The Fallen 3

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  He left Pavel where he’d found him and moved on to the others. He found Nikolai alive but barely conscious. Another worker—Vadim—who had begun working in Ulyanovskaya only a few weeks previous, was also living, although his legs had been badly injured, likely broken.

  The rest of Anatoli’s crew were not so lucky.

  He appeared to be the most unscathed from the blast and ensuing cave-in, and was able to cautiously crawl about to investigate their surroundings. It didn’t look good. They were trapped within a fairly large pocket, fallen rock surrounding them on all sides. The phone that was their only connection to the surface had been smashed beyond repair.

  Anatoli half considered trying to dig out some of the smaller rocks to see if he could find his way into an adjoining passage, but he was afraid of loosening more stone and jeopardizing their small sanctuary.

  “Looks like we’re going to be here for a little while,” he said, turning from the wall of rock to the other two survivors.

  Nikolai moaned as he sank into the grip of unconsciousness, while Vadim began to sob.

  Anatoli busied himself with trying to find the first-aid kit amid the debris, anything to help his two comrades with their pain. And that was when the screaming began.

  It was Vadim.

  Anatoli turned, illuminating the man’s thrashing body with his headlamp. He crawled on his belly over broken rock to his comrade, and was ready to lay a comforting hand upon his shoulder when he realized that there already was a hand on Vadim’s shoulder. In fact, there were two, one on either side of the man’s head. And the hands were sticking out from the wall of loose rock behind Vadim.

  Anatoli could not fathom what he was seeing, his brain attempting to rationalize. At first he thought it was one of their own, reaching through the rock wall from a pocket on the other side, but there was something not quite right about the hands.

  They were large, the skin leathery and dark brown. The thick fingers were clawed, and they ripped through Vadim’s heavy work shirt into his flesh beneath. Anatoli glimpsed the reflective shine of blood in his headlamp.

  “Help me,” Vadim begged, eyes wide with fear.

  Anatoli reached out to grab Vadim’s outstretched arms, but he did not act quickly enough. The clawed hands yanked mightily upon Vadim’s shoulders, pulling his injured body closer to the rock wall at his back.

  Vadim cried out in pain and terror. Suddenly there were more hands pushing through the rock and grabbing at the injured man’s arms and sides. They continued to pull on him, and Vadim shrieked all the louder, struggling to escape their clutches.

  Anatoli grabbed one of Vadim’s legs, which caused him to cry out in agony. On reflex, Anatoli released it, not wanting to cause his comrade any more pain than he was already feeling.

  The inhuman hands weren’t so considerate. They continued to pull on the man as he helplessly fought to escape them.

  And that was when Anatoli noticed that the rock looked almost liquid. The entire wall of rubble at Vadim’s back appeared insubstantial as whatever was on the other side drew him toward it.

  “Help me!” the man screamed pathetically.

  A spidery fingers emerged above Vadim’s head and sank its talons into his helmet, crushing it like an eggshell as it yanked his shrieking head through the liquefied stone, muffling his cries.

  Anatoli dove forward, grabbing hold of Vadim’s booted ankles. It became a bizarre parody of tug-of-war as something on the other side of the wall pulled furiously on Vadim. Anatoli held on for as long as he was able, but whatever was trying to take his friend was too strong. One of Vadim’s boots suddenly came loose, sending Anatoli falling backward upon the jagged rock.

  Anatoli sat on the ground, clutching the empty work boot to his chest as he watched the sock-covered foot of his friend drawn through the liquid stone to the other side. All Anatoli could do was stare at the wall that now seemed solid. He was tempted to touch the stone, to test it, but he was afraid that the hands would be waiting and he, too, would be snatched away.

  It was then that he recalled something his grandfather had said, way back when he’d first talked about working in the Ulyanovskaya mines. The old man had warned him that one day they would dig too deep and they would find themselves in Hell.

  And as the hands clawed through the rock again, this time behind the unconscious Nikolai, Anatoli knew that his grandfather had been right.

