Give the Devil His Due

by Blackwell, Rob

  The man screamed then, begged whatever was pulling him down to let go. He frantically beat at his legs and tried once more to fight. But the flames grew larger and soon encompassed all he could see. In a few moments it would be too late. The heat was overpowering.

  As the fire seemed about to consume him, he saw a face in the dirt and arms reaching out to him. He couldn’t remember the name, but he recognized that face and could see it was calling him.

  “Quinn,” it said.

  He fought with all of his strength to move toward the stretched out hand, pushing himself through the air. For a moment he thought he would fall past it, hurtling into the red abyss below him. But with one more push he reached out and grasped the fingers of the hand tightly. He was still being pulled down, the flames licking his legs.

  But the arm dragged him into the earthen wall. He plunged into it — was absorbed into — and pushed forward, crawling through the dirt, desperate to escape the scene behind him.

  He couldn’t breathe, could only feel the pressure of rock and dirt all around him. The hand kept pulling him forward until finally, blessedly, he fell into an open cavern. He fell to the ground, dimly aware of the figure in front of him. He breathed in the air. It was rotten and stale, but it tasted glorious. He gulped it down, panting. He felt like he had crawled out of a grave.

  “I didn’t think you were going to make it for a minute there, mate,” the other person said.

  The man tried to acknowledge him, but could do nothing but continue gasping for breath.

  “I mean, he told me it would be difficult, but what an understatement,” the figure said.

  The man lay with his head on the ground, uncertain of what his companion was telling him. He understood the words, but their meaning was elusive. Who had told him it would be difficult? The man heard rocks falling in the cavern.

  “We have to get out of here,” his companion said. “Get up.”

  But the man couldn’t move. All he wanted was to lie there and breathe, knowing he was safe from that fire.

  “Now, Quinn!” his companion said. “You’ve got to get up now.”

  Quinn. The word was an answer to his puzzle, and the man realized it was his own name. With that thought came a flood of memories and emotions. He saw a rush of images — galloping through the darkness on a horse, fighting a horde of beasts, and finally the girl he had seen earlier. His name was Quinn. Her name was Kate. She was the love of his life.

  There were more sounds of rocks tumbling. The cavern walls around him seemed to groan and shake. A stone landed on Quinn’s hand, hurting him. From far away, he heard another noise, one he didn’t immediately recognize. It sounded like something was scratching in the earth nearby. And whatever it was, it was getting closer.

  Quinn looked at the dirty and blackened face of his companion, who had stretched out his hand to help him up.

  “My name is Quinn,” he said, still vaguely uncertain he was right. So much was coming back to him, but it was too much information delivered too quickly.

  “I sure as hell hope so or I just wasted a lot of damned time,” his companion said, and reached down to pull Quinn unsteadily to his feet.

  Quinn looked into the face of his companion and remembered his name.

  “You’re Janus,” he said.

  His companion smiled.

  “In the flesh,” he said. “And we’ve got to get moving before whatever lives down here comes after us.”

  Quinn remembered something that bothered him.

  “But you’re dead,” he said.

  “Takes one to know one, mate,” Janus replied. “We gotta go.”

  The sound of scratching was louder, and whatever was making it seemed extremely close. Rocks came crumbling down all around them and the earth below them lurched violently.

  Janus grabbed Quinn and pulled him forward. The cavern was lit by an eerie green light and Quinn could make out a small pathway, so narrow the two of them had to squeeze themselves through rocks on either side to proceed. The sharp rock walls scraped his flesh as he passed.

  The scratching sound was now unbearably loud and Janus had to shout to make himself heard.

  “We just have to get outside,” Janus said. “I hope it can’t chase us out there.”

  “You hope?” Quinn managed.

  “It probably can’t,” Janus said. “I think.”

  “Way to inspire confidence.”

  “Try not to think about it,” Janus said.

  Though he was more tired than he had ever felt in his life, Quinn kept moving, desperate to keep up with his best friend. They ran through narrow tunnels, slowing down only when they needed to squeeze through a small opening.

  But the creature behind them was getting closer. As Quinn squeezed through another rock formation, he was momentarily stuck. The walls around him began shaking and he heard something large digging through the cavern wall. It was almost on top of him. Janus helped pull him out on the other side.

  “We’re almost there,” Janus said.

  Quinn turned to look ahead and could see a pale light in the distance. Janus sprinted toward it, but Quinn found it hard to keep up. Every part of his body ached. He moved as fast as he could, but his legs felt unsteady.

  He heard the cavern wall collapse behind him and he turned to look back. The monster that emerged was hideously white, its large body writhing out of a hole it had eaten in the rock. Quinn couldn’t see all of its body, which crawled like a worm through the earth and stone. He couldn’t see any eyes either, but he watched as its mouth opened, showing rows of sharp teeth like a circular saw. Behind that, he saw another mouth open, and then another and another. All of them had teeth like razors.

  “What the hell is that?” Quinn asked.

  He didn’t get an answer. Instead the creature lurched forward, its multiple mouths opening and closing as Quinn stood there, transfixed. He dimly remembered a story he had read long ago about something called a Wyrm.

