by John Hook
I finally stopped and looked back the way I came. I was breathing hard and leaning back against a tree. I could see the town in the distance, like a toy, glowing in the night. As I slowed my breathing and let myself feel my exertion, I started feeling deeply sad. Once again, I had witnessed a horrific death, unable to do anything but leave the pain and misery behind me. The anger flared up again. I round kicked the tree over and over in a fit of fury until it actually snapped off and fell.
I looked back down across the vista to the town. I saw three torch-carrying groups of demons emerge from the town. I heard vocalized screams that might have different interpretations, or might just be demon bravado. They split off and went in three different directions. One group was headed up the mountain towards me. They were admittedly small groups and slow, but they were coming.
I needed a weapon.
I looked around. What did I know about them? I knew a hard knee to the face broke one’s jaw, but I wasn’t able to pay attention long enough to figure out if it stopped it. Were they indigenous creatures of this place or was their appearance also some kind of glamour? Maybe they were all lawyers and accountants. The fact is, I had no idea if you could really injure, kill or immobilize them at all. My strategy was therefore to see how long I could go without finding out, but to be prepared to try.
I spotted a round but flattish rock. I picked it up and hefted it. It had good weight behind it and was a good size. It might cave in one of their skulls or injure one if thrown, but I needed some kind of handle. I had nothing here with which to attach one. I dropped it. I needed one thing I could carry easily and get flexible use out of.
I looked at the tree I had downed in my rage. I found a thick branch and broke it off, trying to make it splinter as much as possible. I broke off about two-thirds of the smaller part of the branch. I was left with something the thickness of a baseball bat, a bit shorter, with a blaze of jagged, splintered wood at one end. I tested it. It hefted easily, seemed strong despite the splintering, and I could either swing it or use the splintered end to pierce their scaly flesh. This was, of course, assuming they were cooperative enough to be where I swung, given their speed. Call me an optimist.
I picked up the rock I had found earlier and used to hack away at the splintered part near the base of the trunk until I had a few short, stake-like pieces. I sorted through them quickly looking for ones that seemed strong enough to hold up to a sharp thrust against a rubbery surface. The demons’ skin seemed pretty tough. Two seemed to make the grade. I polished where my hand would grip them with the stone to hopefully prevent me from tearing up my hand and tucked them in my waistband.
I ran back and looked out on the slope below. There were torches below. Time to scoot. I still hoped to keep to the “try not to have to find out if you can fight them” plan.
I made my way further up. I was no longer in rolling foothills but climbing up a more significant mountain, which would of course slow me down. Them? Who knew? The trees were getting larger, taller and were becoming evergreen, though they were different from any I remember. There was also less undergrowth, which was good for moving faster, but bad for keeping concealed if they caught up with me.
What I needed was a defensible shelter. Not something like a cave. That would be a dead end. I needed concealment that had a back exit in case I had to make a quick getaway. Trouble is, I couldn’t think of anything that would slow them down that wouldn’t also slow me. Maybe I could create a blind, like a hunting blind, to hide in. I rejected that out of hand. First, there wasn’t much brush to make it out of. Second, because there was so little brush, it would stand out as unnatural. I walked in a circle and stopped.
There just didn’t seem to be any options.
We know you are there. We will rip your body apart.
The voices in my head. They were scratchy, threatening, otherworldly. Could they sense me from a distance? This was not encouraging. I knew they could project thought into my head which I heard as English. What I didn’t think they could do was passively read minds. I don’t know why I thought that. I just figured they wouldn’t have had to split up to search for me if they could. As usual, I kept being frustrated by how little I knew of this world.
I ducked behind a tree. There really was no choice other than fighting them, but at least I’d try for a surprise attack. I had my club in my hands, tossing it from hand to hand to get a feel for it. I reached deep down into myself for memories that might flare up my anger. I needed all the emotion-fed energy I could get. I remembered the nameless, tortured woman in the boiler room. I remembered the demons rushing in on Rox, my not being able to do anything.
Then I thought of Jesus the bowling pin.
I had no idea if that was Jesus, or whatever people thought of as Jesus, or not. I hoped not. But it didn’t matter. It had judged me. It had decided I should be here. It had opened the floor under my feet and sent me to this place of violence, pain and inhumanity for some perceived shortcoming. Maybe it was because I didn’t believe. Maybe it was just cosmic whimsy…. It’s Tuesday at Eight PM so this one goes to hell. It was so random and utterly unfair.
Anger exploded out of my gut like white fire under pressure. The demons with their torches were passing my tree. If I stayed still and let them pass, they might not see me. I had a chance. However, my rage controlled me now.
With a scream, I stepped into the group of five demons. I think I actually startled them for a moment. I swung hard, hitting one against the side of the head. His head exploded, spewing bone, skin and some very vile-looking swamp-green goo everywhere. I swung at another, slamming him in the ribs. I heard a couple of satisfying cracks as ribs shattered.
