by Sean Deville
“We need to go now,” Lucien said. “There will be more bodies in the rest of the house. I would suggest you keep your eyes closed.” Lucien knew he wouldn’t. Curiosity was part of the ultimate search for understanding.
26.
Nigeria
Nigeria is Africa’s largest grower of maize, producing nearly eight million tonnes a year. That was about to change. Most of the countries of Africa that were able to grow substantial crops were about to witness a cataclysm.
Abeo Eze worked on one of Nigeria’s largest farms. He was a labourer, helping to maintain the farm as well as organise the harvest of the maize crop which was still several months away. That was why he was in the fields when the locusts hit. Abeo hated locusts, he always had. Not only were they noisy, but enough of them could threaten his ability to feed his children.
He heard the locusts before he saw them, their wings chattering as they drew closer. There had been reports of swarms in other parts of the country, whole fields eaten and stripped of all vegetation. Locusts were a strange creature when you thought about it. Normally they lived alone or in small groups, but occasionally they came together in immense swarms. Whilst not directly dangerous to humans, their impact could be devastating on the food grown by mankind.
The swarm that was about to hit Abeo’s farm was one of biblical proportions. It contained over a billion locusts and covered an area larger than Greater London. Engulfing the land, it consumed everything plant based in its path before moving on to another area.
Maize is a tall plant, often taller than the average man who insists on growing it in neat rows for easy harvesting. Thus, Abeo was in amongst it when the swarm hit, the locusts forming a blanket on everything. They descended into the crop, covering every leaf and coating the ground around his feet. Some landed on Abeo, and he fruitlessly swatted at them. Abeo knew they didn’t bite or carry disease, but to be in the thick of so many of them churning around his head caused him to panic.
If the crop was destroyed, he likely wouldn’t be paid and there was nothing he could do to stop the crop being utterly devastated.
The sound was incredible, millions of wings vibrating and legs rubbing together. He had to get out from it; he had to be free. Fortunately, he was near the edge of the field, and despite the disorientation his panic caused, he forged his way through, emerging from the edge of the field onto the service road. The locusts were thick, dozens of them crushed by his boots. Still they clung to him, his hands constantly swatting at the ones that tried to settle on his face. Stripping off his t-shirt, he used it to waft the air around him, creating a zone of relative safety, the locusts instinctively avoiding the twirling obstacle.
It allowed him to get to his Land Rover, and inside he rid himself of the few locusts that followed him through the car door. So thick were the creatures now, they part blocked out the sun, the sky above full of them. They would keep on coming until nothing was left.
A swarm this size would be able to consume over one hundred and sixty thousand tonnes of plant matter a day. And whilst not all of that would be human crops, you were still talking enough food to feed over half a million people for a whole year. They would eat and spread their way across the land until there was nothing left. And then, the swarm would dissipate as if it never existed.
Abeo had seen swarms before; had been witness to this sort of thing on previous occasions. But he had never been caught in the middle of it like this, and never a swarm so large. He also didn’t know that it wasn’t only Nigeria where this was happening. All across Africa, locusts were on the move, the food supply to whole countries being utterly destroyed.
This was to be the worst locust plague in reported history and it was only the start of the pressure that was about to be placed on the human food supply.
27.
London, UK
Baal sat behind her host’s office desk, the itch in her back spreading. Being here was becoming more uncomfortable as the hours passed. Never before had she experienced a human body reject her presence so quickly. By her reckoning, she had days at most before it became too much for her. Either Baal would be driven out as the body’s organs began to shut down, or the sensation would become too extreme for her to cope with.
Never did she think she would ever hear herself say she would prefer to be back in Hell. The earth was a playground she longed for, but not like this. Taking the body of the Home Secretary had been a result of luck and good fortune. But it was starting to feel more and more like a torment.
She had known suffering. Every demon from the depths of the Pit was well acquainted with it. But it was different to what you experienced in human form. If she was given time to acclimatise, she knew she would be able to bear it, but this was coming on too hard and too fast. Not only that, but she found she didn’t dare sleep. It wasn’t a requirement of a demon but of the body it occupied, and already the fatigue was having a detrimental effect on her.
Using her psychic power on the Inquisitor had left her weak and faint for several hours after. That was the worst part of it, the sensation of frailty that consumed her. She was a being of power and to have that power stripped from you, even momentarily, was a frightening prospect. When she eventually returned to this world, and she would, it would be in a host that was suitable. When the seals broke, when the gates of Hell were flung open, then they would all be given the good fortune to own bodies that would let them walk this land in comfort. When the secret realm of Hell was revealed, the creatures of the Pit would be able to wear the choicest meat, the humans offering themselves willingly in their thousands. If Baal was to help in the eventual extinction of the human race in the time of the Great Tribulation, she wanted to be wearing a suit of flesh that would allow her to enjoy the moment to its fullest. She was tired of how this one chaffed.
There was something else though, a feeling of creeping dread that was alien to her. It had come on about an hour ago, and she couldn’t shake it.