  The monster tunneled its way forward and Quinn could see greenish ooze on its white body. The stench of the thing filled the cavern, almost making Quinn gag. He watched as it came for him, opening its many mouths as if to swallow him whole.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder yank him backward.

  “What the hell are you doing, mate?” Janus yelled.

  Quinn’s head cleared and he began running as hard as he could. He and Janus sprinted toward the opening at the end of the tunnel. The creature was right behind them the whole way — Quinn could feel its hot breath on his back. He heard its outer mouth open and a screeching sound that came from inside the monster’s body.

  Then suddenly the two of them burst outside, emerging from the cave opening at the same time and tumbling down a hill in front of them.

  When Quinn rolled to a stop, he looked back to see if the Wyrm had followed them. All he saw were rocks caving into the tunnel. He heard another screech and felt another rumble in the earth. Then there was nothing.

  “Looks like you were right,” he said, still panting for breath. “He couldn’t come outside.”

  There was another earthquake below them.

  “You know what?” Janus said. “Let’s not test my theory. I heard that thing doesn’t like the outside. But I’m not sure he might not pop up for a bite.”

  But Quinn was no longer paying attention to the tunnel behind them. He looked around as he stood up and dusted himself off. The landscape was like nothing he recognized. Beyond a small path, there were rocks in every direction. He could see nothing growing out of the earth. It looked like he was staring at the surface of the moon.

  “Janus,” he said. “Where are we?”

  Quinn turned to see Janus giving him a look filled with pity. Janus pointed to an archway above them.

  “Can you read the words on that?” he asked.

  Quinn looked above him at an archway made of smooth, black stone with letters carved into it.

  “Lasciate ogne speranza…” Quinn started the
n shook his head. “What does that mean, Janus?”

  “Trust me, you know this phrase,” Janus said.

  With a sinking heart, Quinn realized he was right.

  “’Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,’” Quinn said.

  He looked at Janus, who nodded grimly.

  “You want to know where we are?” Janus asked. “Hell. We’re in hell.”

  Chapter 2

  Oct. 6, 2008

  Joe McAdams walked slowly to the jail cell, oblivious to the two guards who were attempting to hurry him forward. The fear on them was so palpable he could practically smell it. It was intoxicating, a perfume like no other. It reeked of power and authority.

  He proceeded into the antechamber at a lumbering gait as the trembling officer tried to push his massive bulk inside the jail cell. Joe resisted, but only because it reminded the guards who was the real master here. Once inside, he turned as they were about to shut the cell door and stuck his handcuffed hands out in front of him. The guard reluctantly came back inside and — after fumbling for several minutes — finally succeeded in setting Joe free. He grunted in satisfaction and watched as the two guards practically fell over themselves to shut the cell door and leave the room. They slammed the outer door when they left.

  Joe caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall outside of his cell. He was six feet four inches, a towering presence for as long as he could remember. Most of his body was covered in dark tattoos. Along his neck was a drawing of a dog collar with spikes attached to it. On his face were some old Maori war paintings he had seen in a comic book once. His head was shaved bald, but his beard was thick, black and hung to his chest. He knew he looked like a badass. It didn’t surprise him in the least that the cops who brought him here had run. He grinned at his mirror image in self-satisfaction.

  “You aren’t why they were so scared, you know,” a voice said.

  Startled, Joe looked to see a middle-aged man sitting on a bench at the far edge of the room across from his cell. Somehow Joe had overlooked him when he walked in.

  “You a cop?” Joe asked, and his voice mirrored his body. It was big and full of malice.

  “No,” the man replied. “The name’s Tim Anderson. I’m the editor of the local paper here.”

  “Huh,” Joe grunted. “I figured the media would want to talk to me. But I was counting on that hot chick from Fox News, or maybe the other one from CNN. Not sure I want to bother with you.”

  “You mistake me,” Tim replied. “I’m not really here for a story. Or not yours at any rate.”

  Joe stared through the bars at the small little man. He didn’t look like much, just an old dweeb with scruffy white hair and the air of a tired history teacher. He wasn’t sure why he was humoring the old man by even talking to him.

  “Oh yeah?” he said. “Then why are you here?”

  Tim looked down at his watch and then back at Joe.

  “I’m here to save your life,” he replied.

  Joe burst out laughing, a deep rumble that echoed throughout the room.

  “You think the cops are going to get rough on me?” he asked. “They can’t touch me. I’m…”

  “I know precisely who you are, Mr. McAdams,” Tim cut him off. “You’re the leader of The Destroyers. You’re wanted on suspicion of three murders, grand larceny, grand theft auto, and at least a dozen other fairly serious crimes.”

  Joe smiled at the mention of his biker gang. It had been on a roll recently, robbing convenience stores throughout southwest Virginia.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing, old man,” he replied. “I’ve worked hard on my reputation. You might have even left out a few things.”

  “I don’t doubt that’s true,” Tim replied. “But whatever you think you’ve done or deserve, you don’t know what’s coming for you. And when it gets here, you will very much wish you had opted to stay away from Loudoun County.”

  Joe laughed again.

  “I’ve heard about this place,” he said. “They said you all went a little nuts after that serial killer struck. What was his name?”

