Niki Slobodian 03 - Before the Devil Knows You're Dead

by J. L. Murray

  “He's right,” I said. “You can do this, Bobby.

  “I don't know if I'm strong enough, Niki,” he said. “I can't protect you. Not by myself.”

  “You opened up Hell when we went after that Dark,” I said. “You did it again when we went after Abaddon. You're goddamn Bobby Gage. You can do anything.”

  Gage looked at me dubiously. “Okay, but don't do anything stupid.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  I set my jaw and walked. I stepped up onto the giant chunk of asphalt, Eli's blood still on the road where he had mashed his arm saving me. Another person hurt. I tried not to think that the war started because of me, but it was a hard thought to push away.

  There was a shimmer of pink and then it was as if we were looking through a soap bubble. Gage was muttering softly under his breath, casting. There was a flash above us and something bright hit a tall brick building to our right. I ducked, but there was no need. Particles came hurtling toward us, but bounced harmlessly off the shimmering pink orb around us. I looked over at the rubble. A pale arm stuck out of the pile, fingers pointing toward the sky, a single drop of blood trickling down the index finger. I walked toward it. The pink bubble didn't cover our feet. If someone was under there, I could help them. I pushed rocks out of the way, throwing bricks out. The bubble shimmered every time I threw something. Gage was unaware, lost in his casting. I put my hand on the pale fingers. They were still warm. I tugged and the arm came out of the pile, unattached to a body, burnmarks where the joint used to be connected to a person.

  I dropped the arm, but I stood there looking at it. The fingernails were painted pink. The heat in my chest lurched. I looked at Gage, but he just kept on casting. His lips moved almost imperceptibly. I swallowed thickly and squared my shoulders. I had to get to Sofi.

  I turned to continue on, but someone was blocking my way. A man with empty eyes. “Help me,” he said, his voice hollow. He was a ghost, but he looked more solid than before.

  “I can't,” I said. “I'm sorry.”

  “Help me, please,” he said. He reached out to touch me and I braced myself. If he didn't bounce off the protection spell, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't—magic usually didn't apply to spirits—his touch was going to be horrible. My body did not like the sensation when the ghosts touched me. No one else noticed it. No one else but Sam even saw them. But the wrongness of them made my muscles clench and my stomach turn. They were cold and clammy and so un-there. It was normal for me to vomit when they were reaching around inside of me trying to grab onto something, anything that resembled life. It was the warmth, I remembered. When I died, it was the feeling of never feeling either warm or cold that was the worst. Even burning alive was better than that. I watched as he grabbed for me, his hand going easily through the pink spell.

  And then he grabbed my arm.

  I looked up at the ghost, shocked. He was touching me. He had put his hand around my arm and was grasping my wrist. He pulled at me. “What the hell?” I said. The heat in my chest was growing hotter.

  “Help me,” he said again.

  “Bobby,” I said. “Something's wrong.” Gage couldn't hear me. He just kept muttering. The man was pulling at me and he was strong. I was going to kick him but then I felt the sharp bricks under my feet and remembered I wasn't wearing shoes. No steel-toed boots, no gun. Not that a gun would do much, but a shotgun might drive him back a little. Maybe scare him. I yanked my arm. He still held on. A movement caught my eye. A woman with empty eyes was climbing the rubble heap. A fat man trailed behind her. More ghosts.

  Feeling slightly panicked, I hurled my arm away from the dead man. He let go at the last second and I fell back, skinning my elbows on the blown-up building. I felt something soft under my foot. I kicked the arm away in disgust. The man was reaching for me again.

  “Help,” he said. His hand clamped on my leg. I kicked at him but he held on.

  “You can help us,” said the woman's voice. She reached toward me and grabbed my arm. The fat man grabbed onto my hair. They were heaving me up, the fat spirit pulling my hair so hard it felt as though he'd just pull it out in clumps. More ghosts were coming. Women, men, they had caught up with me from the warehouses. I wondered if Sam would hear me if I screamed. Would he come? Did I want him to?

  “Goddamn you, Bobby, help me!” I kicked out with my free leg and hit Gage right in the shin with my bare foot.