Unfortunately the others were reacting now. So much for surprise. One flung himself at me, mouth gaping open, showing the rows of razor sharp teeth. I instantly knew his target, but I was too late. He sank his teeth into the arm with the club. It was like a dozen hot needles causing white flashes in front of my eyes as the club went flying. The intensity of the discomfort made it hard to think, but I was probably better off with instinct. I grabbed one of the two stakes at my waist and plunged it into what I took to be the demon’s ear, a pulsating membrane surrounded by a tapered triangle of cartilage. The wooden, twisted dirk penetrated deep. The demon howled, letting go of my arm. I kicked him away and he thudded on his back and lay there.
My arm was torn open to the bone and essentially useless, but before I could worry about that, I felt claws ripping at my back. I was grabbed and flung through the air into a tree. I didn’t break anything, which itself was a miracle, but I was rattled and in agony.
A demon landed on me and gave what I interpreted as a triumphant scream as he plunged his claws into my chest and tore downward. At first I thought I was going into shock, if these bodies worked that way. However, I realized that I was feeling every bit of pain, but I was beginning not to care. I tried to dislodge the demon, but I did not have good control over my badly injured body.
The demon stood up and kicked me hard. The other two pulled me rudely up and slammed me upright against a tree, then pulled my arms around behind the trunk. They had come prepared because they suddenly had a rope and were lashing me to the tree. This struck me as curious. Clearly I had been right. No former human, whatever we were, stood a chance against the demons. Yet they were being very careful to insure that I was securely bound. What could I do even if I was free?
When I was secured, the apparent leader of the remaining trio slapped me with claws out and they all did their screaming laughter thing. Excruciating sensation emanated from everywhere. Blood was everywhere. It was clear I was going to find out if I could die here. If this was Hell, maybe I could be torn apart and still feel the damage. Forever.
Fuck you, Bowling Pin Jesus.
I began to pull inside myself a bit. I also felt something else welling up inside me, something disturbing, but I couldn’t identify it. It was something too alien to describe. But I had one very satisfying thought. I
had killed two of them. They could die. Too bad I wouldn’t get a chance to use that information.
The lead demon pressed his face close to mine, all his teeth showing, a malevolent glow in his hungry eyes. They had not been projecting into my head during all this, but now I heard: The escort screamed your name while I consumed her flesh.
And then, as suddenly, his head exploded in a ball of fire.
It was the last thing I remembered as I sank into empty blackness.
5.
When the light filtered into my awareness, I had almost forgotten the pain. I felt strong, rested. The fight with the demons felt like a long time ago, almost like something that had happened to someone else. I opened my eyes. I was in a room with light clay walls, bare of decoration, but clean and well kept. There were various sorts of wood and fabric furniture, but none of it matched. Sunlight was streaming in the windows. The temperature was warm but not stifling. I drew myself up a bit, expecting stiffness, but there was none.
“Glad to see you decided to join me.” The voice was even, friendly, but would squeak around the inflections.
I turned my head. Sitting on a wood stool next to a table was a tall, thin man with wild kinky black hair around the sides of his head, but bald on top where it met his equally hairless tall forehead. He wore black, thick-framed glasses missing only the tape holding together the nose bridge, a Nirvana tee-shirt, faded blue jeans and hi-top tennis shoes. He was sipping what I imagined was coffee, steaming in a cup, but who knows in this place. If I was still in Hell.
He smiled. “I’m Izzy. You want some?” He gestured with the cup.
“Some what?”
“Tea. I’d rather coffee, but it doesn’t grow here and no one has opened a Dunkin Donuts yet.”
“I must be in Hell. Yeah, tea is fine.”
He walked over to a small corner kitchen with what looked like a wood stove made out of clay. There were glowing embers in the fire pit and a clay pot on top, steaming. He scooped something out of a bag and threw it into a clay mug. Carefully, with a rag, he lifted the pot and poured water in and stirred with a piece of wood that had been carved flat. He brought the cup of hot liquid over and set it on the table in front of the divan I was on. He returned to his stool.
“Thanks.”
I took a sip. It was pretty good, a sweet grassy taste with something more fruity. I would have rather had coffee.
“How do you feel?”
“I’m not sure. I feel okay, and that just seems weird. How did I get here, and where is here?”
“This is my house.”
“Nice place. I especially like the part about I don’t see any demons.”
“Zoning.”
“Ah.”
“What did you do to piss them off so much?”
“Might have been the part where I killed two of them.”
Izzy chuckled and took a sip of his tea. “That didn’t help, but they were after you. Demons don’t normally ascend so high. There is some unpredictable wildlife in the mountains, they don’t like to tangle. That’s why we stay up here.”
“We?”
“Later. I’m trying to figure this out right now.”
“Figure what out?”
“You. What makes you special enough to get them to come up into the mountains after you. Why would they tie you up to a tree and turn you into a proto.”
“Turn me what?” I blew some of the steam off my tea and took another sip.
Izzy smiled. “You’re new here, and already they don’t like you.”
“I plan to keep it that way. What’s a proto?”
“A proto is what you become when you are torn up enough that you would normally die—except you can’t die here.”
