Hell Cop

by David C. Burton

  Gregory heard my curse. He climbed to me, tried to pull my hand away. The web quivered as the fire crept toward us. Sparkling ash floated past.

  “I can't break the web,” Gregory said.

  “In my pack, left side pocket a Swiss army knife,” I told him as calmly as the circumstances allowed. Heights are not my favorite places.

  He got the knife and reached up to cut me loose.

  Over by the trail Zoat took aim.

  “Hurry up, Gregory,” I urged, a little less calm.

  “It won't cut!”

  “It won't matter in a few seconds.”

  Flame sizzled on the strand that held me. My right hand would be useless if it burned through.

  “It's cutting now.”

  “It's about time.”

  I grasped a non-stick strand. The knife cut through and I swung down, trailing a three foot piece of web with flames eating the end.

  “Down, Greg!”

  One of Zoat's fireballs whooshed through the space where I'd just been. I heard the static crackle of hair singeing. We'd only gone down a few feet when the flames finished burning through the web. Our side collapsed, and we plunged toward the putrid, yellow mud pool.

  Chapter Six

  I hate falling. I didn't have time to think about it on Flunk's back. Hanging fifty feet above the ground with the flames closing in, I did have time. Though I gagged on the brimstone fumes from the pool, my scream as I fell was every bit the equal of any tormented soul in Hell.

  One side of the web was still anchored to a thick tree. The strands we clung to changed our trajectory, swung us away from the center of the pool. I thought I was going to smash into the tree when leaves from a razor palm cut the web and I landed heavily at the edge of the mud. Gregory ended up in a heap next to a clump of needle moss.

  I lay still, catching my breath, and suddenly realized the web strand stuck to me still burned. I sat up and stuck my hand into the mud, and yanked it out again. That mud was hot. I lay against the tree, feet at the edge of the pool. I closed my eyes for a few seconds. That was all it took for something to take hold of my ankle and start drawing me into the mud. I kicked at whatever it was. No good.

  “Gregory,” I called.

  No answer.

  I looked for something solid to hold on to. A flash caught my eye. My knife. My fingers barely reached it before I was dragged out of reach.

  “Gregory?”

  Immersed up to the knee, I ignored the pain and stabbed into the mud. The mud demon didn't like that and let go. I scrabbled away from the edge. Where was Gregory?

  I heard thrashing in the bushes. The spiders apparently blamed us for the destruction of their web. Gregory fought four of them as they spit web stuff at him and tried to jump on his back. He was a scrapper and held his own with the little Swiss army knife. I'd had it, I was pissed and wanted to get back on track. I split two of those spiders open with my big knife and kicked the others into the pool, then grabbed Gregory and hauled him up the slope.

  I found a secluded place away from the trail. We rested for five minutes and for some reason nothing bothered us. Gregory finally roused himself and asked, “What about them?” He waved a slender hand in the general direction of Zoat and Flunk. “Will they forget us?”

  I changed my socks and scraped at the mud on my boots.

  “They might, but I don't think Helen will.”

  “Ah, Helen is it? A fair lass that one. Certainly I have seen nothing to match her beauty in my time here, or before, if the truth be told.”

  “She's a double crossing, cold demon bitch.”

  “Aye, the evidence would prove you right, but must ye talk of the fair sex in such crude terms?”

  I pulled on my boots and stood up.

  “This is a crude place, Gregory, with crude inhabitants. And I'm getting tired of it. Let's get the fuck out of here.”

  I kept my gun in my hand. No more Mr. Nice Guy and so much for trying to keep a low profile. Something got in front of me I was going to blow it away and keep walking.

  I led the way around the far side of the mud pool and cautiously took us back to the trail. Neither Helen, Zoat, nor Flunk were in sight. I retrieved my staff, and we stood by the side of the trail. Into the Find I entered the Nexus entrance as our destination.

  Gregory handed me the Swiss Army knife. I took it, then handed it back.

  “You keep it, Greg,” I said. “It might come in handy during your travels.”

  He took it, turned it over in his hand, rubbed its smoothness with his thumb. He offered it back.

  “Friend Getter, I appreciate the offer, however, I think you may have a better use of it than I.”

