A car and the ability to drive it would make the journey to Los Angeles that much quicker — and easier. He’d sat and thought about it for a while, idly playing with the keys, and realized that while it seemed like a good idea at first, the plan was deeply flawed. Many roads between Jacob’s Ladder and Los Angeles would no doubt be blocked by traffic — cars like this one that had been emptied of their occupants by the Rapture. Then there was gas to consider. The sole gas station in Jacob’s Ladder had been sucked dry by those fleeing the town following the Rapture, and Sam suspected that most gas stations across the country would be in a similar state.
So driving was out. Flying an Astaroth — out too. Resigned to his present course of action, Sam continued walking towards the terminal.
Closer inspection revealed that the building was heavily fire damaged. One whole wing had collapsed, presumably as a result of the numerous earthquakes directly following the Rapture. As he got closer to the glass and corrugatediron structure, something moved behind one of the sooty glass windows. It was a fleeting glimpse but Sam was sure it must be human. The image of a dirt-smeared and terrified face burned into his retinas.
Cautiously, he moved towards the entrance. The doors had been smashed off their hinges and Sam spied traces of Lemure prints in the ash. He put one hand on the reassuring hilt of his wakizashi and edged into the building. It appeared deserted. He crept over towards the window where he thought he saw the face. Fresh footprints in the dust and ash traced a path towards the far end of the terminal.
He bent down to examine the tracks more closely. Definitely human — he could tell from the tread marks of soles. Lemure, from his experience, didn’t wear shoes.
A door slammed. The noise startled him; he was standing and the wakizashi was half cleared of its sheath before he even realized it. He waited, frozen in a fighting stance with the wakizashi still drawn, but the terminal remained eerily silent. Over the last few weeks, he had become accustomed to the lack of sound with the departure of many humans and most wildlife, but the terminal seemed even more unnaturally quiet.
He crept forward, his eyes trying to take in everything at once. Part of his conscious mind registered the existence of two vending machines, and although they appeared empty, he noted them mentally for later investigation.
Nothing emerged. No humans. No demons. Still no sound. Taking cautious strides, he picked up the pace. The footprints led to a heavy door set behind the check-in counter. Long, deep scratches that he immediately recognized as the work of Lemure claws scarred the door. He paused, bent down and placed his ear against it. Even then, though the door was clearly thick and stoutly built, he thought he could hear some shuffling and whispering issuing from behind it. His hearing, like his vision, had always been acute.
He knocked, hesitantly at first, and then progressively more firm. There was no answer but he could hear movement. Someone was standing on the other side of the door.
He stopped knocking. Silence, then a hesitant voice.
“Go away.”
“I’m human,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help.” It was probably pointless but he had to try.
“Go away,” said the voice again, more firmly this time.
“I have some food,” he said. It was true — he did have some food — but not really enough to share. A part of him, a selfish part that was probably his demonic side, wanted to leave them to their fate. There was another piece of him, however, that Hikari and Aimi had nurtured over the years, that told him that this was not the right thing to do.
He heard whispering behind the door again. There was a scrape as a series of bolts were being drawn and then the door opened a crack. An eye and part of a dirty face peered out at him.
“What sort of food?”
The person — Sam couldn’t be sure whether it was male or female — was clearly terrified. Only the thought of food had made them take this desperate move.
Sam shrugged. “Beans, mostly. Here, I’ll show you.”
The eye watched him closely as he drew the katana out of its sheath. Careful not to make any sudden moves, he laid the sword gently on the ground and took off his backpack, unsnapping the clasps and tilting the pack towards the door so the contents could be seen.
The door opened a fraction wider. “I can’t see,” said the voice. “Put the pack down and step away.”
It made sense. It was very gloomy in the terminal and the inside of Sam’s pack was probably even gloomier. He could see clearly but the human probably couldn’t. Sam knew it was probably a bad move, but he did as he was asked.
As soon as he was a few metres away, the door opened wide enough for a gaunt, dirty human to emerge. It was male, probably no older than Sam and vaguely recognisable as one of the teenage boys from town. The boy darted out, grabbed the pack with one grubby hand, and was about to carry his prize back into the room when Sam moved.
Understandably, the teenager had clearly underestimated Sam’s speed — the innate demonic reflexes honed by years of training. No human could possibly match them …
Sam grasped the pack and there was a brief tussle for possession before the human boy capitulated, aware that he couldn’t compete with such strength. He let go and attempted to scurry back through the door. Before the boy could slam it shut, Sam scooped up his katana with his free hand and wedged his foot into the opening. The heavy door crashed into Sam’s toes but he hardly noticed the impact.
He pushed the door open, sending the boy sprawling back into a windowless, dimly lit room. It was a storage room by the look of it — racks and shelves were piled with bags and other assorted travel items. A small kerosene lantern cast flickering, uncertain light over the scene. It was more than enough for Sam to see clearly. Behind a makeshift wall of luggage, three figures huddled together, casting fearful glances in Sam’s direction.
