[Demonworld #2] The Pig Devils

by Kyle B. Stiff

  He found a pack full of rations, dumped it out onto the ground, then filled the pack with mines. He went over to the gasoline canisters and felt of one. Empty. Pushed the other and felt it slosh heavily. He hauled it out of the jeep. His heart began to beat mercilessly. He felt dizzy. Knelt down for a moment and braced himself against the jeep. Deep breaths. He exhaled superheated steam. Leaned his head back, closed his eyes. Reminded himself of the image of Rudy Seaver shot down, people crouching in terror in the Jebedian compound. And the bodies of... of his friends, cold and silent, taken away from him forever. He reminded himself that a human had the right to hunt and kill rabid vermin.

  He grabbed the gasoline canister, stood up, and sneaked across the clearing to the cabin.

  He knelt by a window. The shenanigans were very loud now, the tasteless music overwhelming. He heard some chant inside, deafening. Curiosity tickled at him. He rose and peeked in the window. Inside he saw smashed furniture, naked and half-naked bodies hopping about. Two beefy men wrestled below the window. One licked the other’s neck, laughed, then drove an elbow into his side. Most of the men stood in two lines and faced one another. They hopped into the air and slapped their palms against one another’s, and with each bounce they shouted, “TEAM! WORK! TEAM! WORK! TEAM! WORK!” with their genitals bouncing in time with their chant. Another man, blond, muscular, and covered in militant tattoos, sat on an overturned bookcase and licked the final drops from a bottle while another man knelt before him, faced buried deep in his teammate’s crotch, his head gyrating wildly. Overcome by the weirdness of the scene, Wodan hunched down again.

  He felt fear creeping back into him, so he tore off the top of the gasoline canister and sloshed the liquid against the side of the cabin. The splashing of the liquid seemed impossibly loud to him, but was drowned out by the sound of drunken shouting. Moving to the rear of the cabin, he saw a narrow back door. He doused the wall in gasoline. He stalked to the far side, saw another window, crouched low, splashed the area, then felt the canister growing light. He gathered his resolve once again, rushed to the front, poured the rest of the gas on the wall, on the doorstep, then tossed the canister to the side.

  He ran in a low crouch to the first window again, rifles and bag clanging at his side. He could barely believe that the drunk murderers could not hear him. He wondered if Yarek Clash was inside; he had not gotten a very good look. He wondered if Yarek, and possibly some others, might be deeper in the woods? He decided that it would be best not worry about it. He removed a mine from his bag. He set the thing on the ground, beneath the window, pulled at the tab in the center, and heard the thing give off a telltale click as it activated. He placed a second, then a third, covering the area around the window. He ran to the back door and set several mines there. Ran to the window opposite the other and gave it the same lethal treatment.

  Struck by an idea, he ran to one of the jeeps. He cast his empty bag to the side and picked up the rest of the mines. He stuck one under one jeep’s gas pedal, then primed the thing. He tucked another in the folds of the passenger seat, then under the seat, then another in the jeep’s rear. He gave the second jeep the same treatment. The place was now a kill zone.

  Suddenly the front door flew open. Wodan heard shouting as he dove behind the nearest jeep. Heart racing, about to burst, his whole plan ruined, he froze in terror. He heard laughter and wondered if he had, in fact, not been caught. He remembered that the heavy machinegun was positioned in front of the door, that it would be seen and then it would all be over. He tried to watch from under the jeep, but the snow was piled too high.

  Drunken voices shouted at one another, laughed, ran away from the cabin, and the door shut loudly. They did not notice the machinegun at all.

  “Cold as shit!” shouted one.

  “Shut, mouth shut, pussy!” slurred the other.

  Wodan stalked to the side of the jeep and peered around the edge. One held the other in a headlock as he dragged him to the edge of the white clearing, then tossed him to the ground. The one standing was the blond tattooed man. Mist clung about him and rolled off his heaving muscles. He was completely naked. Wodan saw a fierce wolf staring at him from the man’s muscular back, coiled ink-lines of barbed wire around his arms, and on his butt he saw a tattoo that read

  SNAKE DEVOURER

  Wodan watched the two wrestle about before they disappeared behind a mound of snow. Their words slurred into nonsense, then stretched out into gasps. Wodan knew that the time had come. He slowly unslung one of the rifles from his side, stood from his hiding place, and trudged through the snow to the two dangerous lovers.

