Dark Exodus

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  Griffin tried to aim his weapon again, to perhaps fire off a few more rounds, but the creature was having none of it.

  “You might as well put that away,” it said, reaching down with its other hand to tear the weapon from Griffin’s grasp. “It has no effect on the likes of me.”

  The Cardinal drew him closer.

  “Perhaps if I were simply possessing this body, it might have caused me some discomfort,” it said, pulling Griffin up from the floor by the leg, letting the man dangle before it. “But this body . . . this physical form belongs entirely to me. I earned its every bone, every muscle and drop of blood. It’s mine.”

  Griffin was about to say something, to crack wise in the face of impending death, but he just didn’t have the strength. He felt himself slipping, it was like the sensation that you had when going down in an elevator. He tried to stay where he was, not to fall down, but he could not find his footing. There was nothing for him to stand on, and he continued to fall.

  Down . . . and down . . . and down.

  He thought he saw a glimpse of his wife as he fell, calling out her name as he passed. If she couldn’t help him, nobody could, and he continued his descent.

  Falling . . . falling . . .

  But then he heard it. A familiar voice that halted his progress.

  “Put my daddy down,” a child’s voice said.

  Cassie?

  It sounded like his daughter, but that was impossible. He was actually able to move now within the grasp of oblivion, clawing upward toward the light of consciousness.

  Griffin opened his eyes to see his daughter standing there, tiny fists clenched in anger.

  The Cardinal let him drop, and he crumpled to the floor, his head bouncing off the hardwoods as he attempted to regain some semblance of strength.

  “Cassie,” he said, trying to rise. “How . . . ?”

  “Hello there,” the Cardinal said to the child. “And who might you be?”

  “My name is Cassie,” the little girl said. “And I don’t like the way you look at all,” she said defiantly to the monster in the cloak of flesh.

  “You don’t?” The Cardinal shook its head, stalking its way ever so sneakily toward the little girl. “And I do so love children,” it said.

  It was then that Griffin noticed the sparks, the fireflies that jumped and danced from the clenched fists of the little girl.

  And all he could do was smile and resign himself to what was about to occur.

  “You love children, you sick son of a bitch?” Griffin said, falling back to the floor but keeping his head up so that he could see. “Then meet my daughter.”

  Griffin began to laugh as his daughter raised her hands in defiance, hungry fire suddenly leaping from the tips of her delicate fingers.

  Burning the Cardinal’s skinless body to smoke and ash in a matter of seconds.

  The twisted fuck didn’t know what hit it.

  • • •

  It was like being underwater.

  All sound absent, or muffled—until she heard her name called.

  Brenna.

  She was lying on her stomach across from where the Cardinal had attacked.

  There was fire there now, fire that drew her eye and total attention. She began to rise, wanting to make sure that Griffin was all right and . . .

  Brenna!

  The voice was louder, more insistent, and she looked to see that Nana was standing there beside her.

  “Nana,” she said, seeing a look upon the ghostly matron’s face that worried her a great deal.

  “No time for chitchat,” the old woman said, extending her arm to point across the ballroom. “John and Theo need your help.”

  Brenna watched the soundless scene, John and Theo standing before a girl whose body appeared to be throwing off some sort of energy . . . some sort of light.

  And she could have sworn that she saw something moving within the radiance.

  “The world needs you to make a decision,” Nana said.

  Brenna looked at her.

  “A decision?”

  Nana eyes dropped, staring at something intensely before she faded away.

  Brenna’s gaze fell to where the ghost was looking, her hand going to the gun in its holster.

  Undoing the snap, she removed the gun, and started toward her friends to help.

  A decision still to be made.

  30

  The Messenger turned his back on the old human world to face the approach of the new.

  It was coming, he could sense it, and he was ready.

  The Messenger moved closer to the opening, making sure that everything was as it should be. He checked the girl, whose body was the vessel that contained the portal. She still lived, still valiantly held on to the existence the infernal had given to her.

  The purpose.

  Good, he thought, gently reaching out with his long, spidery fingers to caress her sweating cheek. So good.

  All was going according to plan as he positioned himself exactly before the doorway. The Messenger breathed in the smells wafting up and out of the passage, took in the scents of home.

  Took in the aromas of Hell.

  “Come, brothers and sisters,” he urged, leaning his face closer to the doorway, hoping to quicken their pace. “I’m waiting . . . this whole world is waiting. Like a ripened piece of fruit, it waits for you to . . .”

  The Messenger was suddenly pushed forward a few feet, two blades of some chitinous substance suddenly protruding from his chest.

  “Oh my,” the Messenger said, attempting to turn his head to see who . . .

  The woman leaned in closer to him, pushing the bladed appendages that her hands had morphed into deeper through him.

  “It’s over, monster,” she said into his ear.