  “Greg, I think we've been through enough together that you don't have to be so formal anymore. Just Getter will work.”

  I didn't take the knife.

  Emotions played over his thin weather-worn face. He caressed the white cross on the handle with his thumb.

  “Getter,” he said sincerely, thinking over each word before he said it. “I am dead. No matter what painful events befall me I will survive to be tormented again. You, my friend, are alive. And, although your choice of profession may make one wonder, I think you want to stay alive. This unique instrument may one day save your life and allow you to return to the family you briefly mentioned.” He held out the knife again. A sly smile crept over his face. “Besides, you have already given me a greater gift.”

  “Oh? What?”

  “Hope.”

  “Hope?” I was only half kidding when I said, “Jeez, Greg, be careful nothing hears you. Hope is a real dirty word down here.”

  “Yes, I understand Hope is not encouraged here. Yet, you are alive, not a lost soul like the rest. And you intend to go back to your life in the upper world, is that not so?”

  I looked into the little soul's eyes and did see something that hadn't been there before.

  “Yeah, I do intend to go back. But I can't take you. It wouldn't work.”

  Greg smiled kindly.

  “Do not worry, my friend, I will not ask that of you. Just knowing that an exit must exist, somehow lifts the despair and makes all this a little more bearable. That gift is worth much more than a fancy knife, precious possession as it may be here in the Underworld.”

  “Right. Okay. Why don't you hold it for me, though? Give it back when we split. This pack is getting heavier by the minute and the humidity is killing me.”

  We walked fast down the middle of the trail, constantly scanning for predators. I almost learned to block out the unceasing outcries. Most sections of Hell are filled with anguished cries of torment. Misery, after all, is what Hell is all about. The cries in 29 bothered me more than most. Perhaps because of its newness, though many sections are similar, or perhaps because I had a personal connection in Gregory which offset my necessary professional detachment.

  In any case, I had to keep my eyes straight ahead and every muscle in control when I heard one of the long piercing screams of a falling soul and then the ripping sound as it fell through the trees and the thud as it hit the ground. If it was close enough, I could hear the rustle of the scavengers after a new victim.

  I almost lost it when a shrill cry sounded overhead. A fat soul, black with dried blood, slammed onto the trail ten feet in front us, fat rippling with the impact, bald head turned toward me. Despair filled eyes implored an end to the constant terror. His feet were in a Quickbug hole. Quickly they sucked him in. His scream turned to a choking cough as the bugs flowed into his mouth. Then he was gone.

  Gregory rested his hand on my shoulder and squeezed with reassurance and sympathy. We gave the Quickbug hole a wide berth and moved on. I hate falling. Hell is falling, seeing the ground approach, yanking at a ripcord that never works. Helpless. Watching death come. Helpless.

  I wanted to make time. Despite the oppressive heat, I ran. Sweat poured off me. I didn't care. I'd been in 29 too long. Serpents, saber bunnies, and spiders left us alone. I began to hope w
e'd make it to the Nexus without any more trouble. But, as Hell has a way of doing, that hope vanished as we rounded a sharp bend in the trail.

  Chapter Seven

  Helen, Zoat, and Flunk straddled the trail. Helen, I couldn't help but notice, still naked. Zoat aimed his flamegun at my chest. No smile on his coyote lips. Flunk stood behind them, flat eyes glaring with feline dislike.

  “Get out of the way,” I said. “I have no quarrel with you.”

  “Why, Getter, aren't you glad to see me?” Helen asked, batting eyelashes that were probably poison spikes.

  “Always a pleasure to see you, Helen, but I'll be glad to see the back of you, as the saying goes.”

  “Oh, you silver-tongued devil you,” she gushed. Then she turned around and bent over to give me a full view of her smooth, round backside. “Are you happy now?”

  “Ecstatic,” I assured her. “Let us pass.”

  “Can't do it, Lifer,” Zoat said. “You lied. Captain Boam didn't order you to take that soul anywhere. But he did order me to hold you till he gets here.”

  No time to lose then. I checked the surrounding area. The open ground fell away on both sides. No cover, nowhere to run. On the right, a huge serpent lounged at the edge of a mud pool. It looked hungry. On the left, the ground looked like it was flexing its muscles. Something squirmed underneath.