  He walked by the dying fire and picked up a stick that glowed a dull red on one end. He turned casually and tossed the thing at the cabin. Heard the heavy thud of contact. He turned back to his prey and continued walking. Heard a rush of air, then light cast his shadow before him.

  Wodan climbed the rise of snow and saw the men below, one pounding on the other from behind. Wodan glared down at them and raised the rifle. They did not see his long shadow dancing along the black trees. He pulled the trigger. There was a deafening crack, the blond man slid out of the other and fell on his back, face contorted in agony. The other looked back in alarm. Wodan fired again, the man’s head was whipped to the side, face hanging from skull, blood splattered onto the snow; Wodan fired again and the man fell to his knees and collapsed into the snow. The blond man backed away on his elbows. Wodan shot several more times, snow splattered as he missed, then several bullets ripped into the man’s gut and chest, spraying black blood along snow and pale skin. Wodan turned and ran to the heavy machinegun, snow flying before and behind him.

  Screaming from the cabin. The front door pounded open. One half-naked man saw Wodan immediately, then turned aside and ran into the snow. Just as others came up behind him, Wodan leaped before the machinegun, wrapped both hands around it, tilted it upwards, pulled the trigger, then felt a great rush as the thing barked out fire, jumping in his hands and biting chunks of wood from the cabin. The men before the door were flung back, torn to pieces, shrieking in agony. The entire cabin was on fire and Wodan could barely see for the glare of the machinegun. The place was alight like the throne of Hell.

  He stopped firing. Smoke drifted away from the firing zone. The dead were piled up in the doorway, pieces of raw meat steaming on the ground, the doorway chipped away as if a giant had punched his fist through. Men screamed inside, shrill and high. Wodan turned to the man who had run away earlier, saw him huffing and tripping through the snow. He lifted his rifle and aimed at his back. Fired. The man swung around, yelped. Wodan fired again. The man fell, shaking strangely. Wodan fired into the area again, then again, until the rifle ran empty. Wodan cast it to the side. The man lay still; a plume of steam gushed from his face in one swift torrent, then there was stillness.

  Wodan turned back to the fire. The fear he felt before turned into a scream in his head. Now, as the dancing fire cast hideous shadows on his face, as the stench of smoke filled his lungs, he felt a terrific rush, a singing in his blood, in his cells.

  There was a high-pitched popping sound from the rear of the cabin, panicky shouting, and Wodan realized someone had tripped the mines at the back door. Wodan growled and shot into the cabin with the machinegun. He glanced at the belt feeding into the machinegun and saw there was not much left.

  Minutes passed. Wodan sat, breathing hard, mind racing, wondering if they were all dead. Smoke poured from the open doorway. He heard a window shatter on the side. Heard coughing, groping movements, multiple men shouting. Wodan rose and moved to the side. He saw smoke pouring from the window, saw a naked man leaning over the side of the window, another pushing from behind. The man was streaked in black, face and neck red, the muscles contorted oddly. He leaped down, stumbled - then the ground shot up around him, in a nightmare-flash Wodan saw the man’s arms come apart, flesh ripped from face, neck bursting apart, and the man flew back against the cabin in a shower of red. The mines were so lou
d that Wodan fell in the snow. The man behind the window disappeared from view again.

  Wodan pushed himself up from the snow and ran back towards the machinegun. Pops and whizzes erupted from the cabin as the ammunition inside began to cook and ignite. He ducked low. On his way back to the machinegun he saw three naked men running from the front door, coughing violently, as black as devils. One man held another who kept his eyes closed, mucus and vomit streaming from his mouth. The man in front held a handgun, his eyes contorted with rage. Tears clouded his eyes, but he saw Wodan, screamed, and shot at him. Wodan heard the bullets smack around him; he veered away from the machinegun and dove behind a jeep. He remembered the mines there and, as he heard bullets smack into the jeep, he scurried away from the thing. He ran into the trees, heart pushing fear throughout his body. He leaned against a trunk and unslung the second rifle, his last weapon, from his back.

