I struggled to my feet.
“If it will get me off this ledge, I can walk, run, hop, skip, or jump,” I assured him.
We had two folds to negotiate. Neither one had an opening close enough to jump. At the entrance to the first fold I noticed there was a long, deep crack in the rock ledge. I pointed it out to Destiny.
“If you look, that crack is way deep. Do you think if I fired my gun in there it would do something?”
He looked it over and said, “Both guns.”
We stuck the muzzles in as far as we could.
“If this works,” I said, “it's going to screw up your trail.”
“Don't worry about it. It can be fixed. After you shoot, jump back. This rock can be unpredictable.”
I averted my face and said, “Okay. On three. One. Two. Three!”
The gun kicked back from a muffled blast. I turned to look at what happened just in time to see the whole corner shear away from under one of my feet. Destiny pulled me back. “I told you, unpredictable.”
We raced around the fold. The demons arrived. They cursed and shot at us with flameguns, but we were gone. The break in the path wouldn't stop them, though it would slow them down some.
The next fold was the biggest yet. As Destiny and I made our way around it, I looked through the opening and came to a halt.
“Son of a bitch. Destiny look at that will you? Those sneaky bastards.”
Framed in the opening space two Fliers, double-decked, flew leisurely past with a demon hanging underneath them. Then another trio went by, then two more.
The old Hell Cop turned to me and shrugged his thick shoulders. “Well, I never said some of them weren't clever.” What could I say to that? We jogged on, carefully rounding the last sharp corner.
“There's Sneaker.” Destiny pointed to the corner where the zig-zag trail and ours met. She sat far back in the corner, hidden from above, gun cradled in her lap. Above her, at the top of the zig-zag trail, the four demons started down.
I hugged Sneaker.
“I thought you were gone,” I said, shouting over the din of the cascading lava. “I missed you after the first second.”
“Me too,” she yelled back.
“I'm sorry I let you go. It won't happen again.”
“It better not,” she said, smiling as if she hadn't just fallen almost a thousand feet to her eternal death. But I felt the quiver in her fingers when she stroked my cheek.
“Let's go you two,” Destiny interrupted. “This isn't Lovers Lane.”
“More like Lover's Leap,” Sneaker said, with a roll of her big dark eyes that I wanted to leap into.
“Where are we going?” I asked. “We're trapped.”
“Follow me. Quickly.” The old man strode up the first zig.
Up close, the cliff face was convex; from one switchback the next one wasn't visible. The first turn was actually behind the falling lava. I saw that at the first turn the trail also went straight, under the falls. We went along this trail, unseen by the descending demons. A scorching wind blasted us, carrying the usual smell of brimstone, but something else, too. Something rank and fetid like a rotting body left too long in a hot closed room. A moist odor, out of place on the searing wind.
Destiny stopped, and we crouched together. He had to shout to be heard over the wind's wail and the rush of lava.
“There are holes in the rock along this passage,” he yelled. “You must stay well below them. Something lives in there. If you show even an inch, it will get you. You must stay low. There is no rescue. Understand?”
Leaning into the wind, barely able to breathe, we entered a groove cut into the rock. Twenty feet in, Destiny pointed and dropped to his knees. The hole was four feet up, oval shaped, two by three feet. I felt eyes on me. The holes continued at irregular intervals. One was at foot level. I think the two men in the group were a bit more leery than Sneaker as we stepped over that hole. A burning ash found its way to my neck. I jerked my head as I slapped at it. Then fell to the ground as I remembered I wasn't supposed to do that. We all sensed something massive move behind the rock and lost no time getting to the end of the groove.
We paused for a few seconds to suck in some relatively cool air when we heard the demon screams—three distinct ones and some miscellaneous.
Destiny said it was only a couple of miles to an exit that led to the Schoolyard. That was good news. I came to Hell to retrieve Brittany Hightower's soul. That's what I needed to be doing instead of meeting the Cavern natives with a Hell Crazy Hell Cop who slept on a bed of gold.
