Demon Gate: Beyond the 9th Circle: The Rapture Was Just The Beginning.

by Heath, Joel

  It took Spencer a good three hours to calm himself down enough to get back on the road, but he never stopped thinking about her or what might have been. Spencer was in sight of Albuquerque, which was a fairly large city. Unfortunately his only way to Arizona was to go straight through this city, which he did at more than ninety miles per hour.

  As Albuquerque vanished into the distance, he found himself looking even further back to Clovis where Gretchen had strangely vanished. The sun was almost gone when he arrived at Winslow, Arizona. He expected to find carnage. But instead he found a ghost town, eerily similar to Clovis. Spencer got out of his car to investigate. Looking around he found no bodies, only streets that were littered with all manner of debris; several cars in the vicinity were burnt to a crisp. Signs adorned the streets proclaiming the end of days and that God’s judgment was upon them. Wind whipped up the trash on the ground and old newspapers swirled around. Spencer caught a page from one; the date was April 8th.

  “So, they attacked everywhere on the same day,” Spencer surmised aloud. Then he began to wonder where the demons were now. Not that he minded not having to run for his life, he had been doing that since he left New Jersey. Then horrified apprehension took over as he read another article in the paper. “Reports of portals in Paris, France; Tokyo, Japan; London, England and Moscow, Russia.” “They’re everywhere, in every country, on every continent and every major city around the globe.” Spencer mumbled. He got back into his car and drove to the west end of town.

  He started looking for a place to stay the night and happened to come to the city cemetery at the west end. Hallowed ground. Maybe it might offer some protection. Spencer pulled into the cemetery grounds and parked near the center of the graveyard. He soon fell asleep. He hadn’t slept well since fleeing his home, and the added exhaustion of guilt from being forced to leave Gretchen wiped him out. It was a deep and immediate sleep.

  Some time in the night a face appeared in front of him, the face of a girl. “Why did you leave me behind?” Gretchen asked.

  “Gretchen?” Spencer asked. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why did you leave me behind?” Gretchen repeated. She spoke a third time but with a growl before transforming into a demon, dark and vicious with eyes as dark as the deepest levels of hell. The demon paused for split second before lunging, jaws gaping open and snarling.

  Spencer woke up screaming. Then, realizing that he was just having a nightmare, he managed to calm himself down. It was not yet light out, but Spencer figured that the safe zone was only hours away so he started his car and drove away. He wouldn’t get back to sleep for hours, so he may as well travel on.

  Leaving the city of Winslow behind him, he turned his attention to Flagstaff, which was the path to Prescott and a veritable army of allies that had survived the onslaught. Or so he hoped. For more than an hour Spencer drove in silence, not that he had any other choice. He switched on the radio hoping to hear an emergency beacon, something to indicate he wasn’t alone. There wasn’t much more than silence with the occasional static burst. The static bursts continued to grow in frequency never more than one every twenty five minutes.

  Getting to Flagstaff, Spencer turned south onto I-17 which continued south for another fifteen miles to state road 169. Smoke on the horizon left Spencer with a feeling of dread. It hung in the air like a thick fog. As state road 169 turned into state road 69, the thickening smoke turned the feeling of dread into a rising panic. A sign indicating Gurley Street passed on his right and the city of Prescott fell into view under a wall of black smoke. Thousands of human bodies littered the streets; none appeared to be battle ready. Every last one of them was a civilian that had been dead for at least two days.

  “What the hell?” Spencer began in disbelief. “Where’s the resistance?” A thought crossed Spencer’s mind; it was Gretchen’s question from when they were outside Dallas, Texas. Spencer felt the need to arm himself with more than the P-90 that was sitting in the back seat. The grenade launcher in the trunk offered the best protection. It was easy enough to load and arm the weapon.

  “HELLO?” Spencer shouted. He guessed that everybody was dead, but was not willing to abandon the hope that he was not alone. After three hours of searching and screaming for someone, anyone, all he could hear was the sound of his own voice echoing through the derelict town of Prescott.

