by Remy Wilkins
In the few times he’d been inside, he’d never gone beyond the foyer and living room. He was annoyed at the hexagonal rooms, the wasted space, the odd slant of all the furniture. He went to the foot of the stairs to climb. He put his hand on the rail and jumped back in fright. The ooze ran down the rails as well.
He tentatively sniffed what covered his hand. The smell of old meat and mud slurry turned his stomach, and he slung the gunk off his hand as best he could, wiping the rest on his robe.
Otis started up the stairs again, putting his hand against the wall to guide him in the dark. His hand again hit a slow flow of sludge on the wall. As he backed away, disgusted, his eyes caught movement before him.
A dark figure descended the stairs, twelve feet tall, ducking to avoid the ceiling. Otis could make out the glinting of the slits of his eyes. He scrambled back and screamed. His slippers slid, and his legs flew up. There was a loud crack as his head struck the floor, and the black was swallowed into a deeper black.
* * *
Pinwheel bolted up in the darkness of the honey hold. “Ray,” he hissed. Ray snored, hunkered against the barrels of honey.
Perched atop the barrels, Lucasta emanated a glow, “What is it, Pinwheel?”
He checked the walls, listening intently. “I hear something.”
“Wake Rodney,” she commanded, and leaned down to slap Ray’s face. A couple of firm strikes to the cheek called the bearded saint back to wakefulness.
Lucasta leaned down over Ray’s head. “Pinwheel hears something.”
Ray’s eyes searched the room, and his face broke out in a grin. “Good. I couldn’t think of a good way to get at them. Better they come at us.”
Rodney was nudged from sleep by Pinwheel. He settled his hat back on his head, wincing still at the knot from the tree limb. As he lifted his bat he saw that it was emitting a dim yellow light. “Look!” he said.
“They’re close,” squeaked Pinwheel.
Mordecai trotted over from the door where he was standing guard. Rodney reached out a hand and stroked his gooey coat.
Ray was looking at the ceiling and picking kinks out of his beard. “Maybe we should move the barrels in case they come through the ceiling again.”
“Good idea,” said Lucasta.
They set about shifting the heavy barrels of honey. They slid, slung, and wheeled them to the sides, one barrel at each brick wall. Rodney and Pinwheel, who was holding Ebenezer, stood with one, and Lucasta and Mordecai took the second. Ray hopped onto the last one and sat, kicking his legs out. “Guess we wait, now.”
Rodney held his bat up. Its glow was brighter now. “Closer.”
They held their breath, listening. They could hear noises, tapping, a muffled curse every now and then. The bat brightened. Rodney turned and backed toward the center of the room. “Closer,” he repeated.
There was a loud crack and they all spun to face the walls, Ray leaping from his barrel and grabbing his honey-charged broom.
Rodney strained his ears, taking a few steps forward to determine the direction of the sounds. Without warning the floor fell away where he was standing, and he tumbled down it.
“Rodney!” Pinwheel howled and leapt forward. “They’re coming through the floor!” He snagged Rodney’s wrist before he was pulled under.
“They got me!” Rodney yelled, his eyes white with panic. His bat rolled to the wall.
Ray jabbed his broom handle down the pit to strike a climbing demon. “Take that, ya little beggars!”
Lucasta rushed to Pinwheel to help pull. Mordecai growled, his sticky hackles spiked.
Rodney screamed again. “They’re biting! They’re biting me!”
“More honey!” Ray yelled and threw down his barrel. The whole barrel cracked open, and a flood of honey poured slowly down the hole.
The pit erupted in screams and curses and a spume of black smoke. Lucasta and Pinwheel fell back as Rodney was released. His shirt was torn, and they could see bleeding bite marks in his side.
Before anyone else could act, Mordecai shot down the hole. His snarling and barking sent shivers down their spines. There was a loud scrum in the pit, yelps, howls, thumps, and snarls.
Lucasta bent over the hole and called, “Mordecai, come back!” She picked up Rodney’s bat and looked up at Ray. “I can’t fit.”
Pinwheel pushed her aside. “I’ll go.”