Baal tried to resist the temptation to scratch herself. Not only was the rash maddening, but it was also in the most awkward part of her body to reach. The worst of it was smack bang in the middle of her back. Twice now her host’s personal assistant had walked in to find Baal scraping her new flesh up against the edge of the book case. The only comment made by the PA had been her curious and amused eyes. There was a real chance that, before Baal left this body to return to the fire, she would take those eyes from the woman.
The phone on her desk rang. It was a shrill sound, grating and demanding her attention. Humanity had done its best to strip the hardship from their world, only to replace it with petty annoyance and irritations. They had rich, nourishing food and clean water. They had developed electricity which gave them light and heat on demand, taking control of the environments they lived in. And yet, subconsciously, they had replaced those hardships with scientific progress that induced anxiety and dopamine addiction.
Reluctantly she answered the phone.
“Home Secretary,” her assistant said, “I have the MET commissioner on the phone.”
“Put her through,” Baal said wearily. More bureaucracy to deal with. She found these people so tiresome, especially as she had to keep up the façade expected of her host. How she longed for the times of old when the people would cower before her as she strode through the streets. Back then, she could have killed any one of them with impunity. Those were the days of illiteracy, of emperors and kings. The time before Babylon fell.
Those days would come again, she was sure.
“Home Secretary,” the new voice said.
“Jacqueline, what can I do for you?” Baal said into the phone. She knew what she would like to do to the woman, along with most of the population of the human race. A slow, prolonged torture so she could hear their screams across whole cities. The air shrouded in the smoke from the great conflagration her kind would help bring. Flailed flesh and enslaved masses. Humans made to kill and maim their own kin.
That was truly some
thing to look forward to.
Briefly, the thoughts of her host body’s trapped mind broke through, cursing Baal and everything she stood for. So surprising was it that Baal nearly cried out. This was why she was afraid to go to sleep, in case this human somehow regained control, even temporarily. When Baal finally left this body, she would ensure its previous owner would suffer horribly for whatever time was left to him.
Fear was an emotion Baal knew well, but it wasn’t right she should fear a mere human.
“Our emergency response centre received an anonymous call forty minutes ago. Officers are at the scene now. Nine people were found dead east of Heathrow.”
“How did they die?”
“Most died from gunshot wounds. One, however, was tortured to death from what we can tell.”
“There’s something else, isn’t there? I can hear it in your voice.”
“Yes, Home Secretary. We think it might be related to the death of one of my officers the other day.” Damn, thought Baal. So, there were more Inquisitors in the city. They were so pervasive, like rats lurking in the darkness. These nine deaths were likely what the unsettling dread was all about. Although demons couldn’t communicate telepathically, they could sometimes get a sense when their own were in peril. This must have been what Baal was feeling.
“I want your best team on this,” Baal said.
“Already on it. Detective Inspector Cooke will be running point on this. I believe you have already met him.” Yes, thought Baal. Yes I have.
“What do we know so far?”
“Four of the dead were armed. They are all linked to a local crime boss who was also found dead at the scene. We identified them quickly. They all have pretty substantial criminal records.”
“Could it not be a gangland hit?” Baal didn’t want to be wasting her time if this wasn’t the work of an Inquisitor.
“No, we don’t think so. Five of the bodies were found in the basement, along with evidence of some sort of Satanic ritual.” Baal felt as if she was suddenly hit in the gut. How did the Inquisition find her kind so quickly? “We’ve pretty much identified everyone, either through fingerprints or the identification they were carrying. We have a primary school teacher and a well-connected banker amongst the dead.” It sounded like a summoning ritual had been attacked. Baal had no knowledge of such being planned, so it was likely the lower demons playing their games. She needed to see the scene though, needed to know what was going down.
“I want to see this for myself,” Baal ordered.
“Home Secretary, that’s not really protocol.”
“I don’t give a damn.” In her thoughts, Baal was roaring, but she managed to keep her human voice measured. “I’m going to be briefing the PM on this so I’ll need to witness the slaughter for myself.” She regretted the use of the word slaughter the instant she said it. “Give all the details to my protection detail. I’ll be there within the hour.”
28.
Slough, UK
Detective Inspector Cooke’s first assessment as he walked through the crime scene had been that this was a gangland killing. Why else did half of those slain possess weapons, the portable finger print checker used by the forensic team pulling up prints that were linked to dubious individuals with a considerable combined criminal history. Now it wasn’t good to have such lawlessness on the streets, but there was something to be applauded when the scum killed each other. There was a time when the police would barely life a finger to investigate such a case.
However, not all those killed were in the system. Those that weren’t were found in the basement where Cooke was now. This was different, like nothing he had ever seen before. The room was painted red with crimson drapes on every wall despite the lack of windows down here. Cut into the stone of the floor was an elaborate pentagram, four of the bodies each slumped at one of the points of the star, at the centre of which a marble altar had been placed.