  He turned his neck in such a way that the bones and tendons screamed out in protest, but he continued to force it so he could look into her eyes, to see the others that were inside her.

  Those who would obey his commands.

  “Hear me,” the Messenger said, looking deeply into her dark, dark orbs for those who would serve his holy word.

  “We hear nothing,” came back the voices of those he believed were loyal. The Messenger squirmed upon the blades, attempting to pull himself free, but the woman . . . the infernal, just continued to drive the blades deeper.

  “This was for you!” the Messenger attempted to explain. “For all of Hell!”

  “We have a message for all of Hell and all who rule it,” the demons announced through the mouth of their host. She leaned in close to be sure they were heard.

  “You can fuck yourselves.”

  The woman withdrew the twin blades that grew out of her skin, and the Messenger began to fall, dropping to his knees before the crackling portal. The demon lord stared into the workings of the portal, watching the gears and the cogs of the mechanism move and rearrange.

  It was all in motion now. It was only a matter of time.

  He just regretted that he wouldn’t have a chance to see it finished.

  “Go ahead, you miserable filth,” he said, turning his head ever so slightly to view the woman as she loomed above him.

  “Finish it.”

  And this time, she did as she was told, swinging one of the blades with enough force that it passed through his demonic neck, severing the head from the body.

  For the briefest instant, the Messenger saw the future through the opening.

  The future of Hell.

  • • •

  The passageway to Hell shuddered and groaned, emitting a roaring belch of thunder and expelling stinking air. The winds from the portal were sudden, vicious, picking Theo up and tossing her backward and away.

  John dropped to his knees, pressing himself flat to the floor, digging his nails in
to the hardwood for purchase. Shielding his eyes, he turned his gaze to the opening, his mind attempting to come up with something—anything—that might allow them to close the infernal portal.

  The winds shrieked and wailed, crackling bolts of hellish power escaping out from within, a foreshadowing of things to come.

  Within the passage, he saw it, movement—something was coming.

  Hell was coming.

  John fought to stand, fighting against the hurricane winds that attempted to discard him. He needed to get closer to try to shut the portal down. Putting his head down, he pushed into the fetid wind.

  A bloody hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him round.

  John looked into the face of Elijah.

  “They’re coming, John,” the old man screamed above the shrieking winds. There was blood leaking from the sides of his mouth, as well as from where one of his hands was clasped to his belly.

  “I’m going to try to close it,” John assured him.

  Elijah shook his head.

  “It’s too late for that, John,” he said. “They’ll be here at any moment.”

  “We’ll stop them,” John told him.

  “No,” the injured leader of the Coalition said. “I’m responsible for this . . .”

  Elijah looked into the portal, at the swirling spectral shapes that were about to emerge . . . the denizens of Hell coming into the world of man.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  And before John could argue, the old man acted, mustering an unusual amount of strength to push him back and away.

  John stumbled backward, almost falling as the winds pummeled him, screeching out from the portal. Trying to recover, he saw Elijah lurch toward the opening, throwing himself down at the lip.

  The first wave of demons of Hell were here, presenting as an enormous, billowing cloud of black, ready to spread out into the ballroom—into the house.

  And out into the world in search of hosts.

  John knew what he would do, acting upon it before he could even give it much thought.

  He would take the demons into himself, making himself a prison for as long as . . .

  Elijah cried out as he threw open his arms.

  John knew the words the leader of the Coalition spoke for they were the same words that were on the verge of dancing upon the tip of his tongue.

  Elijah was taking them.

  He was taking the demons into himself.

  • • •

  Elijah knew that he was dying and that it would only be a matter of time.

  So he spoke the words. Ancient words . . . part of a rite used by the order of the Demonists.

  Words that could capture. Words that could imprison.

  Was he strong enough, he wondered. He would try to make sure that he was.

  The words were like a net, capturing the demonic entities as they attempted escape into the world. They did not go peacefully, fighting crazily as he attempted to store them away in his damaged body. One after the other he took them, shoving them in—cramming them deep inside.

  He did not know how many there would be . . . or how many could fit. He couldn’t ask such things now.

  He had to keep them from escaping out into the world.

  He had to make them his.

  • • •

  “We have to close it,” John screamed, as Theo came to stand beside him.

  Their eyes were riveted on Elijah, who still knelt before the doorway, a steady flow of the demonic entering his body.

  “There’s only so much a human body can stand,” Theo said, speaking entirely from experience.

  The portal appeared to be protecting itself now, bolts of cracking electrical discharge lancing out from the center of the gateway to drive them back and away.

  Only Elijah remained, arms spread, drinking in the steady stream of denizens from Hell.

  It was only a matter of time before he could take no more.

  And the infernal powers of Hell would be set loose upon the Earth.

