Where Ithuriel was right now.
Kevin shook his head, and pushed his legs on, his boots smacking into the wet quagmire. Wasn’t the time for questions he had no answers to.
He paused at the smoking building and took in the ruined shack, the scorched, blackened frame like a leering skull. The ceiling had partially collapsed, timber and plaster lying in a heap of debris over the beds inside. Smoke drifted through the hole, swept away by the rain and breeze, and flames played along the back wall. The wood creaked and crackled, and Kevin knew the whole thing would burn down, rain or not.
There was no way anyone still in there could be alive.
He turned just as a shout for help rang out. Kevin took off towards the sound, his heart racing. He had only run about five strides when he spotted the body, sliced in half, not far from the burning building. He recognized Logan right away, and the smoldering spark of anger began to burn again. He was a good kid, and he’d died for what?
How many had died today? How many had he lost before now, in the past week, the past month? The past year? When all the world burned, how long until all of Haven burned with it?
Kevin tore his eyes from Logan’s remains, and sprinted towards the guard shack, his teeth bared in a snarl.
If Haven was going to burn, he’d show the bastards a fire of his own.
▪▪▪
Emma came to, bouncing, her head swinging, jarring against something. Her clothes were soaked, water running down her neck, dripping from her hair. Her eyes blinked open, her nose brushing against a wet shirt. Someone was carrying her.
She coughed and wiped a hand under her nose, the back of her hand streaked with red. The man carrying her over his shoulder hummed under his breath, and the images replayed in her mind.
The man walking in, pushing her father away. Dad attacking the man, them fighting, rolling on the floor. Fire, flames hissing up the walls. The voices, the whispers in her head. And the one voice, the one that had reached in and tugged at her. The soothing voice that knew her, more than any of the others. Hurry home. Hurry home, Emma.
And that woman, Rachel, the one who had fought back. They had cheated her in the end. She would have beat Brad, Emma knew without question. Quicker and faster, her whip an extension of her arm, she was a fighter. Emma’s heart beat faster just thinking about it. She liked fighters.
But her dad, he was hurt and he was alone.
He’d tried to fight back, and what had that got him? She pictured him, lying in that burning room, reaching out for her, blood streaking over his swollen eye.
But he’d tried, even though she knew that he wanted to take her and race away into the shadows and hiding places. But he loved her, so he’d fought anyway. Just like Emma had to.
She reared up, her hands pushing against the man’s shoulder. “Let me down,” she hissed in his ear.
Brad grabbed her by the waist and tried to force her back over his shoulder, but Emma bit at his ear. She clenched her jaw and twisted, and he grunted. He crouched and set her feet on the ground, and Emma gave a last savage twist and let his ear go.
She tried to take off running, but the man’s grip was strong, too strong for her. He grabbed one of her arms and yanked her back towards him, his face inches from hers. She felt a wet trickle on her lip, and struggled against the sudden dizziness.
“Why run, Emma?” he asked, shaking his head, a sad little smile on his face. His ear glowed an angry red, but he showed no sign he’d felt it. “Don’t you want to go home? Don’t you want to see her?”
Emma didn’t know where home was, or who he meant by her, but there would be no home unless her dad was there with her. This felt all wrong.
“Let me go,” she growled between her teeth, but the words came out as a single word, a reverberating echo in her head. Abeam. She didn’t know the word, didn’t recognize it as it spilled from her lips, but somehow she knew it was right. She felt a tug in her head, like something had been pulled free.
Brad’s eyes went wide and his hands pulled back, palms facing her, releasing their hold on Emma.
Emma turned back the way they’d come, and started to run back through the woods. The embankment loomed ahead, just beyond the last of the trees. She grinned, seeing the compound not much farther off, the smoke and the faint outline of buildings. Dad was down there somewhere. She imagined his face, the way the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes shifted when he smiled. Even bloody and beaten, she wanted to see that smile on his face again. Couldn’t wait to see it.
Then something tickled at the back of her mind. Voices barged in, tumbled over themselves, shouting, screaming. She stopped and fell to her knees, tears threatening to spill over her lids. She pressed her hands against her ears, begging the voices to stop.
She heard—no, felt—a different voice, rising above the others, and she squeezed her eyes tight.
It will be okay, my dearest, the singing voice said, soft and smooth. The others fell into a murmuring silence. Shush now, don’t cry. Come home, and everything will be okay.
And then other things, whispers that said her father would be in danger if she went back, that they wouldn’t be able to protect them both.
Your father will be protected, as long as you go with this man.
Emma felt a presence behind her, a dark shadow looming, towering over her. She opened her eyes, and glanced over her shoulder, at Brad standing behind her. His ear had turned a nice shade of red.
