatred he has carried in his heart for so long, ever since he witnessed a gang of imps murder his family.
Jack had been little more than a child himself and had been unable to do anything to stop them. They had killed his adoptive mother, father, and three younger siblings. That none of them were related to him by blood didn’t matter. They were the only family Jack ever knew, and he’d loved them as much as they’d loved him. He’d survived the attack only because of the demon blood in his own veins and the unnatural durability it affords him.
The screams of his brother and sisters still haunt his dreams even now, so many years later. He has no wish at all to add the screams of another child to his catalog of memories that he would rather forget.
He surges to
his feet with the confidence and strength of one born to battle and looks left and right. This floor is just as damaged as the one below. The stench of sulfur is nearly overwhelming, even with the shattered window letting in fresh air. It is akin to standing next to a volcanic vent.
It takes only moments for Jack to locate the source of the stench. The Hell-beast is half way down the floor. It is rummaging through piles of clothing that are no longer on hangers, with its back toward Lennox and Jack.
It is monstrous. The size and shape of a rhino with red and black flesh that looks flayed. Despite how it looks, its behavior is far from that which a rhino might display. It is not grazing on the piles of clothing. Instead, it is snarling and pawing and tossing items about as if in a fury. It is like a rabid dog bent on murdering a rabbit, grown to monstrous proportions. Yet even that isn’t an exact representation, for the Hell-beast has three separate heads.
The Hell-beast is facing away from Jack, but even so, he can see that its heads are set on sinuous necks and look awful. Like the skulls of horses with most of the flesh removed and given horns like a devil.
The very sight of it is enough to set Jack’s teeth on edge. It fills him with a hate that is almost physical. His skin grows hot, and his spine becomes stiff. He wants nothing more than to wrap his hands around its throats and squeeze with all of his might until the Hell-beast’s eyes pop from its skulls and it collapses dead at his feet.
Jack knows that his reaction is due to the demon blood surging through his veins. He doesn’t care. He knows that unlike with Lennox, it is deep enough within him that it is difficult to ignite. It will not take control of him completely, and its power is useful. It gives him strength and dexterity beyond that which he normally possesses.
The Hell-beast is engrossed in its hunting and hasn’t yet noticed Jack or Lennox. It doesn’t know the danger it is in. If eyes were like lasers, Jack would have already bored holes through the Hell-beast’s spine.
“Save the child,” Jack snarls to Lennox. “I’ve got the Hell-beast.”
He doesn’t give her a chance to argue but is confident she will do as he says. He is already moving, striding toward the Hell-beast with his crossbow aimed and ready and the duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hey!” Jack yells at the Hell-beast. “I’m talking to you! It’s time for you to go back to Hell!”
The Hell-beast startles like a hound that has set off a trap. It freezes for only an instant, then snorts and spins right around, giving Jack his first true look at its faces.
It is a creature of horror. Jack has already seen the horns and the skeletal appearance, but he hadn’t seen the overabundance of fangs or the way its tongues dangle and drool. Nor had he seen the red, swirling madness in its eyes.
The multi-headed monster is loathsome to Jack on a cellular level. Vile and repulsive to his instinctual self, it is enough to give rise to nightmares despite all the terrors he has seen in his life. Not even the wall of hate and anger that Jack has built can prevent a cold seed of visceral terror forming at the base of his spine.
Someone less familiar with the spawn of Hell might have given into that terror. They might have stood quaking at the knees or gibbering uselessly in fear. But Jack just uses it to feed his hate even more and keeps striding forward.
The Hell-beast utters another sickening shriek and launches itself toward Jack as if he is its prey.
He is not. Despite his roiling emotions, despite the fact that the Hell-beast must weigh several tons, Jack holds his crossbow with steady hands. He aims at the base of the Hell-beast’s throats and pulls the trigger. At the same time, he dives to his right, heedless of the broken cosmetic stand in his way. As he lands in a cloud of perfume that is almost enough to overpower the sulfur, he sees the crossbow bolt bounce harmlessly from the Hell-beast’s hide.
The monster crashes into the end of the escalator where Jack and Lennox had so recently been. Completely undamaged, it scrabbles its claws against the linoleum floor to gain purchase and launches itself at Jack again.
Jack is dimly aware that Lennox has moved off to one side of the store, where the toy section once stood. Cardboard boxes and brightly-colored plastic is strewn about in all directions. It looks like a scattering of plastic blocks on a much larger scale, and Jack knows that Lennox’s instincts are good. He believes she will find the child somewhere within the mess.
He rolls to his feet, fires the crossbow at one of the Hell-beast’s heads, and starts to dash toward the windows, away from Lennox.