  They had gone too deep.

  And Hell was now coming for them.

  Nikolai was gone. He had disappeared through the wall of rock, and now Anatoli was alone with the corpses of his fellow workers.

  The air had become thicker, and he was finding it harder and harder to breathe, but Anatoli did not—would not—take his eyes from the wall of black, glistening stone through which Vadim and Nikolai had disappeared. His vision began to blur, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing minute.

  Anatoli had pushed himself into the center of the chamber, as far away from the wall as he could, terrified that the moment he lost his struggle with unconsciousness, Hell would come for him.

  But Hell was impatient; Hell was eager to take him now.

  “No!” Anatoli screamed as the wall across from him began to shimmer. First the clawed hands dug through, followed by the most horrific faces, and then dark, skeletal bodies. One by one they crawled out of the wall and across the loose rock and rubble toward him.

  From the corner of his eye he could see more creatures entering from the wall to his left, but they seemed to be focused on those who hadn’t survived the cave-in, dragging the bodies away, one by one.

  Anatoli kept his gaze fixed on the creatures before him, and attempted to push himself away from their relentless advance. Long, oily black hair hung in front of their faces, obscuring everything but their extra wide mouths, filled with razor-sharp teeth.

  He wasn’t a religious man, but Anatoli started to pray aloud; the Lord’s Prayer swam up from the recesses of his childhood memories. It had been years since he’d last attended church, but something told him that if he was going to believe in Hell, then there must be room for Heaven as well.

  “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come.…”

  Still the creatures came, reaching long, clawed fingers toward him.

  “Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.”

  And then there was a flash of absolute brilliance, a light so bright and searing that for a moment he believed there had been another gas explosion, only this one appeared to be lacking any sound.

  The beasts hissed and wailed in the light, scrambling back across the loose earth toward the wall that separated this realm from their own.

  Blobs of black caused by the sudden brilliance undulated before his eyes as Anatoli turned toward the warmth and source of the light.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him.

  Wings furled upon their backs and weapons of fire in their hands. Anatoli counted ten in all. Angels … what else could they be?

  “We’re here to help,” one of them spoke to him in perfect Russian, and Anatoli’s previous thoughts were confirmed.

  If he was to believe in Hell, then there must be room for Heaven as well.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The trolls were gone.

  The light of the Nephilim’s arrival had driven the monsters away.

  Aaron had caught a glimpse of the creatures as he’d first unwrapped his wings, skin like leather, shaggy hair, limbs thick and long, with clawed hands that looked as though they could do some serious damage.

  Lucifer had been right. There was nothing at all funny about these trolls.

  “Check for survivors,” Aaron instructed the others as he knelt before Anatoli. Considering what he had been through, the man didn’t look too bad, just some bumps and bruises.

  “Are you hurt?” Aaron asked in Russian. The gift of tongues was inherent in all Nephilim, and it never ceased to amaze him when he opened his
mouth and heard himself speaking a language he’d never studied.

  The miner just stared at him, the tears from his eyes melting clean tracks through the thick layer of dust and dirt that clung to his face. Aaron guessed that the young man was in shock, with all he had just lived through—what he had seen.

  “You’re going to be fine,” Aaron reassured the man, reaching down to grip his shoulder and give an encouraging squeeze.

  “Am … am I dead?” the man asked, lips trembling. “Are you going to take me away?”

  “We’re going to take you out of here,” Aaron assured him.

  Vilma came to stand beside him.

  “Get him to the surface, would you?” Aaron asked her.

  She knelt down beside the man, taking him into her arms, allowing her wings to enfold them both.

  “I’ll be right back,” Vilma said. And then they were gone.

  One of the other Nephilim approached him. Janice was one of the more quiet of the group. She was petite and wore her hair in a boyish cut. She dressed always in black and had a tendency to keep to herself, blending into the background, never attracting attention. They’d found her in Michigan, living in a group home, zonked out on multiple forms of antipsychotic medication.