“Wait!” Ray cried. “Let’s drop some more honey down the hole.” He turned and grabbed a second barrel and tipped it over. Honey oozed out. They heard Mordecai’s yips become more frantic.
“Hurry!” urged Pinwheel.
“That’s good enough,” Lucasta said.
Pinwheel dropped down the hole. Ebenezer followed. There was a flurry of sounds.
“Rodney!” Pinwheel called from below. It was an anguished cry.
Rodney groaned. Screams of anger and fright clattered out of the pit. Rodney took Ray’s hand and allowed himself to be lowered into the dark hole. It was filled with a coppery smell and smoke. He crouched at the bottom in the honey-drenched mud. He steeled himself and pushed forward.
Above him in the Honey Hold, he heard a loud roar. The door behind Lucasta rocked and bulged, a thunder of wood on wood sounded.
Ray looked to the door. “They’re attacking from all sides!”
Lucasta slumped to the floor, her eyes lost in the pit. The door cracked and buckled again.
“Get ready, Lu.”
A third assault, and the wood groaned and the hinges strained to keep their hold. Ray looked to Lucasta one last time. Her face was blank, the light from her eyes gone.
In the dark tunnel, Rodney heard movement before him. It was a small passageway; the sides pressed against his shoulders as he crawled. He pushed forward, feeling the fine dust of dead demons and their brittle bones and severed limbs. He crawled past the struts and columns, suppressing his panic. The tunnel curved upward, and soon the sludge became dry dirt that caked his hands and knees. He couldn’t hear Ray behind him. He tried to turn, but there wasn’t enough light to see.
Finally, Rodney could make out the hobbling form of Pinwheel in a pool of light ahead. The tunnel abruptly bent upward. Rodney shifted and climbed out of the hole.
Morning was already lumbering over the horizon. They surveyed the wreckage of Lucasta’s yard, stunned to silence. The grass was uprooted and trampled, the house was blasted out and leaning to one side, the chicken coop was a twisted wreck, felled trees and branches of all sizes covered the ground.
Rodney noticed Pinwheel crouched over something. He walked over to see him cradling the body of Mordecai. There was a sound behind him. The crack and roar of battle. “Ray and Lucasta can’t get out through the tunnel. We’ve got to help them!”
Ray’s battle cry reverberated from inside the shed, a bellow that shivered the rafters. Rodney grabbed his bat and rushed through the door with a whoop of his own. He rounded the turn to find thirty or so demons pressing forward to get at Ray. He struck a demon in the back and saw Ray go under the mob.
A demon turned and struck Rodney in the stomach, claws tearing skin. He fell and dropped the bat. The demon snatched his hand back and hissed. It smoldered with honey, but not enough to disintegrate his fist. He raised his arms to deliver the killing blow.
At that moment Lucasta soared out of the Honey Hold. She took up Rodney’s bat and in one seamless motion slashed the demon into smoke and screams.
The demons turned at the commotion behind them. Lucasta unleashed her full light. Rodney went blind. There was a shriek as Lucasta attacked.
One demon cried out, “She cannot tou—,” but was silenced with a blow from Rodney’s bat. Rodney’s eyesight began to return.
The demons atop Ray were thrown back as Ray rose up like a swimmer coming out of the ocean. Lucasta twirled and dodged, spun, stabbed, kicked, and disman
tled shrieking demons with airy elegance and calm. Some tried to flee, but Ray charged and pushed what was left of the horde into the teeth of Lucasta’s attack. Soon, clouds of dust were all that remained of the demons in the Honey Hold.
Once the onslaught was over, Lucasta dropped Rodney’s bat and went out into the morning light. They followed her.
She collapsed beside Pinwheel and held Mordecai, wrapping both her arms around him. She closed her eyes and bowed to the earth. Ray and Rodney hung back until she rose. Her face was soft with fatigue and sadness, but remained silent. Ebenezer hopped over and snuggled her elbow, and Lucasta ran her hand down his soft furry back.
Ray checked his torn bee suit, poking his wounds. They surveyed the yard, empty of any other demons. “Where’s the rest of the little beggars, I wonder?”