The boy scampered to his feet, leapt the mountain of luggage and joined the other terrified figures.
“Please don’t hurt us,” said one of them — a woman. Probably the boy’s mother. Other than the boy, she was the biggest of the four. The other two were clearly children. One of them started to sob.
Sam said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak. These people would’ve taken his food and left him to starve. He felt anger well up inside him like smouldering embers that had just been rekindled.
“I know you,” said the boy, a look of recognition sweeping over his face. He stood more upright and moved away from his mother.
Sam nodded, but still said nothing.
“You’re that freak,” the boy said. “The one that lives with Aimi and that little Japanese man on Main Street.”
Sam recognized him then. He was a senior at high school. The same age as him. He’d met him before, even saved his life — not that the boy ever thanked him. Sam racked his memory for the boy’s name.
“So, you remember me then, do you, Jake?” he asked in a low voice.
Jake’s eyes widened fractionally. His eyes flickered to the katana still in Sam’s hand and then to the wakizashi tucked in his waist. Sam could guess what was going through the other boy’s mind. He had just called a well-armed intruder a freak. Not only that, but he was unarmed himself with his mother and two younger siblings to protect. Given the past relationship the two boys had had, it was not a good move. Not a good move at all.
Jake attempted a nervous smile which came out more as a grimace and not even close to the reassuring gesture he’d intended.
“I do remember you,” said Jake, his voice a hoarse whisper. “But … but, aren’t you one of them? You’re a demon.” The boy was almost pleading with him, like he wanted Sam to disagree with him and tell him it wasn’t so.
Sam smiled. Some of the teenage boys in the town had always had their suspicions. He expected this. He’d been treated this way all his life. Distrust, hatred — it was all the same to him now. He wondered why he even bothered to help those who renounced him, but then the faces of Hikari and Aimi — e
specially Aimi — flashed into his mind and he knew why. He did it for their sake, for the sake of those he loved.
“Only half,” he replied, pulling down his hood to show them his horns.
The mother gasped, gathering the two small children closer to her bosom. Jake seemed to shrink within himself and unconsciously shuffled closer to his family.
“What are you going to do with us?”asked the mother. She was trying to put on a brave face, but Sam could tell she was almost paralysed with fear. Like Jake and the children, she was terribly thin. Her clothes were ripped and torn in places and her hair and the bits of skin that Sam could see were covered in filth. They had obviously been here some time.
Not a bad choice, he mused. The room was relatively secure — it seemed to have resisted the attacks of the Lemure so far — and he could see large half-filled water containers and piles of vending machine wrappers in one corner.
“I’m going to help you,” said Sam, “and give you the food you would’ve taken if I’d let you.”
He dropped his pack, put down his katana again and pulled out five cans of beans — nearly half his remaining supply — and stacked them neatly in front of him. He still had his stash in Devil’s Garden but was unsure how long that would last. This was meant to be his reserve and was probably the difference between crossing the Rockies in reasonable condition and starvation. But — and he had to keep telling himself this — it was the right thing to do.
The four humans eyed the food greedily. As soon as he turned his back, they would pounce on it like hungry jackals.
Sam secured his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He picked up the katana with the toe of his shoe, flicked it into the air, caught it and sheathed it all in one movement. It was part theatrics and part warning, but he could see from their wide eyes that it had made the required impact.
No-one moved, no-one talked. For a moment, Sam had a vision of how this scene would look in a painting: the huddled, pathetic figures in the corner confronted by the tall, menacing demon warrior in dim, flickering light. Then a wave of sorrow passed over him. His anger was completely gone, washed away by this new emotion. These people were harmless and desperate, lack of belief their only sin. The woman’s husband was gone and her family had lost their father. They had hardly any food, little water and lived under the constant nightly threat of being taken by demons. No wonder they tried to steal his food.
“Come with me,” he said.
It was an impulsive move and he knew it was a stupid thing to do. These people would slow him down and there was no way he could possibly protect them all at night, but he couldn’t leave them here. The door would only protect them for so long. Eventually, they would run out of supplies and have to go elsewhere. The demons would get them and it would be his fault if he stood here and did nothing.
Jake and his mother shared a look. The mother shook her head. Jake made a snorting noise under his breath. “Go with a demon? I don’t think so.”
The warm, early evening breeze felt good against his face. He pulled down his hood and let the wind ruffle his already unkempt black locks. Aimi used to brush it back from his forehead for him. He missed her touch.
Wafers of ash fluttered against his face but he wiped them off, uncaring. He sniffed the air. It smelt of sulphur but then again, it had for a while now. Sam wasn’t sure whether this was from all the volcanic activity or because the demons had brought the stench of hell with them. Either way, he was not fussed. He almost liked it — it seemed familiar somehow.
The clouds were darkening with the onset of night. The moon would be out shortly. He really should get going and look for a place to hole up but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to move. Instead, he continued to sit, staring out over the airport some two miles away.