As we negotiated the flat trail on the upper level, heading toward the back of the cavern, guilt rode on my shoulder. In real time my arrival at the Schoolyard would only be five or six hours later than the normal uneventful trip. Nevertheless, I grew more anxious the closer we got to the exit. Sneaker picked up the pace, too, dogging Destiny's heels. So we were bunched up perfectly when the demons attacked.
Chapter Eighteen
They wanted us alive, otherwise we'd have been dead before we knew what happened. These demons, like demons in general, especially the minion demons in Helland Security, while well trained, were not very bright. I figured their commander, Major Molas, to be an exception to that rule. Before I parted company with Destiny, I wanted to discuss Major Molas.
The three demons who had survived the Beast Under the Falls stepped out from behind a huge square boulder and blocked the path, flammers leveled and cocked.
“Major Molas said to bring you to him,” said the Sergeant with three raw slashes on his arm and a short dog muzzle sticking out from his feathered head.
Destiny is short but broad. Using him as cover, Sneaker and I drew our weapons. I could tell by the way Destiny stiffened that he knew what we were planning.
“Tell the Major thank you for the invitation, but I have some place else to go now,” Destiny told the Sergeant.
“You will come with us,” said the Sergeant. “He said to bring you to him.”
“I don't think so,” Destiny said.
I dropped to my knee and took out the one on the left at the same time Sneaker took the right one. Like an old time gunslinger, Destiny drew his weapon. The Sergeant, reacting quickly for a minion, maybe that was why he was a Sergeant, fired first. The flame ball caught Destiny just above his left knee. It was a solid hit, and he went down with a scream that hurt my ears. The Sergeant, surprising me again with his quick thinking, darted behind the boulder.
“I'll get him,” I said.
Sneaker ignored me as she tore at her pack for a first-aid kit.
I ran in a crouch to the boulder. The Sergeant ducked around the other end. I followed. Too late, I realized I probably screwed up. Sneaker's admonishing yell confirmed it. The Sergeant stood behind Sneaker as she worked on Destiny, his flamegun a foot from her back. At that range, if he pulled the crooked trigger, even if I shot him, Sneaker and Destiny were toast.
“You will come with me to Major Molas,” he said. An imaginative conversationalist, was the Sergeant.
I put my gun in its holster and kneeled to help Destiny.
The old Hell Cop's burn was bad, six inches in diameter and half an inch deep. With efficiency born of experience (burns are a common occurrence in Hell) we treated the wound. There wasn't much we could do, really. Burns don't heal any faster or slower in Hell. The usual treatment was stop the pain, keep it clean and dry, and go about your business until a real world doctor could look at it. Destiny was going to need some serious looking at. We ignored the Sergeant.
“Looks like we're going to see Major Molas,” I said.
“Destiny,” Sneaker said, keeping a tight rein on her emotions. She had a lot of feelings for the old guy. “You seem to know Molas. Will he help you?”
Destiny, spacey from the drugs, grasped her arm and pulled her close. I leaned over to listen in.
“War is coming,” he whispered insistently. “There are some intelligent demons in Hell. Help Molas. He will help you, but nobody, no demon,
must know.” He took ten seconds to blink. “Get your souls to safety. Getter, I think you have other important work to do.”
“Is that what Reech meant?”
He nodded once and closed his eyes. The drugs had taken the edge off though the tenseness of his body and the careful way he moved told me he still endured a lot of pain.
I leaned back to think about that and touched the Sergeant who, by his grim expression, obviously had heard every word. Did he understand what we said? What would he do? Kill us? Report Molas to further his own career? Was he a Mephisto spy?
His flammer hung at his side. He seemed intent on Destiny's wound. I drew my hand toward my gun. If the Major was a friend, I couldn't let the Sergeant tell anybody what he'd heard. He turned his head to look down at me. In a curiously human gesture he held his gnarly hand out, palm down, indicating that I needn't shoot him.
Our eyes met. His eyes were small, slanted up. They had no white to them, red instead, with black pupils, and some intelligence. Also, they had a quizzical quality to them as if he had a decision to make and wasn't sure exactly what the question was.