  “Lord Halloween,” Tim replied.

  “Yeah, him,” Joe said. “I liked him, he had style. The word is he drove this whole area bat-shit crazy. Looks like that’s true.”

  Tim stared back at him.

  “That may be truer than you know,” he said. “We paid a heavy price for Lord Halloween — and we’re still paying it.”

  “Listen, you can save the spook stories, okay?” Joe said. “I’ve been around a long time and trust me when I tell you I’m the scariest thing you will see in your life.”

  “Mr. McAdams, you aren’t even the scariest thing I will see all day.”

  The door flew open and a cop came running through. His face was white and he looked around until he spotted Tim.

  “It’s coming,” he said.

  “I know, Officer Kaulbach,” Tim replied. “Where is it?”

  “We’ve sighted it on Route 15, out by the battlefield,” Kaulbach replied.

  “That’s three times in a row it’s come from there,” Tim replied. “Remind me we need to look again at possible hiding places.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kaulbach said. “The Sheriff wanted me to tell you…”

  “I’ll be ready,” Tim replied.

  Kaulbach turned and started to walk back out the door.

  “When it comes, you keep your head down, okay?” Tim said.

  “I plan to be here,” Kaulbach replied. “The Sheriff…”

  “Wants you to stay alive, and so do I,” Tim said. “Trust me, there’s nothing you can do.”

  Kaulbach nodded and walked out the door, shutting it behind him.

  “Is that supposed to scare me?” Joe asked. “You guys get together for a little play or something? Nice try.”

  “In the past 10 days we’ve arrested three people for murder, with you being the third,” Tim said. “Would you like to know how many are still among the living?”

  Joe stared at him.

  “Bullshit,” he said. “You’re going to tell me I’m the only one?”

  “Exactly,” Tim replied. “And as I’m…”

  “Fuck you, whoever you are,” Joe replied, more shaken than he wanted to admit. “I don’t believe a word you’re telling me. I…”

  His words were interrupted by a sound outside. It sounded like someone laughing, a deep sound that echoed throughout the building.

  “He’s here,” Tim said and stood up.

  “Who’s here?” Joe asked.

  Tim ignored him. From outside came the sound of a galloping horse, and then, from within the building, the sound of breaking glass. The officers inside started yelling.

  “What the hell is that?” Joe asked.

  A voice cut through the sound of men shouting.

  “Open fire!” it said.

  “That would be Sheriff Brown,” Tim told the prisoner.

  There were dozens of shots after that and Joe put his hands to his ears. He looked at Tim.

  “What’s out there?” he asked.

  The gunfire tapered off. The voice from earlier shouted, “Rush him!” and Joe heard the sound of several people apparently trying to tackle a target. It was followed by a crash, then several more. Whatever was being attacked sounded like it was tossing men aside like rag dolls and barely even slowing down. Hollow laughter rang out again throughout the building. Joe heard more shouts and crashes, and this time they were closer to the outer door of the cell.

  “He’s going for the prisoner!” the voice called.

  Joe stared at the locked door across the room from him. He heard something approach the other side, its footsteps landing with a heavy thud. It stopped in front of the door. Some part of him insisted this was still a set-up, a bizarre prank played on him by the police. But the darker part of his mind knew that wasn’t right. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms were standing straight up and he sensed something… wrong… nearby. When he first began robbin
g grocery stores as a teenager, his grandmother had insisted that his actions would eventually catch up with him.

  “One day, the devil will come for you,” she had said.

  It looked like that day had finally come. For the first time in a long while, Joe McAdams was afraid. He backed into the far corner of his cell and waited for his doom to arrive. The door blew off its hinges, hitting the cell bars with a loud clang and then falling to the floor. A figure stood on the other side.

  “No,” Joe said. “That’s not possible.”

  What strode toward him was the stuff of legend and nightmares, a figure wrapped in a dark, rotting cloak. It was dressed in a torn and faded cavalry uniform, carrying a sword in a scabbard. Its singular feature, however, was what was missing. The figure had no head.

  Joe tried to back up farther, but was already against the wall. He looked around in a panic, trying to think of anything that he could use to defend himself. The figure walked forward and raised his leg to kick in the cell door. Joe didn’t doubt he could do it. He didn’t doubt anything anymore.

  “Wait!” a voice shouted and Joe turned to see Tim standing up and facing the headless soldier. “Kate, you have to stop this!”

  Surprisingly, the figure in front of Joe stopped and turned. It seemed to regard Tim for a moment before its attention went back to the prisoner. The Horseman raised his leg again to kick in the cell door.

  “No!” Tim called again and ran forward, putting himself between the Horseman and the cell. “This has to stop.”

  The Horseman put his leg back on the floor and once again appeared to regard Tim. A flash of bright light forced Joe to turn away. When he looked again, the Horseman was gone, replaced by an unassuming man in his mid-thirties. There was nothing particularly remarkable about him. He appeared just below six feet tall, thin with tussled brown hair. For just a moment, Joe was tempted to relax. This was the kind of man he could break in half. But he couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed. One minute the Headless Horseman was in front of him, now just some young guy.