He was racked by indecision. He wanted to go back and lead that family out of the airport terminal but he knew they would just spurn his offer. He could do it forcibly if necessary, but that would be pointless. So he continued to sit as night closed in.
Since leaving the airport, he’d spent the day in Devil’s Garden, hunting down his food stashes amongst the arches and canyons in the area, digging up his supplies from small, hollowed-out niches in the slick rock. The place had changed dramatically since the Rapture, the once red rocks now gray, depressions filled up with piles of ash. Even so, he was able to find everything he needed easily. The place, usually a huge attraction for hikers and tourists during the day, had been his night time refuge and training ground for many years. The naturally occurring features were more familiar to him than his own bedroom had been.
He’d spent some time training, letting his swords work through the forms while he let his mind go blank. Later, he sat atop Pine Tree Arch near the start of the scenic trail and meditated. Usually, when he’d finished, he felt at ease and relaxed, but this time he was still deeply troubled. It was the family, of course.
Without even realising it, he’d started walking north, back towards the airport when he should have been going west. And this was where he’d found himself an hour later.
Darkness descended all at once, the clouds parting to reveal the blood moon. He got up, cursing under his breath. He knew he’d left it too late to find some other bolt-hole. Nothing for it then — he’d have to take refuge in the terminal. A part of him realized that it was his intention all along. As he loped down towards the airport, he heard the eerie sound of demon screams floating on the evening breeze. They were still in town but he knew they’d be coming this way soon. He felt it in his bones.
He picked up the pace, a sense of urgency suddenly upon him. Something was different. Something was wrong. The demons were coming alright. He sensed them in the darkness, gathering in great numbers, a vast horde surging through the night. He knew an Astaroth was with them; its very presence caused his head to throb.
Why this night would be any different, he had no idea. He just knew he must reach the terminal before they did. He raced onwards, skipping over objects that would have tripped a night-blind human.
The terminal was only a few hundred feet in front of him when he saw them. It was an army of them, Lemure in their hundreds. Above their heads, not one but three Astaroth soared. He wasn’t sure, but it looked like they could reach the terminal before him.
He gasped and faltered momentarily but he was committed now and he resumed full speed, driving forward with every ounce of his being.
A score of Lemure reached the terminal entrance ahead of him. Sam charged, drawing both swords and slicing through them like a scythe through wheat. They went down before him, dissipating into ash fragments and suddenly, he was inside the terminal.
He heard screams and looked down the length of the building towards the storage room. Clustered around the smashed door were many more Lemure. He was too late. They had the family struggling within their midst. Jake turned just at that moment and met Sam’s gaze, a mixture of horror and accusation filling his eyes as he was dragged away. Sam felt guilt and intense anger in equal measure. He tried to battle his way towards them but dozens more Lemure blocked his way.
He was surrounded now and he cursed himself as a fool. He would be of little use to the family — or anyone else for that matter — if he was dead.
The terminal entrance was now blocked by hundreds of Lemure, a screaming, surging mass, rabid in their lust to reach him.
He cut down three Lemure with one long sweep of his katana, blocked two more claws with his wakizashi and, in the slight gap created by their vaporizing forms, made a dash for the window. He leapt through it despite it being hardened glass, and landed in a crouching position amidst a shower of glassy fragments. There were hundreds — perhaps thousands — of Lemure clustered around the terminal. His mouth dropped open in horror.
The noise of their screams was deafening. Even he was stunned by it, and it was almost his undoing. Only his reflexes saved him as a shadow passed over and a mighty blast of wind heralded the attack of an Astaroth.
He rolled to his feet, and felt rather than saw the downstroke of blows miss him by a finger width. His swords were extended and ready.
The Astaroth had landed less than ten feet before him. A cluster of Lemure, too slow to avoid its descent, lay crushed beneath its clawed feet. The other two Astaroth circled lazily some distance above.
Folding its wings, the Astaroth raised all four swords so that they were pointing at Sam. Sam hadn’t noticed before but the Astaroth had eye slits in its armoured helm. The fiery coals of its eyes glared at him as it took one massive stride in his direction. The Lemure pulled back — either out of fear of the Astaroth or following unspoken instructions — creating a circle around the combatants. His own eyes burned, and Sam suddenly realised they must be the same colour as his adversary’s.
He would not survive this. If the Astaroth didn’t defeat him, surely the thousands of Lemure would. Strangely, however, he felt no fear this time, only heartbreak as he knew he would never see Aimi again. Even in death, Heaven was denied him. Suddenly, he felt rage course through him at the injustice of it all. It was just so unfair. He let the anger build and channelled it as Hikari had shown him, using it to power his body.
The Astaroth was within striking distance now, its ten foot, armoured body towering over Sam. All four swords swept out, each one endeavouring to take a different attack angle. Sam had no way to block all four; perhaps two, but never four. Time seemed to slow. He had two options: attack and die, or retreat and hope that he escaped the reach of the huge broadswords.
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