  “What the hell?” he said, his eyes clearing. The pink bubble evaporated almost immediately. “What?” He looked at me and his eyes widened, trying to comprehend the situation. “What?” he said again, only this time with confusion rather than annoyance.

  “Can you see them?” I said. Maybe they had become material somehow.

  “See who?” he said. He swung his hand through the air, trying to fend off my combatants, but his hand went right through them. I was two feet off the ground now. There were at least a dozen spirits, all clawing, grabbing, and pulling me in different directions. I screamed as a chunk of my hair was pulled out by the roots. I felt a hot wetness run into my scalp. The heat from my chest was white-hot now. It burned and singed my insides as it coursed down my arms and crawled towards my gut. It climbed up my throat and I couldn't breathe, couldn't scream. I shook my head at Gage, wanting him to back away. I was going to die. I didn't want him to get hurt. Lightning crisscrossed the sky and I suddenly felt how powerful it was. I knew it was the source of the angels' power.

  “Get back,” I croaked to Gage finally. I couldn't say more. He got the message, though. The purple sky became tinged with white. I looked at the ghosts. Everything was white. The whole world was white. I looked down at my body. Snow-white tendrils of the fire-mist came surging up, just as I had seen them start swirling in the in-between place. The ghosts stopped tugging on me and just looked down on me, holding me in midair. I couldn't stop whatever was inside me. I was going to die. I was burning again. I'd only postponed my death.

  I pulled my hand easily away from one of the ghosts. I looked at it, the white power rising out of my palm and my fingers like flames. More ghosts streamed up the rubble. Some didn't notice what was happening and started to pull on me again. “Help us, help us,” they intoned. They were going to pull me apart if the the fire didn't kill me first. Gage had backed down the pile and was heatedly rifling through his book, glancing panic-stricken up at me. There was nothing he could do. He had no power over the spirits.

  Suddenly my throat opened up and I screamed as loud as I could. There was no sound, but a white-hot flame shot up out of my mouth. It didn't hurt anymore. It didn't burn. Or, rather, the burn felt right. I held my hand toward the first man that still held my leg and willed the power through my hand. A whooshing sound cut through the air like a jet plane, a white swath hanging in its wake. The man was thrust back, flying through the air.

  The other ghosts started to panic and pulled hard on me in all different directions. I had a leg on the ground now. I kicked my other leg out, and a woman went flying. Pulling out of their grasp, I felt strong. They were coming still. They would never stop. I would have to stop them.

  Holding my arms out, away from my sides, I made a sweeping motion through the air. White hung in midair as a wave of ghosts went away, hurtling through the air. I did it again and again, my power becoming a dance, spinning, spinning and thrusting my arms and throwing them away, through the thick mist that dripped through the air. Slowly my vision turned the world from white back to the dull purple color with flashes of brightness from the sky.

  No more spirits were trying to touch me, clamoring to climb on top of me, over me, to pull at me. My scalp ached where they had pulled my hair out. Sam's shirt was in tatters. I could still see them. I hadn't hurt them. They hovered, near the edge of the dense tingling smoke that was just starting to dissipate. They didn't look lost any more. Their faces had an expression I had never seen on a ghost in all the time I had been alive.

  It was fear.

  I looked
at Gage. His expression was exactly the same as theirs. “What the hell did you just do?” he said.

  “I don't know,” I said. I touched my head. My hair was sticky with blood. I walked carefully down from the destroyed building, trying not to hurt my feet on the rocks. “Bobby,” I said. “The ghosts can touch me. They were going to kill me. Not on purpose, but just because...I guess they don't understand anymore. One of them pulled my hair out.”

  “Glad you're okay,” he said slowly. “But, Niki, I don't get it. What's happening to you?”

  “I don't know,” I said. “I was dead. My body was practically cremated. Maybe when Sam brought me back he gave me too much of himself.”

  “Never saw Sam do anything like that.”

  I could see motion ahead. I swallowed. “We might need that protection of yours, Bobby. I'll warn you if the ghosts come again.”

  He rubbed his shin where I had kicked him before. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Just stay away from my sensitive areas, okay?”