The Hell-beast is scarily fast, much faster than Jack could have expected. He has only traveled half a dozen paces before the monster is breathing down his neck. Jack ducks and weaves, using his smaller size to his advantage as best as he can. He manages to stay out of its way for another couple of paces. He can feel jaws snapping at the back of his head, and the stench is like he has dunked his head into a bucket of rotten eggs.
Then the foul creature catches Jack by the back of his trenchcoat. It does not have a good grip, but the Hell-beast is hideously strong. Jack has time to think that he has been snagged by a single jutting fang, and then he is tossed to the side.
He lands heavily, bruising his shoulders, and comes to rest on his back against one of the columns supporting the ceiling. The Hell-beast has to change direction, but it is shockingly nimble for so massive a creature. In far less than a second, it is looming over him with fangs bared in multiple jaws.
It is pure luck that Jack has managed to keep hold of his crossbow. The Hell-beast is a ravening monster. It snarls in infernal rage as it lunges toward him.
But Jack is snarling also, his fury a match for the beast’s. Nor is he the type to give up so easily. He has been fighting creatures like this for more years than he cares to remember and will not accept defeat without doing all that he can. He aims the crossbow and fires three times in quick succession.
“Go to Hell, you foul beast!” Jack yells in desperate rage mixed with hope.
The first two bolts glance from the Hell-beast’s left neck and a horn, doing no damage at all. But by a combination of good luck and good timing, the third bolt enters the mouth of the middle head and pierces the Hell-beast in the back of the throat.
It is a good shot, and Jack can only hope that the mechanism built into the bolt works as it should. The Hell-beast snaps its jaws closed. For an instant, it appears that the holy water within the crossbow bolt has had no effect. Jack fears that he will have to use the crossbow as a shield to keep the beast’s savage jaws from ripping into his flesh. He starts to think that at least he has given Lennox the chance to find the child, and then to wonder if his durability is about to find its limit.
Then the middle head of the Hell-beast coughs out a cloud of greenish putrescence all over Jack’s face. Jack shuts his eyes, raises his arms and turns aside, but it is too late. He is coated in the awful, sulfurous goo. It is cloying and foul, and Jack can’t help but think it is yet another form of attack. But the Hell-beast is not pressing its advantage. Instead, it is shrieking even more loudly than before.
Something about the tone of the shriek suggests not just rage but agony as well.
Jack is panting as if he has been for a run and his heart is pounding. He uses the sleeve of his trenchcoat to wipe the muck from his eyes and sees that the Hell-beast has backed away. It is shaking its heads as if to dislodge something painful, and the middle one is spouting ever-increasing clouds of green foulness. The holy water is like acid eating away at its throat, and for a moment Jack dares to hope it will be sufficient to send the monster straight back to Hell.
No such luck.
Behind the Hell-beast, Jack can see Lennox making her way back to the escalator. She is carrying a child who can’t be more than six years old, a girl dressed in a bright red jacket. Lennox is keeping an eye on the monster and moving cautiously, but the young girl is terrified. In between the Hell-beast’s shrieks of pain and madness, Jack can hear the girl continue to whimper in fear.
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The Hell-beast hears it as well. Between one heartbeat and the next, it ceases its desperate shaking. One last cloud of putrescence escapes from the mouth of the middle head. It glares at Jack for a moment more. Then, as if consciously deciding to go for an easier target, the Hell-beast turns itself about.
Lennox has made it to the top of the escalator. Jack can see her clearly and knows her confusion. The infernal monster is set to attack. Normally, Lennox would crouch low and let loose with the shotgun or her magic, or both. But now she has the girl to protect. It is all she can do to turn her back on the Hell-beast and offer herself as a shield.
Jack fires the crossbow again and again, but the Hell-beast’s back offers no weak points, and the bolts do no damage.
“Hey!” Jack yells. “Foul creature, look at me!”
Chapter Thirteen: Grenade
Jack is doing his best to gain the Hell-beast’s attention. It ignores him. It is ready to pounce. In a last, desperate attempt to keep it from attacking Lennox and the girl, Jack quickly scrambles upright and drops his crossbow to the floor. Then he launches himself at the Hell-beast, latching on to its tail and gripping it tightly.
He plants his feet and uses all of his strength to anchor the monster in place.
The tail feels tough and wiry and bony all at once in his hands. It is not a normal tail, but a sinuous appendage that writhes all by itself. At the end of it, there is no tuft of fur, no collection of spikes, nothing that any other tail might have. Instead, the end of this tail is like the head of a snake, complete with eyes, fangs, and a forked tongue.
The snake-headed tail hisses and spits at Jack. He curses out loud and tries to throttle it, but it is the least of his problems. He is an ant trying to hold back a powerful Titan. A spider web trying to catch a tornado. While he is stronger than those with only human blood in their veins and is buoyed by the strength of his fury and hate, he is no match for the Hell-beast.