  He peered around the tree trunk. While one dragged the other, the third peered into the woods, screaming like mad and firing randomly. His gun clicked. He cursed and threw the thing to the side. Wodan whirled around the tree, aimed and pulled the trigger, but his rifle did nothing. The man saw him and shrieked. Wodan wondered if his rifle was empty. He felt about for the safety switch, but it was not in the same place as on the wasteland rifles. The man stumbled towards the machinegun. The other pair dragged themselves to a jeep. One of them forced his limp comrade into the passenger seat, then a sharp explosion from the hidden mines jerked the men apart in a violent blast.

  Wodan fumbled at the rifle. He found a lever and pushed it. The clip fell out. Wodan reached down, pulled it from the snow, then felt that it was empty. The cabin roared as part of its side gave way and collapsed, sending up a great plume of fire and black smoke. The last man hauled up the machinegun, whirled it around, and stumbled towards Wodan. Wodan fell behind a tree, arms over his head, then the machinegun roared and punched the tree, scattering wood on his right and left. The bullets stopped.

  Wodan realized the thing must be empty. He peered around the side of the tree. He saw the man lying on the ground, still. He wondered if a stray bullet from the cabin had felled him. He rose unsteadily, bracing himself against the tree. His cloak whipped about him. He felt a strange instinct, then whirled about.

  Terror gripped his spine – men armored in black stalked towards him with weapons drawn. They wore white cloaks that fluttered like the wings of avenging angels. They advanced slowly, then stopped. One moved ahead of the others, then lifted a gloved hand and unlocked his helm. He removed it and dropped it in the snow. Wodan saw the terrible face of Yarek Clash, his yellow eyes stabbing through him and crushing his will.

  Wodan knew there was no way he could fight them all. Still, he ignored the fact of inevitable defeat, fought against the man’s gaze, then cried out and rushed through the snow at him. Wodan felt as if he were running downhill, leaped into the air, brought a knee forward and slammed it into Yarek’s chest. The Reaver stood like a rock; Wodan fell back and felt cold snow bite into his back. Before he could make another move he felt strong arms wrap around his neck, pinning him down. He saw black boots gathering in the snow around him, then there was darkness.

  * * *

  Seloid Cramer trudged through the cold avenue past the limits of Haven, clutching his white-furred cloak. He reached the drop-off point and cast his eyes about warily. The tracks of a heavy vehicle lay before him. There, to his right, was a bag. He opened the thing and removed a book.

  Strange. It was much larger than he expected. It was red, as it was supposed to be, but the thing was covered in ornate, horrid designs. He wondered if the girl was some kind of artist. He opened it.

  His heart fell. The book was a handmade manuscript with different styles of handwriting and macabre pictures along every margin. There was no way the book was some dumb bitch’s diary. He shook his head, face burning. It was the wrong book entirely. There was no way he could go back to the house, by himself, to find the right one; it was too late and too dangerous for that. He put the book back in its bag, stuffed it under his arm, and walked away.

  Failure. Failure! But he’d give it to Aegis all the same.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lucifer Bound

  Sevrik Clash walked through the Lower Depths. The black walls were dank and lit by cobwebbed, yellow bulbs. He could smell mold, sweat, shit, the cloying atmosphere of resignation. Yellowed eyes followed him as he passed. He descended a stairwell to the deepest level. Here all the cells were open and unoccupied. All save one. He nodded at two Reavers in the hall. He stopped at the only lit cell and looked down at Wodan. The boy looked back, then nodded slowly.

  “Looks like I finally got an interview with you,” said Wodan. “Did you come to see a real life cop killer?”

  Sevrik sighed, picked up a stool from another cell, and sat down. “What a situation,” he said.

  “Did you-”

  “Just be quiet for a minute,” Sevrik said harshly. “Just listen, son.”

  Wodan brushed hair from his eyes, nodded.

  “Didi wrote me a message just after you left. You’re lucky I was working late. I got my boy Yarek in and we found the video footage that Didi showed you. I’m sorry that you had to see it. I just wished you had seen it as it really was, not as it appeared to be. Wodan, those were Third Force Guardians posing as Reavers. It was a unit called the Hell Hounds. While they’re not black ops, not off the books by any means, they do dirty work for Shem Udo. The Hell Hounds recruit a certain kind of person - unambitious, amoral, and able to keep a secret.”