  It was noon when Spencer decided to leave and head back to Flagstaff. His plan would take him to Vegas; maybe there was something there he could use for his own protection. Leaving Prescott behind he headed back to I-17.

  As he merged back onto I-17 he saw something in his rearview

  mirror. It looked like someone dressed in an offwhite cloak. The figure’s face was concealed in the shadows of the hood. In their hand was a type of weapon, a sword; the blade was about three feet long, sharp and smooth. Light reflected off the silvery blade, the ivory white hilt was held firm in his right hand.

  Spencer slammed on his breaks, grabbed the P-90, got out and pointed it at … nothing. The strange figure was gone. Now he had a concern that his sanity was slipping. Was he hallucinating? Spencer looked around for a couple seconds before getting back into his GTO, putting the gun on the seat beside him and rubbing his eyes and face.

  Spencer reached for a bottle of water and took a swig. He just about did a spit take when he saw the man right outside the windshield. Spencer went for the closest weapon at his disposal, the Glock in his center console. Looking away for a half a second, when his gaze rose to look at the man, he was gone. Spencer looked around for the strange man. When he didn’t see him he put the gun away, shifted the car in to gear and sped down the interstate. He just wanted to get the hell out of there. He caught himself stealing a glance in his rearview mirror shortly after leaving; checking to see if maybe the man was still there.

  After an hour, Spencer merged onto I-40 and continued his trek west. His brain was running over time. That was strange, who was that man? Where did he come from? And where did he go? Was he real? Was he a projection of Spencer wishing for divine help?

  Spencer glanced down at the

  speedometer, which read ninety-seven miles per hour as he shot down I-40 past a sign for Kingman, AZ. An advertisement for a truck stop flashed by. His first impression was to bypass the truck stop and keep heading for the Nevada border but at the last second, he veered off the interstate and onto the off ramp. Pulling onto Blake Ranch Road Spencer saw a series of gas pumps to his right so he pulled over stopped his car and began to fill up. It was now second nature to always top off the gas tank at any opportunity.

  The truck stop was being powered by a series of solar panels that looked very new, as if they had been installed in the last few months. It wasn’t enough to fully power the truck stop, but the pumps had fuel and power and there were flickering lights in the plaza. Then he noticed the bodies no less than three dozen horned creatures, the hive queen lay dead among a cluster of other demons, not a single one of them was human. That’s when he saw a shape inside, so he grabbed the P-90 checked the magazine and left his car to investigate.

  Walking in the door he got the barrel of a shotgun in his face.

  “Whoa!” Spencer shouted and the gun was retracted.

  “Sorry, I thought they had sent more.” The man apologized, “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “You almost scared something else out of me.” Spencer said. “Wait. Are you expecting more?”

  “One of the demons got away, he probably just went for backup.” The man explained he was wearing a black tee shirt, black jeans and black boots that resembled modern cowboy boots.

  “When was that?” Spencer shot back.

  “An hour and a half ago, maybe more.”

  “Why the hell are you still here?”

  “I wouldn’t make it half a mile before the tore my head off…literally.”

  Spencer glanced out the door to his car fueling up.

  “Well good news, I have a muscle car on steroids crossed
with a Prius.” Spencer began, “I was just getting gas.”

  “Really, ‘cause the burritos are on the next aisle over.”

  “Smartass. I like your humor though.”

  “Thanks, it’s all I’ve got left.”

  “Great.” Spencer commented. “Let’s load up what we can into the trunk of my car and get the hell out of here.”

  “By the way, my name is Vince Masters.”

  Spencer and Vince grabbed what they could before heading out to the car. Thunder rumbled on the horizon, the thunder of a thousand demons drawing near.

  “So, we’re supposed to fight off these demons with food and water?” Vince asked.

  “And guns, big ones.” Spencer said closing the trunk and heading for the gas pumps.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Vince asked as Spencer started to spread gasoline everywhere.