  We started again, Gage muttering and the two of us moving inside the rose shield. Lightning flashed continuously. The movement ahead of us, I could see now, were the forms of angels and demons. There was screaming and the smell of burning flesh, a smell all too familiar to me. I just had to get to Sofi.

  Inside Bobby's rose shield, the sounds of the battle were muffled, but I could still hear the voices, screaming, yelling, shrieking. I saw an angel with a sword glowing blue, slicing in half a demon with horns three times the size of Eli's. The demon looked at me as the light went out of his eyes and the top of his body slid to the ground a full second before the bottom half dropped. The angel turned to look at me. His eyes weren't like Sam's. They were normal. But when he saw me, he stepped back, trying to get as far away from me as possible. He stepped on the body of the demon he had killed and kicked at it in annoyance. The heat flared inside me but I pushed it down.

  Ahead in the middle of the street, a demon nearly as big as Abaddon tore off a hulking angel's arm and raised the arm over his head. The angel screamed and sank to the ground and a group of a half dozen angels landed on the demon with knives and swords. They continued to stab the demon long after he had stopped moving. They all backed away as the now-one-armed angel stood up shakily. He raised his remaining arm and fire shot from his hand and incinerated the demon in seconds. Seeming to sense me, they all turned toward me at once. Several eyes widened, and they all backed away from the road to let me pass. I saw them hit the ground as another blast came from the sky, obliterating half of a building next to me. I felt the force of the objects hitting the field around us, but I kept walking.

  I tried to make my eyes dead so I wouldn't have to see, but I saw. I saw everything. And the whole time the heat inside me was growing hotter and hotter, as I focused on keeping it from exploding again. I just needed to get to Sofi. I wasn't here to fight. If I fought, I would only make things worse.

  Angels traveled in packs, hacking demons who straggled alone. In an alley I saw an angel with a rifle, its barrel as wide as my arm. He shot a demon in the back of his head. The demon was on his knees. In the next block, a group of four demons descended on two angels crouching near some concrete ruins. There was a muted sound of tearing and ripping. One of the demons looked up at me, flesh hanging from his mouth. I felt his fear when he saw me. They all froze until I passed. Then I heard the sounds start up again.

  There was no order to the carnage. There were no formations, battle lines, movements, or organization of any sort. It was a jubilee of gore and cruelty and death. And I walked through it all like some sort of ghost myself. I felt haunted and angry and sick with grief. If this was the result of my choice to live, there didn't seem to be a point. If I had known, I would have chosen death.

  Everywhere I walked, the fighting stopped until I passed, as if from respect. But they looked at me with fear. Maybe they could sense Sam in me. The orb protecting us was beginning to flicker. With each flicker, I could hear the loud and jarring sounds of the fighting, as if turning the volume up and down on a horror movie. I looked back at Gage. He was waning. I could see the fatigue on his face. We still had a few miles to go. Half hour maybe. He'd never make it.

  There was a deafening explosion, and to my immediate left I saw a ramshackle three-story apartment building tumble to the ground like old wooden blocks. Electricity tingled in the air as the purple column retreated to the sky. The shrapnel bounced off the rosy field, but then there was a flicker and I heard a grunt behind me. Gage was on the ground, the side of his head bleeding. His eyes were glazed.

  “Bobby,” I said. A group of angels stopped to look at me, a Hellion head hanging from the fist of the tallest. “Help me,” I called to them. They backed away, sliding into the shadows. I heard their footfalls running away. I could see the lightning flickering in Gage's eyes. His head was cut, but it wasn't bad. He probably had a concussion. I put my hand over the wound, but I felt a strange bubbling sensation and Gage's eyes grew wide. Images flashed behind my eyes. A tent on the sidewalk. A feeling of grief and despair as I sat in a church. Sam's face. I pulled my hand away quickly and looked at the wound. It was blackened and burned. I looked at my hand. Not a scratch, not a drop of blood. I had cauterized the wound. I felt nauseated.