Pinwheel stumbled back. He collided with Rodney and pointed into the sky. “Look!”
They lifted their eyes to the west and saw a black column. Not a cloud, but a dark and swirling pillar. Neither was it a tornado, for it went up many miles into the sky, and the air was silent.
Rodney was about to ask what it was when a shaft of fear took his breath away. Pinwheel dropped to his knees. Even Ray’s wide shoulders slumped at the sight of a tower of demons rising over the continent.
Chapter Eighteen
THE BATTLE
Al Walden walked out on his porch, its green paint curling off the gray wood. He stretched, arms out like an airplane. His uniform was as crisp and new as the morning light. The sun etched the crest of Skeleton Mount in stark blues and grays. A slight wind rattled through the trees slung westward by the curve of the mountain. It felt unseasonably cool, a break in the heat perhaps, a sign of a mild summer.
A good sleep and a mug of stiff coffee had knocked the silly fear from his memory. He had been tired last night, and there was something that had caused him to swerve into the ditch.
He could hear Fred’s rig turn onto his road. The powerful churning of the tow truck faded behind the whoosh of the air compression brakes as he stopped in front of the house. Al affixed his hat, downed the last puddle of coffee, and placed the mug on the porch rail.
He greeted the tow truck with a raised hand and climbed in. “Morning, Fred.” Fred nodded and shifted the vehicle into gear.
Fred wore coveralls stained from yesterday and every day prior. His orange ball cap was grimy, frayed, and pulled low on his brow. Beneath the heavily folded bill, his brown eyes scanned the road for obstacles and dangers. Fred cast over a quick look. “Had an accident?” his voice was soft and ill-fitted to the scruffy face.
Al forced a laugh. “Darn coon. Just scooted across the road.”
“Car won’t drive?” Fred was well known for his clipped and stingy talk. Language was a luxury he couldn’t afford, it seemed.
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll go. Just need it pulled out is all.” Al watched the Second River pull away from the road and disappear into the trees. He knew he’d see it again when he checked in on Ray.
In the distance he could see his cruiser, looking too large for the tiny ditch it was protruding from. Fred maneuvered the truck so that it was end to end with the police car.
Al got out and scanned the sky. Clear blue as far as the end of the earth. “Nice day,” he said, as Fred fiddled with chains.
“It’ll heat,” he replied.
“Cooler than it’s been in a couple months.”
“It’ll heat,” Fred repeated as he descended the ditch. Fred examined the car. “Airbag’s deployed.”
“Touchy sonuvagun. Don’t worry, I can drive it.” He started recounting the last time his airbag had deployed, hoping to rile up Fred over the potholes along South Washington Street, but Fred just grunted while he worked.
Very soon his car was back on the road. The front end was banged up, but he was not vain about his vehicle. Might decide to preach on vanity this Sunday. Fred waved and drove back into town without a word.
Al stood in the road facing Ray’s driveway. The sunlight didn’t penetrate the thick woods and even the gravel path looked dark and foreboding. He forced out a scoff, but delayed getting in his car.
He should check on the boy; his mother would be in by lunch. Ray was about to find himself under a heap of fines. He was planning on handing down as many as he could think of. He was about to settle into his seat when a sound rang out in the silence: a loud crack, like a tree splitting, followed by the crash of limbs and leaves and the heavy thump of the earth.
Al held his breath. He thought he could hear shouts and screams. Perhaps it was the wind or birds. He exhaled loudly. He opened the door and flopped into his seat. Birds, he thought.
It struck him that he had not heard any birds today. None. The sky was a blank blueness. He got out of his car again and stared into the woods. No movement, no sound, no squirrel or bird.
There was another distant crash. He sat, cranked the engine, and reversed the car so that he could turn into Ray’s driveway. He took a deep breath, blew it out between firm lips, and pressed the gas.
The gravel sounded like war in his ears, tank treads and cannon fire, jet roar and bomb blast. He could see the ridges his hasty flight had made yesterday. He came to the bridge and paused. The Second River spoke over the hum of the engine, but nothing else moved.