  Wodan raised his hand slightly. Sevrik sighed and nodded. “Did they have anything to do with Rudy Seaver? With the Jebedians? And what about you? Sevrik, I know Yarek was at the Jebedian compound.”

  “Mevrik told me you were curious about those incidents. So, here’s the truth. You know that Guardians killed Rudy Seaver, his wife, and his child. It was a Hell Hound who cried out a warning on that last day, and they were Hell Hound snipers who shot his wife and child in their home. When Rudy ran out, gun in hand... it was impossible to separate Hell Hound bullets from anyone else’s. The Hell Hounds had orders to end the standoff before it got out of control. Orders that, I’m sure, came from Shem Udo. The Guardian who took the fall for that one was a former Hell Hound sitting behind a desk; he’d fallen out of favor with Udo, and retired into semi-wealth.

  “As for the Jebedians, it was Third Force Guardians who tried to shut them down. Honestly, Wodan, I would have left them alone. They were no harm to us. But the investigation became a siege, which snowballed until the media were all over it. I sent my men, including my own son Yarek, who was a Ranger at the time, in order to help with negotiations. But it would not have looked good for Udo if I had cleaned up a mess he made. We argued about it for days. Eventually I agreed to pull my men out; I was willing to let him stew in his own shit soup. I thought that I might be able to replace him with a man of my own. But he pulled something unexpected, something so evil that I never saw it coming. As my men pulled out, most of his did, too, and forced out the media. The Hell Hounds stayed behind. They destroyed the compound, and they murdered the families who lived there.”

  “Why didn’t you have Udo hanged?” said Wodan.

  “I tried.” Sevrik paused for a moment, then said, “That was when I learned something terrible about people, Wodan. Maybe it was something that I always knew, on some level… maybe that’s why I always felt a little… well, superior to most people.”

  “What was it?”

  “I saw that the Senate, the Prime Minister, and even a lot of the people in the media were glad that that whole thing was over. There was no outcry from the civilians, either. It was like… like the slate had been wiped clean. When the people at the Jebedian compound were killed, Haven breathed a collective sigh of relief. Isn’t that strange, Wodan? Nobody cared that men and women and children were murdered, that families were destroyed. They were abnormal, they were different, so morality did not apply
to them. I wanted to crush Shem Udo after that, but I had no leverage. All I had was raw data, which proved worthless. I suspected that another Hell Hound commander would take the fall for the murders. But none had to. Not anymore.”

  “Sevrik,” said Wodan, “that map I told you about, the one given to me and the other exiles. It was drawn by Vachs’s secretary, Seloid Cramer. I... when I saw the footage... I really thought it was the Reavers who...”

  “Wodan, I suspect the Hell Hounds kidnapped you and the other exiles.”

  “Also, Sevrik, I saw the original Kill List, which Cramer wrote. My name wasn’t on it - it should have been Luumis Lamsang!”

  “I see,” said Sevrik, nodding slowly. “But you do look like him, Wodan. And you’ve already said you weren’t carrying any ID. But listen. I think Peter Remus was the main target. He was a rival of Vachs, and Vachs uses Udo like an attack dog. Why the rest of you were included in the exile, I don’t know. I’m sure the Hell Hounds sent you to the wasteland. But they didn’t count on your will or your strength, they didn’t count on you coming back home. And when you dropped the bomb that it was Guardians who exiled you... investigations began, and Vachs and Udo got nervous.”

  “And he sent them to kill me, knowing I would be at the party?”

  “No... no, I don’t think so. They could have easily waited for you to arrive. They could have taken you by surprise. No. I think the Hell Hounds were sent to retrieve this.” Sevrik removed Racheks’s little red diary from his pocket. “We found this on you. The footage shows them retrieving some kind of book, but I think it was the wrong one. Vachs sent the Hell Hounds to kill Rachek, specifically, because her book tells of an affair she had with Vachs. They sent them to kill, and recorded the kill, and set things up so that some of Udo’s Third Force boys could “discover” the footage, then send in some of their own men to kill the Hell Hounds. They had kept secrets before, but the secret of the exile was a political secret, much too valuable to leave lying around in the heads of a bunch of flunkies and murderers. They had to die. Proof of this lies in the fact that an “eliminate with extreme prejudice” order went out to several Third Force units, who were preparing to descend on that cabin in the woods. But because of Didi’s warning, my Reavers got to you first.