  “Bobby, can you hear me?” I heard a hard echoing blast that sounded like gunshots. I remembered the huge barrel of the gun the angel carried. I looked around for a safe place. Another explosion farther away was followed by the creaking and crashing of a large building going down. More shots. Screaming, crying. The smell of burning flesh. Electricity. There was nowhere. Nowhere safe.

  “Please, Bobby,” I said. The burning was getting to be too much. It was feeding on my anxiety. On my anger. On my guilt. “Please be okay.”

  He was breathing but his breath rasped. I looked down and pulled up his shirt. There was something wrong. He hadn't just been hit in the head. The entire side of his ribcage was a sickening fuschia color, about to turn black and purple with bruising. “Oh, God,” I said. “Bobby, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you come.”

  I looked around, panicked. I had no idea what to do. I had to help him somehow. Another explosion, this time closer. A voice cut off in mid-scream. A woman laughing. I closed my eyes tight. It was a struggle to push down the thing inside of me that was trying to get out. I squeezed my eyes shut so tight it almost hurt.

  And then there was a silence so complete that I could hear my own heartbeat.

  At first, I thought I had done something. I opened my eyes. I could hear whispers, like the ghosts talking, but this was different. Underneath the whispering was another sound. Music. It was very soft, but if I strained I could hear the sound of singing. I looked for the source of the sound.

  I turned and saw a man standing on the street. He was watching me intently. He was average height and about Sasha's age. He had a paunch and wore a plain green sweater vest. He was balding and his skin was a deep, dark brown. He didn't move, just looked at me.

  “Can you help me?” I said. My voice sounded odd. Like I was talking into a hole in the ground. There was no echo. It was like the air absorbed my words. But he must have heard me because he came over and crouched down next to Gage. His eyes were furtive and a little fearful. His hands shook as he reached out to touch Gage.

  I watched him closely. I could hear the whispers louder now, but they were no more distinct. I couldn't make them out. But the singing was so beautiful. I felt the roiling heat inside of me ease slightly. The man looked up at me.

  “I don't understand what's happening,” he said.

  I blinked at him for a moment. “You're not an angel,” I said finally.

  “Angel?” he said. He laughed nervously, but it turned to a grimace. “Are these guys supposed to be angels?”

  “They are,” I said.

  “Not any angels I'd like to meet,” he said. “What's happening to me?”

  “I don't know,” I said slowly. “How are you awake? All the humans are as
leep. Even the Abbies. How are you here?”

  He shook his head. “I don't know. My family, they just...” he squeezed his eyes shut and his face scrunched up as he fought tears. “They just fell down,” he said. He wiped his eyes. “I thought they were dead. It was horrible.”

  The whispers grew louder. “Can you help me?” I said. “We can at least carry him over there. Off the street.”

  “I think I can do better,” he said quietly. His eyes were scared. He put his shaking hands over Gage's face. The whispers grew quiet, but the singing grew louder. It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. A shimmering glow encircled first the hands, then Gage's face, then his whole body. Gage vibrated violently for several seconds, then was still. The glow flowed back into the man. He let out a sob and took his hands quickly away, hiding them under his elbows. He looked at me.

  “I don't know how I did that,” he said. “I'm not an Abby. I never have been.”

  The whispers grew louder and the man blinked. Gage heaved air into his lungs and suddenly opened his eyes wide. The wound on his head was gone. I lifted up his shirt. There was no bruise, no broken ribs. The man had healed him.

  “Damn, what happened?” Gage said.

  “He healed you,” I said. “You were in rough shape.” Then I said to the man, “Who are you?”

  He shook his head. “I don't know how I did that,” he said again. “I shouldn't be able to do things like that.”

  “Hey, buddy,” said Gage. “We can all do things like that.” He hefted himself on his elbows and smiled at him. “Thank you. Hey, how come the noise stopped?”

  “I have to go,” the man said. He stood up shakily.

  “Can we help you?” I said. “I'd like to repay you for your help.”

  “Help?” he said. “I don't want this,” he said, and held up his hands. “I can do things people shouldn't be able to do.” The whispers were nearly as loud as his voice, but there were so many of them I couldn't make a single one out. Thousands of voices inside one man. What the hell?