  Janice hadn’t needed pills to help her; she just needed to understand what she was, and to be with her own kind.

  “There isn’t anybody else,” she whispered.

  “Thank you, Janice,” Aaron said. “The air in here is getting pretty bad. We might want to think about—”

  One of the Nephilim screamed.

  Aaron and Janice looked over to where the others had been standing, checking for survivors, when the first of the trolls returned.

  The monster had thrust a spear out through the rock, impaling a Nephilim named Kirk.

  “Damn it,” Aaron roared, jumping to his feet.

  There was a disturbance in the air behind him as Vilma returned from her errand.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, retracting her wings.

  “The trolls are back,” Aaron replied quickly.

  Kirk stumbled back, away from the protruding spear, as the troll emerged from beneath the rock. Aaron had never seen anything like this. It was as if the rocks had turned to fluid, allowing the monsters to penetrate the stone.

  “Get back,” he ordered, as more of the trolls crawled effortlessly through the rock wall, wielding their spears, swords, and knives.

  Vilma and Jeremy dragged the bleeding Kirk away from where the trolls had emerged, and the others formed a line of defense before the advancing beasts.

  “What are you waiting for?” Aaron barked, summoning his sword of fire. “Let’s get to it.”

  The others reacted as well, their own specialized weapons forged from the fires of Heaven appearing in their hands.

  The trolls hesitated momentarily, shielding their eyes, the monstrousness of their forms illuminated in the light cast from the Nephilim’s weaponry. In the divine light of their weapons, Aaron saw how horrible these trolls actually were, skin like old leather, some of their flesh adorned with primitive tattoos.

  They blinked black, beady eyes before attacking en masse.

  The Nephilim acted as they had been trained, launching themselves at their attackers. Aaron spread his wings, joining the fray.

  The warrior nature of his being surged forward, and all that he saw before him was an enemy to be vanquished. A troll with a raised sword came at him screaming, and Aaron blocked the descending blade expertly, sparks flying as divine weaponry met one forged in the depths of shadow. Drawing back, Aaron saw the troll raise its weapon to strike again. It was an opportunity, and he took advantage of it, slicing his blade across the round, protruding belly of his foe. The sword of fire sizzled as it cut the taut flesh, the monster’s innards spilling out onto the cave floor, tripping another of the beasts as it bounded at Aaron, spear in hand.

  This attacker met with a similar fate, his leathery body cleaved nearly in two from shaggy skull to midsection.

  The trolls continued to pour from the liquid rock. There were far more of the ugly monsters than Aaron would have thought. When one fell, two more emerged from behind the rock wall. The trolls had little finesse to their attacks—lots of stabbing and hacking—but as primitive as their skills were, they were still dangerous, and he hoped that the others remained aware of that fact.

  Cockiness could get them killed.

  Aaron moved amongst his enemies, the warrior’s lust for battle tingeing his vision of the darkened world around him scarlet, and he expertly dispatched the monsters as they came at him. From the corner of his eye he watched the others, impressed by what he saw. The Nephilim were doing well; certainly they had sustained injuries, but the bodies and appendages that littered the rocky floor belonged entirely to the trolls.

  The ceiling of the collapsed chamber was low, no higher than seven feet in sections, and the Nephilim could not gain much in the way of altitude, but their wings allowed them to evade the trolls’ furious attempts at maiming and dismembering.

  But then the trolls adapted to their foes’ superiority, dragging crude nets from behind the wall of rock and tossing them over the flying Nephilim, dragging them to the ground.

  Janice was the first to fall. Frantically, she used her burning rapier in an attempt to cut herself free, but two trolls leaped upon her, one knocking her senseless with a club, the other stabbing her repeatedly with a trident.

  Her screams echoed obscenely through the chamber. Aaron fought, as did some of the others, to get to the fallen Nephilim’s side. He stabbed at the trolls who stood in his way, using his powerful black wings to sweep aside any who thought they might flank him. Cameron had reached Janice, but Aaron could tell by the look on the boy’s face that he was too late to matter.