  “I’m hoping that I can send some of them back to Hell.”

  “That’s brilliant. Remind me to buy you a drink later.”

  “Buy? Humanity has fallen, money has no value. We’ll just get one when we get to Vegas.” Spencer corrected.

  “Let’s hope we get out of this in one piece,” Vince said with a tinge of

  disappointment. “You do realize this won’t kill them until we kill the queen?”

  “This won’t.” Spencer said succinctly then pointed to a large propane tank next to the plaza. The tank was glistening white and was nearly twenty feet long and six feet high.

  Vince caught sight of the huge propane tank and then glanced at Spencer.

  “You’re insane.” Vince commented.

  “The end of the world does have that effect.” Spencer replied. “Grab another nozzle and start pumping more gas.”

  It took an hour, but Spencer and Vince drowned the station in gas before getting in the car. The sun was minutes away from vanishing behind the horizon.

  “What now?” Vince asked.

  “We wait. But when I tell you, light and throw this,” Spencer said handing Vince a flare, but in the diminished light it looked more like a stick of TNT.

  “What if I miss?” Vince asked.

  Spencer looked around before he replied.

  “I’d rather you didn’t, you might spoil my surprise,” Spencer said.

  They didn’t have to wait long. The thundering noise of the oncoming demons grew louder, like a million roaring engines. And then they appeared on the horizon, moving in from the northeast like a rogue wave, cold and seemingly unstoppable. Spencer and Vince were sitting in their secluded car on the west end of the lot; they were waiting for all hell to break loose.

  Finally the first demon set foot into the pond of gasoline. Spencer put his hand on Vince’s arm and shook his head. Vince

  squirmed, ready to toss the slow burning flare but Spencer kept him in check until the advance guard of the horde had reached the building. They saw the men and the car now and just as they leapt forward to charge…

  “NOW!” Spencer shouted.

  Vince lit the flare and tossed it out the window, and it landed three feet from the gas.

  “Damn, I missed.” Vince mourned.

  “Don’t worry,” Spencer said.

  “Who’s worried?” Vince asked.

  “We still have a backup plan,” Spencer reminded as he raised a remote detonator he had retrieved from the back of Louis’ truck two days earlier. Spencer raised the protective cover and flipped the switch.

  Instantly the entire station erupted into a minefield of fire and smoldering shrapnel as the propane tank exploded, and then it was all over. Spencer tossed the detonator into the back seat, started the car, and sped away.

  “How much longer do you…” Vince was silenced by the deafening noise of the gas main under the truck stop exploding.

  “Do you think any of them survived?” Vince asked while the fire raged behind them at an ever-increasing distance.

  “I hope the blast waited until it got the queen, but I would rather not go back and find out,” Spencer replied as he got onto I-40 and sped away.

  “So, we’re heading to Vegas?” Vince asked.

  “That’s right,” Spencer replied.

  Vince stayed quiet.

  “What’s wrong?” Spencer asked.

  Vince took a deep breath before going on. “Are you sure Las Vegas is really the best option?” Vince asked meekly.

  “For the moment, yes.”

  I-40 went west for another few miles before turning south just outside Kingman Arizona where Highway 93 picked up and headed to the northwest towards the Colorado River where highway 93 crossed over on a bridge that was a marvel of modern engineering.

  A gaping precipice opened up and to Spencer’s horror he realized something was missing. It was the bridge over the Colorado River. Spencer slammed on the breaks and skidded to a stop before his car plunged hundreds of feet into the gorge below. Spencer got out and approached the edge of the demolished

  suspension bridge.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Spencer shouted, “The bridge must have collapsed. Or it was knocked down.” Spencer considered.

  Vince approached and looked to the north. “What about the dam?” Vince asked.

  Spencer turned to survey the dam, the light had faded, the dam stood cloaked in darkness. “I hope it’s still crossable.” Spencer said running back to the car.