  Well, okay.

  I flexed my grip on the gun. It pointed right down the big bore of Zoat's flamegun.

  “You're an idiot, Zoat. You couldn't hold me if I was handcuffed to a tangle tree. The only reason you almost caught me before was because of her. You're incompetent, inept, and incapable. You're stupid. You can't think for yourself.”

  Anger flared in his black eyes. He controlled it.

  “Without her, you're nothing. I'll just shoot her and you'll be incapacitated.”

  I turned the gun on Helen, kept an eye on Zoat. He broke.

  “No, Lifer!” he roared. I meant to drop under his fire ball and fire back in self-defense, keeping my conscience clear. He fired too fast. Instinctively, I shot back. The shot from my gun and his fireball collided. The collision sent out a concussion of sparks that knocked us all to the ground. I sprawled, my gun a few inches from my hand.

  Zoat recovered first. He sprang to his feet. Aimed at me. I hoped it wouldn't hurt too much for too long.

  “Don't hurt, Helen,” he said.

  Gregory snatched up a flat rock from the side of the trail. “Ahhhh,” yelled Gregory as he charged the hairy demon.

  Zoat swiveled and fired.

  I grabbed my gun and fired.

  The fireball knocked Gregory off his feet, but the flat rock he held up deflected the ball toward me. The flame plucked my gun away as if a hand reached out and grabbed it.

  All eyes turned to Zoat. He held his black gorilla hands over his stomach that wasn't there. His mouth opened to scream. Nothing came out. Slowly he crumpled to the ground.

  Flunk did scream. An anguished sound that drilled through to the very core of compassion. For about three seconds I was sorry about Zoat. Then Flunk charged.

  The front part of him was cat fast. Fortunately for me the lizard rear-end couldn't keep up. He stretched to the limit as he took a swipe at me. I felt the wind of his six inch claws on my cheek. I dropped and rolled. The other paw whiffed over me. I was down, vulnerable. His rear-end caught up with the front. One more swipe and I'd be the pepperoni on a Netherworld pizza.

  Motion to the right. With one eye I saw a flash. With the other I saw Flunk's three foot wide mouth open over me. I struggled to bring my gun around and give his head a major cavity. It caught on a loose pack strap. I gagged. Flunk's halitosis hadn't improved. God, I didn't want to die with that putrid odor in my nose. I brought an image of Julie into my mind; took a mental whiff of her sweet, clean fragrance; heard that faint rasp in her voice when she told me she loved me. A man could die with worse thoughts. I'd be stuck in Hell forever. How I'd miss her.

  The gun came loose from the strap. Why wasn't I dead yet? Still a chance! I rolled. Finger on the trigger. Flunk's head rose away from me. His mouth stretched open and emitted a screech that pierced my ears. Flunk reared back, whirled, struck out at Gregory as the nimble little Scot retreated, bloody Swiss Army knife in hand.

  Gregory disappeared over the edge of the trail. The Dinocat pounced after him. His lashing tail sent me tumbling down the trail and my gun over the left edge. The slope was steep and slippery, and the big demon tumbled down to land with his tail in the mud pool and his head three feet from the waiting serpent.

  “Greg,” I yelled, struggling to my feet.

  Motion to the left. Helen! Zoat's body already steamed in decomposition. She knelt by it and drew out his sword. It had a four foot blade, thin, slightly curved, and razor sharp I had no doubt. She needed two hands to hold the massive handle. She stood up and faced me, handling the weapon like she knew how to use it.

  The surrounding forest grew silent, the heat, if possible, became more oppressive. I felt the stare of unfriendly eyes caress the back of my neck. I drew out my eight inch Buck survival knife. Helen smiled.

  “They're waiting for you, Getter,” she said indicating the forest demons with a smooth motion of the sword. “Waiting for your soul. But they won't get it. Your soul will be mine. Your torment may even be pleasurable.”

  “What about Captain Boam?”

  “Ha. Captain Boam is a fool. I don't worry about him. He worries about me.” She came forward. “Come to me, Getter. Don't make it hard.” She grinned. “Until later.”