He felt the hair on his neck prick up and his chest tightened. “Don’t be a fool, Al,” he said to himself. He gritted his teeth and accelerated over the bridge. It was probably nothing. His face broke out in sweat, bee stings of nervousness, and he forced himself to smile.
He was still smiling when the tree speared the front end of his car. The cab shook and windows shattered. Al was running away before the smoke settled.
* * *
The great swath of demons had nearly negated the sky. The black pillar swayed as it bulged and rose higher. Rodney had to fight the urge to hide.
“What do we do? What do we do?” Pinwheel cried.
Lucasta turned her back on the dark tower and walked eastward into the sun’s new light.
Ray spun around. His eyes found the truck. It was dented and heavily scratched, having been shoved aside by the pursuing demons. There was a single gash along its side, the metal torn like paper, but it still looked roadworthy. He ran to it and reached in to turn the key. It cranked; the engine caught life and grumbled. Ray hopped in, careless of the glass. “We have to get back to the house!”
Rodney ran inside the shed to retrieve his bat. When he exited, Pinwheel was in the back of the truck, beckoning him to hurry.
He climbed in and saw that Lucasta wasn’t in the cab. “Where’s Lucasta?”
Pinwheel pointed toward the trees. He looked and saw the angel, with her arms outstretched, looking upward. Ray turned the truck around.
Rodney yelled, “Are we going to leave her?”
Ray leaned out of the window. “She’s doing more than we’ll be able to accomplish. Trust me.”
The truck entered the woods and the sky, with its swerving horde, disappeared. Rodney clung to the truck as it rattled over the roots and ruts. “Why isn’t the Air Force attacking the demons? That column is huge. It goes for miles into the air. They gotta know it’s dangerous. Why don’t they do anything?”
Pinwheel spoke without turning his head. “They cannot see it. Those demons are not cruentated.”
Rodney swallowed, but the panic remained high in his chest. Their best warrior left behind, one former demon, one boy with a bat, one man, limping and grinning, versus ten thousand thousand demons.
The truck roared out into the clearing. Ray saw Otis’s car and slid in behind it. He jumped out. “Otis?” he called. “Otis, are you here?”
Pinwheel and Rodney leapt over the side of the truck. They formed a triangle behind Ray as he crept up the stairs. Rodney held his bat aloft.
The door was open. Ray called in, but no
one answered. They entered slowly. Ray clenched his teeth and sucked in a breath at the sight of the interior.
Otis lay sprawled on the floor, but the thing they noticed first was the dark red goo that covered every surface. “Ichor,” Ray said.
Pinwheel caught Rodney’s eye. “Demon blood,” he explained.
It was thicker than syrup and clung to their shoes. They walked slowly, careful not to slip and fall.
Ray knelt by Otis, checking his pulse. “He’s alive.” Ray stood and lifted Otis by his arms. He began dragging him outside. Pinwheel and Rodney let him pass, but they did not follow him out.
There was a creaking noise upstairs. Pinwheel walked into the stair room and ascended. Rodney approached the stairs and looked up. “Pinwheel, what are you doing?”
Pinwheel spoke without stopping. “It is time I confront Murkpockets.”
“Wait,” he said, and returned to the door. He slammed it shut, then carefully crossed the slickened, ichor-covered floor and joined Pinwheel on the steps.
Pinwheel turned to face him. He was two steps ahead, which negated their height difference. Pinwheel’s eyes were watery.
Rodney held him by the shoulders. “You can’t do that. Murkpockets is, like, four times your size. He’ll kill you.”
“Rodney,” he said. His voice was soft and fluttering with fear. “This is it. The horde in the sky . . . we cannot . . . ” His voice sank, his eyes fell.
“But they aren’t cruentated, they’re spirits. The Alvarium is destroyed! We don’t have to fight them. Lucasta can—.”
Pinwheel shrugged off his hands and backed away. “No, you do not see!” He gestured with his hands, spreading them out to indicate the ichor-covered walls. “This is the Alvarium. Every demon will take on substance. They will enter this world and destroy it. We can do nothing.”
“But Lucasta can call in the angels before they get here.”