  • • •

  He saw that her eyes were open and that they seemed horribly, painfully aware.

  Elijah looked into the eyes of Emma Rose, a silent message seeming to pass between them.

  He wanted her to know how sorry he was, that he had only done what he did for the sake of the world.

  Elijah doubted that she could ever forgive him, for he could never forgive himself.

  • • •

  They all knew that their time was limited.

  That Elijah could only hold them back for so long.

  Cassie was crying as her father held her, Theo ran toward the passage with a savage growl, only to be repelled yet again by a bolt of hellish power that threw her back whence she came.

  John knew that there had to be something that he wasn’t remembering, some ancient fact that would help them, at least buying them enough time so that something could be done.

  But there wasn’t.

  Elijah was reaching his saturation point.

  The old man was screaming now, his body hideously distorted as the demonic entities trapped inside him attempted to steal away his control.

  Theo had lunged again, and yet again, but she was repelled.

  She landed not far from him, her body burning in places.

  “John, we have to do something,” she said, and he could see that she understood how it was.

  That the clock was winding down.

  That the end was nigh.

  • • •

  Brenna seemed to appear out of nowhere, striding across the ballroom floor and making her way toward the girl—toward the portal.

  John watched her, perplexed by what the FBI agent could be doing. Bolts of energy arced out from within the portal, striking at the floor as she walked, but she was totally unaffected—walking with purpose.

  That was when he noticed the gun in her hand.

  • • •

  Nana had said she would need to make a decision, and deep down she knew it was going to be something like this. It went against everything that she believed, that there could always be an alternative.

  Brenna strode across the ballroom, the glowing passage throwing everything that it could to keep her back. Nana was whispering in her ear, guiding her with a cold yet firm hand.

  She kept on going, and the closer she got, the more obvious the decision that she would make was. As hard as she tried to think of one, this time there would not be another choice.

  The winds from the portal stank like death, and she put her head down to push herself as close as she was able. She found herself looking down onto the twisted form of Elijah. The old man knelt before the opening, a flow of darkness from within the portal flowing into his chest.

  Their eyes met, and she could see that he knew why she was there.

  Brenna watched as a single tear dribbled down from the old man’s good eye.

  Standing before the opening, she raised her gun and took aim at the young girl.

  Her head hung limply to one side, and she appeared as if dead from the trauma, but that wasn’t true at all. Nana whispered that she was still alive, and as long as she still lived . . .

  It was as if the girl had sensed what was about to happen, eyes snapping upon as she lifted her head to gaze at Brenna from across the way.

  “I’m so sorry,” Brenna said as she aimed her gun, finger stroking the trigger, just before she . . .

  The gun boomed deafeningly in the confines of the ballroom, and the girl’s head snapped back violently, a hole the size of a nickel appearing dead center.

  The flow of evil abruptly halted, the straggling ephemeral entities making that last-ditch effort to escape out into the wild, but Elijah would not allow it, taking them into his body as well even though he was quite
literally bursting at the seams.

  The passage closed with the most nightmarish of screams, the image of hundreds of newborn babes, all wailing in unison in one nightmarish voice flooding the room before it all went shockingly quiet.

  The girl’s body had returned to normal, dropping to the floor, dead.

  Brenna stood there stunned, gun still clutched painfully in her hand. She turned to search for the others, seeing John and Theo not too far away, Griffin and his daughter, as well as Nicole behind them.

  They were all looking at her, expressions of shock and disbelief, but also of relief.

  “I’m sorry,” she told them. “There was no other way.”

  • • •

  The demons inside him fought to be free, and Elijah just laughed.

  They knew that their end was imminent and that they would do everything in their power to escape him, even trying to force him to take his own life.

  But it wasn’t going to happen.

  When he died, they would die with him.

  Elijah couldn’t move, his limbs swollen and twisted, it was just too much.

  John and the others approached, staring at him with apprehension.

  “It’s all right,” he told them. His voice sounded wrong, as if there were hundreds, maybe even thousands hiding behind it.

  He looked over to where the body of Emma Rose lay.

  “Could you take me to her?” he asked them.

  They did what he asked, careful with his malformed limbs and tentacles that had grown out from his body, each supporting as much as they could as they brought him to her, laying him down at her side.

  “Is there anything we can do?” John asked.

  The old man shook his head, his eyes never leaving Emma Rose.

  “Don’t you think I’ve done enough?” he asked them. He reached a hand out to her, his fingers changing to claws the closer it got.

  Damn them, he thought of the demons inside. And soon they would be damned, along with him.

  It would only be a matter of time.

  • • •

  The two surviving Divine, still in the guise of Boy Scouts, were suddenly there, standing above Elijah and the body of the girl.

  “Jesus Christ, them,” Nicole said. “We just can’t catch a break.”