Sneaker began wrapping the burn. The Sergeant decided something.
“Wait,” he said. He reached into a pouch on his right side. He brought out a purple rag and handed it to Sneaker. “Put on the wound. It will help.”
Sneaker looked from the rag to me to the rag to the demon's eyes. She took the rag and carefully unfolded it, revealing a yellow glob, like thick mashed potatoes. She wrinkled her nose at the smell, like old beer farts.
The Sergeant made a swirling motion.
“Use little. Cover all. Will fix.”
She looked at me. I shrugged, it was a new one on me. She poked the mass with a tentative finger. When it didn't jump and bite her she scooped some up with her fingertips and gingerly spread it over Destiny's wound. He stiffened at her touch, but she kept on. The Sergeant held out his hand for what was left.
“Now what?” Sneaker asked, not sure if she'd done the right thing.
“Wait.”
In less than a minute Destiny's face, bunched up with pain, began to relax. Another minute and his eyes fluttered open. His head rolled to the side, and he looked at our demon captor.
“Fire Moss Balm?” he asked.
The Sergeant nodded.
“Haven't seen any of that in years,” Destiny said faintly. “Thought it was extinct. Molas supplies you well.”
The Sergeant took a step backward and just stared.
“Speaking of Molas,” I said. “Do we still have to go see him?”
“Yes,” the Sergeant said.
I turned away so he wouldn't see my smile. Behind him, swooping down from the shadows a Flier lined up on the Sergeant's back. I had no doubt it was our rescue party, not reinforcements. Sneaker made to stand up.
I touched her leg and said, “Wait.”
“But ...”
Suddenly the Flier loomed large. Its long stick legs stretched out, claws closed, and amid a cloud of dust, the Flier yanked the Sergeant off the ground. More Fliers arrived. One of them was Orbuck.
“Destiny is hurt,” the young flier stated and asked.
“The Sergeant gave us some Fire Moss Balm,” Sneaker told him.
“Yes, will heal,” Orbuck said. “You are unhurt?”
“I'm fine. Thank you again,” Sneaker said.
“And thank you for me, too,” I said.
Orbuck came to attention and nodded to me in acknowledgment.
I looked up at the Sergeant dangling from the big Flier circling overhead.
“Orbuck,” I said. “Can you take him to Molas?”
Again the slight nod. Orbuck spoke to one of five Fliers gathered behind him.
To me he said, “Destiny cannot walk.”
“We can't leave him here,” Sneaker said.
Destiny took her hand. The tenseness had gone from his body though his weakness was evident as he struggled to sit up.
“Sneaker,” he said, his voice strong but rough. “You and Getter go and find your souls. It's your duty. I'll be all right. The Fliers will take care of me.”
“But we have a duty to you—.”
“No buts, Sneaker. Follow this trail. It comes out in 333. Use the Find to locate the door to the Schoolyard. Go on. Your young souls are waiting.”
He spoke to Orbuck in his own guttural caw and cackle language. The Fliers moved to him, crowding us out of the way.
“Go now,” Orbuck insisted. “It is not safe here.”
“No shit,” I mumbled.
We gathered up our equipment while they laid Destiny in a rough woven sling.
“Getter.” Destiny motioned me to him. “You think you are just another Hell Cop. You are more. Don't fight it when the time comes to be great. Hell and the real world may be in your hands. Be yourself.”
The Fliers took him then. Sneaker and I watched them spiral upward till they vanished into the high shadows. I worked hard at not thinking about what Destiny said. Then, as we came to a small rise in sight of the cavern end where the roof sloped into the floor, Sneaker asked over her shoulder, “What did he mean, ‘The fate of Hell and the real world may be in your hands?'”
“He didn't say fate.”
“That's what he meant.”
“He didn't know what he meant. He was delirious.”
She stopped and turned to me so fast I walked into her. She poked a slim finger at my chest.