As long as I go with him.
She looked back at the embankment. The rain had eased off, and the place looked almost peaceful. Behind the plateau-like hill that dominated most of the northern edge of the compound, smoke drifted from the building she’d spent the past few days in, like from a chimney. Silos stood up like fingers, and to her right the huge dome crested the hill.
A shout echoed, breaking the illusion. A gunshot rang out.
Somewhere down there was her father. She had to believe that he was okay, that he was still alive. Was he looking for her right now, wondering if she was alright? And what would happen if he found her, if he came across them?
But she knew that answer, didn’t she?
Emma nodded, and rose to her feet. She’d had to be strong for him before. Now she just had to be strong for herself.
“Alright,” she said, turning back towards him. She set her jaw, her arms crossed over her chest. “I’ll go with you. But no more carrying me.”
Unless you want to lose your ear.
▪▪▪
The mist lifted, and Ren saw a shape emerge, fog swirling away as a man burst into the clearing.
It was Kevin, and of course it had to be, didn’t it? Ren wouldn’t have expected anybody else.
“Hurry up,” Ren said, motioning towards the big man. “She needs help, and she needs it fast.”
Kevin frowned as he knelt next to Rachel, on the opposite side of Ren. His hand hovered over the trail of blood staining her shirt. “What happened?”
“I…I don’t know what happened,” Ren said. He reached up, wincing as he felt along the cut above his eye. Knew he needed stitches, and he’d probably carry a nasty scar if he lived long enough. “I found her like this, after…after Brad took Emma.”
Kevin’s brow furrowed, his nostrils flaring. He looked at Rachel’s face, her cheeks a pasty white, and rifled through a pouch on his belt. He pulled out a faded strip of cloth. “I got it.”
He wadded up the cloth and took Ren’s hand off Rachel’s side, pressing down hard on the stab wound with the mostly clean rag. Rachel’s eyes flared open and she hissed between her teeth, grimacing against the pressure of Kevin’s hand.
“I know it hurts,” Kevin whispered. He leaned over, his other arm cradling her head. “But if it hurts, that means you’re still alive.”
“You need any help?” Ren asked. He pushed himself to his feet, one of his knees popping, and rested his hands on his hips. Beat to shit, his body worn out, but he couldn’t stop yet.
Kevin shoo
k his head, and picked Rachel up, keeping one hand pressed against her side. His tongue rolled over his lip and he looked at Ren. “What about you, you need help?”
“I…” Ren did. Of course he did. He couldn’t go after Emma alone.
He shook his head and took a step back, glancing over his shoulder at the trees past the embankment. At the trees that now hid his daughter. “No. No, you go. Take care of her.”
Kevin nodded again, and turned back towards the compound, Rachel in his arms.
Ren took a deep breath, and ran towards the embankment. It wasn’t until he’d reached the clearing right before the earthen wall that he pulled the pendant from his pocket.
He gasped at the sharp pain in his hand, a thousand white-hot needles on his skin. His heart pounded in his chest, and he had to swallow back the bile lurking in the back of his throat. He took the pendant’s chain and slipped it over his head, letting go of the pendant. He scrambled up the embankment, mud coating his clothes, his boots digging at the soaked earth.
It had to work. Without the pendant, he didn’t know what chance he had.
He shook his hand, and slid down the embankment, his eyes focused on the trees where the bastard had taken his daughter. The attack, all the destruction and chaos and fire, had been aimed at one purpose. And they had her now, unless he got her back.
Emma.
▪▪▪
Ithuriel let out a sharp breath, his body worn down, but he was almost there.
He had run as far as he could, as fast as he could, but he was no longer sure if it was fast enough. He had only slowed Abaddon down, not stopped him.
And that meant Ithuriel could not stop.
Even now they move on the hole you share with the humans, the Unmaker had said.
Ithuriel pushed his legs ahead, willed his body to keep moving. He winced as his damaged wing shifted. The break was healing, but slowly. He could not dare risk flying. Not yet, not until the bones had set.
He had ran, jogged, and walked throughout the night, and into the next day, forcing himself to keep moving, no matter how much he hurt. At first he feared his body would break, that constantly pushing forward might damage himself to the point where he would be unable to continue.
Now he feared that his mind might break first, and he found that to be a much more terrible thought.
He had never felt pain like this before, never felt so tired, exhausted. But that was nothing to the state of his mind. He was weaker, but he had not expected the despair to hit so hard. Like a fresh wound, it had bled him, the amount shocking him.
Ithuriel wondered how far he might fall.