  After seeing what had befallen their comrade, the Nephilim rallied to fight all the more savagely.

  Through a mist of blood and flying limbs, Aaron saw the girl that he loved, and found himself suddenly both excited and disturbed. Vilma fought with the savagery of a creature whose entire purpose was to eradicate evil from the world. She moved amongst the trolls as if they were standing perfectly still, cutting them down one after another, like wheat beneath the scythe. Here was violence incarnate, wrapped in the form of the most beautiful girl he had ever known.

  But he also remembered her before the angelic nature within her had matured.

  Watching as she unmercifully moved through their enemies, striking them down in a flash of her fiery blade, Aaron could not help but miss the innocent girl that used to be, and feel great sadness for what had been lost.

  “She’s a sight, isn’t she?” commented someone close by.

  Aaron spun around, still in the midst of his berserker fury, to see Jeremy Fox standing there, his clothing and exposed skin flecked with black blood. At his feet was a dead troll, a burning ax blade still stuck in its back.

  “Excuse me?” Aaron asked, not sure if he understood.

  “Your woman, there,” the British boy said with a lascivious grin. “She’s certainly a beautiful sight.”

  It took nearly everything Aaron had not to forcibly wipe that grin from the boy’s face. Instead he threw himself into combat against a dwindling enemy.

  Though at first their number had seemed endless, many of the trolls were now retreating back from whence they came, leaving behind their dead and wounded as they passed through the now permeable rock.

  Aaron found himself winding down, the throbbing of boiling hot blood through his veins slowing. He looked around. Some of their number had been injured, while others …

  Vilma knelt before Janice’s body, using a knife of fire to cut away the heavy netting that covered her.

  Aaron approached them.

  “Is she …,” Aaron began, knowing the answer but still wanting to ask the question, just in case there was a chance.

  “Yeah, she’s dead.” There was a cold indifference in Vilma’s tone.

/>   He could feel the others’ eyes upon him. They all were very aware that this could happen to any of them; it was stressed day in and day out. They were at war with the forces of darkness, and the forces of darkness could very easily take each of them down.

  “What now, Aaron?” William asked, and Aaron turned to see him standing at the rock wall. “Are we going after them?”

  There was a part of him that wanted to leave, to get away from this cold, dark place. Since becoming Nephilim, he’d had his fill of death, enough to last him for years, but Aaron knew that wasn’t what they were going to do. He was about to tell them his plans when another spoke up.

  “Of course we’re going after them,” Jeremy Fox said, pulling his burning ax blade from the skull of one of his troll victims.

  He advanced toward them, spinning his ax in hand, the blade spitting sparks that sizzled and hissed as they struck the puddles of blood that had formed on the ground.

  Jeremy’s eyes glistened in the twilight of the chamber as he stood before him, waiting for what Aaron had to say. Seeing a use for all that pent-up fury that the British boy still carried, Aaron stepped aside, gesturing to the wall.

  “Yeah, we’re going,” he said. “Just as soon as we deal with this obstruction.”

  Jeremy glared at the wall of rock, a cruel snarl of a smile forming upon his face as he came to realize what Aaron wanted him to do.

  “If you would be so kind,” Aaron encouraged.

  And Jeremy charged at the wall with a snarl, ax blade of divine power coming down upon the rock obstruction with a sound ringing like the end of the world.

  He went wild, fueled by his anger, hacking unmercifully at the wall. Slivers of rock exploded outward with every hit of Jeremy’s fiery battle-ax.

  Aaron’s wings unfurled reflexively, as did the other Nephilim’s, as they shielded themselves from the flying debris.

  Then, cautiously, Aaron lowered a wing and saw that Jeremy had made an adequate opening. “That should be good enough,” he said.

  But Jeremy continued to pound the pieces of rock into powder.