Rope dangled from the four corners of the altar. Someone had evidently been restrained there. A young child if logic was correct for the altar was too small to hold an adult lying at full stretch. There was a special place in Hell for those who hurt kids. Even incarcerated prisoners didn’t abide by that shit.
The fifth body down here had gunshot wounds to the knees, and multiple stab wounds. Most of those weren’t fatal, nor was there evidence this had been done in a killing frenzy. The knife wounds were precise, methodical and symmetrical in nature. If you were to ask Cooke what had gone down here, he would have said these five had been about to perform a child sacrifice only for someone to interrupt their fun with lethal and justifiable force.
You would have expected multiple people to have been involved in an assault of this nature, but his gut was telling him that this was a lone individual. Forensics would confirm or refute that after the bullets were pulled out of the bodies. If they all came from the same gun, they could reasonably assume there was a single shooter. Would the ballistics match the bullets found in other cases he had investigated? Cooke suspected they would, although of the cases he had investigated and linked, forensics had determined that the bullets found had come from two separate guns. He had developed a profile that told him one, possibly two people were responsible for multiple murders across London and the surrounding suburbs over the last four years.
In regards to these deaths, there was already other evidence pointing to the single shooter theory. The way Cooke saw it, the lone killer came in through the guards and then down into the basement where he unleashed merciless retribution.
It felt like a rescue of some sort. But why go to such extremes? Why not contact the police? More and more it was becoming clear there was an armed vigilante running around London. The pattern of the stab wounds, especially the severing of the spinal cord and the shots to take out the legs, Cooke had seen before. Although there was no real way to tell if the same knife was used, there were patterns in the cases he had investigated as well as similarities in the way the knives were used.
On the seventh of August he had been dragged into the investigation of the three bodies found on abandoned wasteland. Word had it a suspect had been found and killed in an explosion. There wasn’t a cop in the city who hadn’t heard about the disastrous raid that had happened in the early hours. They were still sifting through the rubble to try and find the suspect’s body. If that suspect could be linked, then there was more proof of individuals working together rather than a lone hunter. Such would be unprecedented.
What was it the Home Secretary had said?
A secret order of Catholic assassins working in the shadows. With all this Satanic shit surrounding him, that wasn’t as ridiculous as it had sounded.
The most shocking aspect to all this was the identity of the other bodies found down here. Wallets and purses revealed names and addresses. So far, apart from the wannabe Scarface, they had a well-dressed man from the City, a local supermarket delivery driver and a fucking primary school teacher. One of the bodies had yet to reveal its secrets, but it was only a matter of time.
Cooke had never believed that Satanic rituals were a real thing, and yet here he was with the evidence staring him right in the face. It was chilling to know that this sort of thing still went on and reinforced why he did the job that had driven him nearly to alcoholism. The impact of the job had also forced a wedge between him and an ex-wife he never should have married.
One of his team appeared at the basement door. Sergeant Johnson, a reliable officer, hard-nosed, not one to take any shit from the diminishing number of men who still thought police work wasn’t a job for a woman. She could be trusted to do what was needed which was all anyone could ask for these days.
“Home Secretary is here, Boss,” Johnson said gravely.
“That’s all I fucking need.” What the hell was that man doing here?
“He says he wants to see the crime scene.”
“The whole house is a crime scene. Why do politicians always want to stick their noses in?” The Home Sec
retary wasn’t popular, not since his last speech at the recent police conference. The police federation were insisting on more officers and higher pay, and instead they were given excuses and platitudes. “He can’t come down here. He’ll contaminate the scene.”
“You might need to tell him that yourself, Boss. He’s asking to speak to you.” Johnson had an even more unfavourable opinion of the dutiful elected official than Cooke.
“Use your phone to record what went down here,” Cooke ordered. “Get some nice juicy close-ups of the dead faces and follow me up with it. Where can I find the esteemed gentleman?” Cooke had almost said muppet, but knowing his luck the person he was insulting would be standing right outside the door. He’d made that mistake before. Cooke also knew there were too many ears waiting for the wrong thing to be said. He hated how office politics now infested modern policing.
“Outside Boss. His car’s in the front yard,” Johnson advised. She had passed her phone to one of the forensic team. Let the experts give the Home Secretary the virtual tour that would hopefully satisfy him. Stepping out onto the staircase, the noise from the kitchen area became evident. A lot of money and effort had been put into creating the soundproof basement.
Cooke had no knowledge of what had really gone down here, and never would get the full picture. The crime boss had been the first to draw a demon into himself by the rituals he had foolishly engaged in. It hadn’t taken long for other demons to break through in the surrounding parts of the city. They had come together, drawn by an invisible force that was growing stronger as the seals progressively weakened. Just as with the three Lilith had killed, this legion of demons had also been abducting children from across the city. Some for the pure pleasure of it, but one for a ritual sacrifice.
They had almost established a foothold only for their attempts to be thwarted by Lucien.
***