  The invitation was obvious, but I figured the afterglow would probably come from being lowered head first into a lava pool.

  Helen advanced, I backed away. My eight inch blade against her four foot sword. Not good odds. Some politeness was called for.

  “You're the fool if you think that scaggy body of yours is worth dying for.”

  “Getter, what happened to that charming hero I knew?”

  “He took a leap into a mud pool when you betrayed him.”

  She feinted with the sword, toying with me. I parried with my knife. The clang of the blades disturbed the forest's expectant silence. I lunged as she left an opening. A desperation move. It might have worked if she hadn't left herself open on purpose. She whacked my head with the flat of her blade. With the sword tip, she lifted the Find off my belt and flipped it off the left side of the trail onto the undulating ground. Still toying with me. I didn't like it, but I worked to control my anger. Waited for a real opening.

  She began to press her attack. At will she touched me, leaving small cuts on my body or slapping with the flat just to show I had no chance. I glanced to where my gun rested in the open. The ground rose and fell underneath it. My chances looked better there. The next time around I'd break for it.

  Helen had other ideas. At the point where Gregory vanished she stopped, reached down, and raised him up by the scruff. The sword's edge creased his neck.

  “Submit,” she commanded, voice lowering to a deep demon authority. “Submit or I will cut this soul in two and bury the pieces at the opposite ends of Hell.”

  I saw the hope fade from Gregory's eyes.

  “Don't do it,” he said firmly. “Save yourself. Live!”

  I stumbled backward. How could I live with that?

  The answer was that I couldn't. I had to try. Hadn't I sworn not to inflict more suffering on the souls, even if I couldn't lessen the pain already assigned to them? If I didn't try to help Gregory I'd carry Hell in my heart to the day I died, whether a natural death or not. Julie would understand, I knew she would. I had to believe that.

  “Ahhhhhh,” I cried. And ran toward the murderous demon.

  At the first step I flipped the knife over and caught it by the blade. At the next step I drew back and flung it with all my strength. The blade buried its full length just under her right breast.

  “Huuuuh,” she uttered, then I slammed into her. The three of us tumbled over the edge
and down the slope. Helen and I struggled for possession of the sword. She was stronger than me, but the knife had weakened her. At the bottom I kneed her hard in the ribs and tore the weapon from her hands. I lurched backwards onto my feet.

  Helen rolled to her knees. Her right hand flashed out and grabbed Gregory by the neck. Sword raised, I tensed for the final blow.

  “Dimitri,” she said in a deep voice tinged with glee.

  I froze. Dimitri! “What about Dimitri?”

  “Do you want to know where he is?”

  As she spoke the slender feminine hand that held Gregory began to morph into something hideous. Fingers grew long and thick with five bulbous knuckles. The pale white skin crinkled like burnt flesh shot with bright red veins. The thumb pressed into Gregory's neck. An orange claw slowly emerged from the tip, ripping open my friend's windpipe.

  “No!”

  Taunting. “Dimitri.”

  Blood sputtered as Gregory tried to draw breath.

  “NO!”

  “Dimit—”

  I swung the sword.

  Chapter Eight

  The long sword tugged at my grip as it sliced through Helen's unblemished neck. Her head shot up on a jet of glowing blue blood. As it arced through the air it transmogrified into a grotesque demon head, with skin the color and texture of red clay. Medusa hair writhed and a black foot-long tongue trailed from the corner of thick, pink lips open wide in a silent scream.

  My throat clenched shut at the memory of her kiss and what I had thought was my imagination fulfilling the old adage about having a girl put her tongue down your throat.

  The head landed with a flat splat in the mud pool. It floated a few seconds, then a tentacle reached up and pulled it under. Time slowed. The deathly quiet of the waiting forest lasted ten seconds, or ten minutes, then broke.

  Flunk and the snake stopped fighting. The Dinocat and the Serpent added their feline screech and reptilian hiss of agony and loss to the sudden raging cacophony of howls, screeches, squawks, caws, and grunts. I dropped the sword and covered my ears. The clamor bored into my brain and tickled all the panic buttons. I wanted to run, but the underlying anger and pain of the creatures drove me to my knees. Weariness washed over me. I wanted so much to sleep.