“He was not delirious. He believed what he said. And I agree. When that Hound was after me and you suddenly appeared and then drew it away from me, I felt forces at work. I felt that a chain of events was working on you, that our meeting was not random. I forgot about it until we met Reech. And now this.” She came closer and concentrated on wiping the dust off my chest. “You're special, Getter, whether you know it or not, or like it or not. You're special to me, too.”
I think it got a degree hotter in Hell every time she touched me. I wiped the dust from her arms with trembling hands. It took a couple tries to free up my vocal chords.
“I bet you say that to all the Hell Cops who're destined to save the world.”
“That's right. One so far.” She put her hands on my face and kissed me. “You're going to be important, Getter, especially to me.”
“Everybody has their fifteen minutes. I wonder if Andy is down here somewhere?”
“You'll have an hour, at least.”
We stood for some minutes, holding each other, totally alone among ten billion souls. During that time I didn't give a damn about Hell or the real world. Just being important to Sneaker was all that mattered.
Eventually we came to the door. Using the Find we stepped cautiously through to section 333.
Chapter Nineteen
The first thing I noticed when I stepped through was the smell. Not the usual putrid stench or acrid reek of many other sections, but the heady aroma of cooking food. My mouth watered and my stomach growled. Unmindful of danger we stopped and closed our eyes and inhaled the nidor of sizzling steaks and roasting chicken, barbecuing ribs and baking salmon. Among the million scents that assaulted my nose were candied yams, fried onion rings, beans heavy with molasses, and, for an instant, sweet peas in butter like my mother made for Sunday dinner. Spices, too, garlic, dill, basil, and saffron, subtle to overwhelming, wove among the vapors. Cakes and pastries and fresh bread and pumpkin pie I could feel melt in my mouth and chocolate, rich, warm, sinfully seductive milk chocolate filled my nose and fogged my brain. An anguished cry of frustration broke me out of my olfactory reverie. I took several deep breaths through my mouth to clear the crumbs from my thoughts. The cry brought Sneaker around, too, and we inspected our location.
I had been in 333 before, but not in that area. We seemed to be in a back corridor that ran along the edge of 333 where it bordered on other sections. The wall opposite the door was blank stone for fifty feet in either direction, then began an endless series of openings that I knew were the halls where t
he damned suffered their eternal torment. Following my Find, we proceeded cautiously to the left.
The first soul I saw was an incredibly obese man straining against a leg iron attached to the rock wall worn smooth by millennia of sweating, frustrated souls. Great folds of fat quivered on the floor as the soul reached for the unattainable. I knew what he reached for; my nose told me.
The stout wood tables of the Hall of Gluttons were overloaded with every type of food humans had ever eaten, as long as it smelled and looked good. I didn't recognize some of it, but the huge roast turkey caught my eye.
No demons were in sight.
“I'm hungry,” Sneaker whispered in my ear.
“Dinner time,” I whispered back.
The souls, men and women, were secured to the wall every few feet. White, black, yellow, and gray blobs stretching into the distance. Gluttons trapped in their fat though they may not have eaten for a thousand years.
They ignored us at first as we picked at the table's offerings: a piece of steaming French bread, a perfect peach, an enormous lobster tail, a barbecued rib that literally melted in my mouth. I ripped the drumstick off the turkey and plunged it into a bowl of cranberry sauce. I worried a mouthful of dark, succulent meat off the leg. I'm sure my eyes rolled up in ecstasy.
That's when the souls began a sorrowful keening. To see actual humans actually eating must have been unbearable torture to them. I looked to Sneaker. She held a slab of steak in her hand that would choke a Dinocat. Juices dripped from her chin. But she understood the keening, and that it would attract demon waiters.
The fat souls were disgusting to look at, but their cries, which grew as more souls became aware of us, could not be denied. I saw by the mischievous glint in Sneaker's eyes that she had the same idea I had.
“I can't stand it,” she said. “We have to do it.”
“Right on,” I agreed. “Wait a second.”
I jammed the drumstick into a tub of mashed potatoes and slid it through a bowl of sweet peas. Holding the feast in my teeth, we grabbed the edge of the table and tipped it over. The table crashed, and the mountain of food landed, literally, in the astonished souls’ laps.
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