  Spencer and Vince jumped in. Spencer shifted in to reverse and jolted backwards then flipped the wheel around to face the car away from the gaping maw before shifting into drive.

  “What do you think destroyed the bridge?” Vince asked.

  “I’m more concerned with getting across the dam before something happens to it too,” Spencer said as he sped back up the road to an older road, US-93X, which ran by Highway 93 before running under it and winding through the terrain which quickly opened up to show the massive concrete structure holding back the entire Colorado River.

  Vince looked at the river as Spencer slowed for the crossing. “That’s odd,” Vince said as they started passing over the dam.

  “What’s odd?” Spencer asked.

  “Does the water level look a little high to you?” Vince asked.

  “How the hell should I know, I’m from Jersey.” Spencer retorted.

  Vince seemed uneasy as water splashed over the crest of the dam. Then he took a glance upstream towards Lake Mead. “Oh, damn,” Vince said in fearful awe as a wall of water fifteen feet higher than the top of Hoover dam rushed in. Where had it come from? Spencer knew they were sitting ducks on the bridge so he hit the gas and crossed the rounded shape of the dam’s crest seconds before the water crashed over the top.

  “That was close.” Vince remarked as the GTO sped down a small avenue before the road made a hairpin turn, forcing Spencer to drift around the turn on his way towards Sin City.

  There was a dark, heavy feeling in the air as Spencer and Vince closed the distance to Las Vegas, but as the city came into view they couldn’t believe what they saw. It was obvious from the road leading into the city that most of the metropolis was flooded; everything east of I15 was submerged beneath what must have been fifteen feet of water.

  Several miles distant the Stratosphere Tower was visible yet still the size of a

  matchstick protruding up from the ground, it was still far enough away from the major flooded street; that was their objective. A single line went towards the tower; it was the Las Vegas beltway, which circumnavigated the city allowing Spencer to avoid most of the flooded parts of the city. Once on I-15 they realized how quiet the city was.

  “I wonder if a portal opened here,” Spencer wondered aloud. Turning off of I-15 they noticed the level of the water was not close to the Stratosphere.

  Spencer and Vince got out. “Do you think the elevator works?” Spencer asked.

  “I hope not. I kinda hate heights.” Vince declared. Vince looked up the road. “Have you ever been here?” Vince asked.

  “No, have you?” Spencer
retorted.

  “I came to Vegas a couple times a year. There are a series of pawn shops up the road from here. I’m willing to bet most haven’t been flooded, I’m willing to bet at least one ran guns for one of the Las Vegas crime bosses.”

  “What the hell are you saying?” Spencer demanded impatiently.

  “They may have some really big guns or at least lots of extra ammo. I think we should go check them out.” Vince suggested.

  “You know, a decent sniper rifle would come in handy if another hive queen comes our way.” Spencer conceded.

  “The seedier the better.” Vince

  commented.

  Spencer and Vince climbed back into the car and headed up the street a couple blocks past Charleston Boulevard.

  The first pawnshop just had a bunch of computers, jewelry, DVD’s, television sets, and old tools. The next pawnshop Vince seemed excited about.

  “This is where they made that show.” Vince said excitedly as they walked through the shattered front door. The selection at the second shop was a lot more impressive, but there were no decent guns. There was an old cannon, but getting it to the top of the Stratosphere would prove to be more of a chore than it would be worth.

  As they exited the pawnshop, Spencer turned to Vince, “Where’s the next one?”

  “A few blocks north,” Vince replied.

  As Spencer climbed out he glanced at the sun, then at his watch. It was getting late. “If we don’t find anything I’m pulling the plug on this scrounge mission.”

  Vince followed Spencer in, anxious about what they were going to find. Passing through the door they found several guns, most were the kind a girl would have in her purse, the rest were destroyed and lying in pieces like everything else in the pawn shop. Spencer made it to the back wall. Walking behind the counter he saw much of the same.