“Great. You can feel pain but you can’t die your way out of it.”
“Instead of dying, you get reborn. protos have strong but undefined bodies, generic faces and a complete loss of memory or identity. They also are very strong, emotionally unstable and psychotic. They are very dangerous until they readjust and begin to form a new identity.”
“And they were trying to do that to me.”
“Apparently. Came pretty close.”
“Why didn’t they finish? I have a very dim memory of a demon’s face exploding in fire. That wouldn’t have something to do with it?”
“Had a lot to do with it.” Izzy smiled proudly.
“And…?”
“I have hillside sensors—strings that run down the hill and let me know when there are intruders coming up the mountain. Got there just in time to see you take two of them out. Nice!” He paused, I think trying to figure out if I had ever told him my name. “You are…?”
“Quentin. Quentin Case.”
“Well, it took me a bit to get set up—unfortunately for you. I use arrows with little clay flame pots. Killed one, the others ran off. I’ve never seen them so spooked by a human before.”
“We’re not, you know.”
“What?”
“Human.”
“You’re right, but that’s a technicality. Memories and a sense of self make you human, not bodies. Our bodies are at least partially glamours, projections from our minds. You’re human until they turn you into a proto.”
“So about this body thing—you can look like anything you like?” I looked at Izzy with his hair, skinny build, thick glasses. Izzy laughed.
“Mostly you can only project what you think about yourself. I might make my image less nerdy, but it would be a lot of work. I’m a Jew and scientist from Brooklyn, so, hey, that’s what I am.”
“Boy, no wonder you’re in Hell.”
“Hit the trifecta, huh? But let’s get back to you.”
“I’m a struggling writer from ‘Alphabet City,’ so I don’t think there’s anything special there. Got sent here by a psycho killer, would you believe. Sounds like something I would write.”
I told him about what happened after I got here, finding the town.
“Rockvale.”
“Huh?”
“The town. Rockvale.”
“You’re kidding, right? It sounds so normal. I figured everything would have names with too many consonants or something.”
“We named the town. I have no idea what they call the town.”
“We again.”
“We’ll get to that.”
“Okay, Rockvale then.”
“It’s what we euphemistically call a border town, planted near a drop point. New arrivals will almost always find it. They usually have a large number of escorts there.”
“I met one, Rox. So, what, you get sex when you arrive?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that. Escorts are one of a variety of groups of humans given special abilities. I have no idea how they are chosen. An escort is supposed to help the new arrival make peace with their new situation.”
“Why would the demons care?”
“They don’t. The demons don’t make the big rules here. They are like local tribesmen trying to control things. The real rules are from much more powerful ruling classes and the natural order of things in this place. It’s too complicated to go into now.”
“And escorts…?”
“Part of what makes them good at what they do is the ability they have to soothe and actually numb the mind. They impart it with any touch, but it is strongest and most direct with full contact.”
“Full contact. Nice euphemism.”
Izzy grinned. “For that reason, they usually hook you up with an escort who would appeal to you sexually.”
“I noticed.”
I related the rest of the story. Meeting Rox, walking about, what I saw, the incident in the alley and the bloody mess that made me have to flee into the hills leaving Rox to her fate. Izzy remained silent awhile, obviously thinking.
“It’s odd. The demons seem to be focusing a lot of energy on you. It’s as if they sense something. I just don’t know what.”
“How long have you been here?” My question app
eared to catch Izzy off guard. He was very professorial when he had the answers.
“I have no idea. That’s the first thing to go. You can retain your identity here, but most of your memories of the world before become indistinct. You can be reminded of things from before but you don’t think of them.”
“What was going on in that alley?”
“The demons are dumb and brutal. They want their humans—and that’s how they think of us—docile and fearful. The large numbers of humans who can’t deal with the fact that they in are Hell, are perfect for them. For sheer, sadistic pleasure, they will grab a few, torture and sexually molest them, brutalize them, but then send them back to the herd. These humans are beyond trauma. We call them the mass, not masses, because of their sameness, they are like automatons. They have no will left, no dignity. They simply endure.”
“I noticed that. That was the spookiest part. They just took it. We’ll see how long that continues.”
“What are you planning on doing?”
“I don’t know yet. I want a way to kill demons. Do we have guns?”
Izzy raised an eyebrow. “You know how to use one?”
“Used to hunt when I was a kid. That’s about it.”
“Unfortunately, there is no manufacturing here. That’s why I use a bow and arrow.”
“People don’t fight the demons?”
“Some of us do. Most lack the will. Those of us who retain strong will and identity stay up in the hills. The demons prefer lower elevations and like their humans docile, so they mostly leave us citizens alone.
“Citizens?”
“Nickname we gave ourselves because we exercise all our rights and continue to function as humans.”
“This is the ‘we’ then?”
“Yes. We aren’t the only ones, and there are some who come and go, but there is a group of us, citizens, who live in these hills and have found each other. We help each other cope and stay hidden up here up in the hills, doing what we can to carve out a life for ourselves.”
“And you let the others just suffer.”