He crossed an open field, the ruin of scorched houses and debris lining a cracked road off to his left, and half-jogged, half-staggered down an incline into another thick forest. Rain fell now, a steady patter against the blackened edges of his armor, and storm clouds gathered up to the north, lightning flashing in the distance. Thunder grumbled, roiling across the Heavens.
The Malakhi paused.
Dark clouds churned over the north. Over Haven.
The breath lurched in his chest, and he pushed the tiredness away, panic surging through him. He used it, running through the brush, past the trees. He raced up an incline and launched himself, gritting his teeth against the sharp barbs that pierced his wing, the pain darting through his back.
He almost spoke a Word, the urge to ease his pain so strong that he had to bite his tongue. He could not. If he used a Word now, he would be useless by the time he got to Haven.
So he focused on the pain, let the searing burn of it drive him. He forced his wings up and down, pushed them until the damaged bones creaked and shuddered. He felt pain now, felt exhaustion, and now he knew how the humans felt. And if the Grigori had moved on Haven, the human survivors might be feeling that pain, and much worse, right now.
The rain came down hard, pelting Ithuriel’s armor, soaking his wings, wind buffeting him. The storm fought against him, the swirling winds catching his wings, threatening to toss him end over end or drive him into the trees below.
Ithuriel saw the smoke first, rising from the wreckage of the place he had made his home, and his eyes widened. Flames flickered over the shack that had housed Ren and Emma, and a silo on the southern end of the compound burned. His gaze fell on bodies, lying still in the wet sand and mud of the interior compound, their fled souls leaving behind the vacant husks of flesh and bone. The spear appeared in one hand as he dove towards Haven, its sharpened point shining like a miniature sun.
He had made a mistake, leaving when so much was at risk. And those below had paid the price.
Sentries had been posted on walls, on pipes and railed walkways, rifles out and ready. A team worked on the silo, buckets of water being tossed on the worst of the flames.
The angel’s eyes flitted closed, and he felt for Kevin’s pendant, reaching out towards the relic weapon with the slightest touch of divinity. His eyes flashed open and he dove down towards the building that functioned as a makeshift hospital during emergencies, a sense of calm dread falling over him. Wounded survivors stood outside, others hovering over them, providing what treatment they could.
He landed with a thud, and burst through the doors of the makeshift hospital, struggling not to limp. He winced as the door shut behind him, and the spear popped out of view. He walked down the hall, stopping just inside the open doorway.
Three gurneys sat in a large central room, all occupied by the wounded. One of the caretakers, an elderly man named Phillip, wiped the sweat from his brow as he worked over an injured survivor. He held a long needle and thread over a jagged cut that bled down the wounded man’s forehead.
Ithuriel recognized the wounded survivor, one of three brothers. He hoped the other two were okay, but he was afraid to ask.
A woman, her long blonde hair tied in back, stood by the middle gurney, wrapping a stained bandage around a man’s leg as he took a pull of water from a jar beside him.
“Easy, Paul,” she said, pulling a circle of medical tape out of a pouch at her waist. “Almost done.”
Kevin paced by the last gurney as an older, thin woman checked the patient’s head for fever. Ithuriel moved closer, edging by one of the caretakers, and saw who lay there.
Rachel, one of his own Blessed. She looked so pale, her chest rattling as she breathed. Dried blood coated much of her side, staining the shirt they’d ripped half-off to clean the wound. Her eyes worked under the lids, like she was caught in some endless nightmare.
Another man came through a door opposite, glanced up at Ithuriel, and hurried towards Rachel’s gurney. His long-sleeved shirt streaked with blood, the man gently touched the staples that gleamed on her side.
Kevin stopped pacing, his hands clenching into fists as his gaze fell on Ithuriel, the skin of his fingers turning white. “Where were you?” he asked, his brow furrowed, his nostrils flared.
Ithuriel stood by the gurney and placed a gentle hand on Rachel’s shoulder. He was so tired. “Andrew, how is she.”
The older man checking her staples paused and looked up at the angel. “She lost a lot of blood. Hard to tell right now.”
“We needed you, Ithuriel.”
I know, Kevin. The Malakhi leaned over Rachel, his forehead touching hers. “Sanaret,” he whispered. He felt the divinity leech from him as the healing Word passed through him to her frail flesh.
He was so tired.
Ithuriel glanced up at Kevin. “Ren and the child?”
“Gone. Bastards hit us, killed Logan, and took the kid.” Kevin looked down at Rachel, and his features softened. “Almost got her, too, but Ren got the bleeding slowed. Last I saw he was chasing them north.”
Ithuriel peered down at Rachel. Her breathing had slowed, her chest rising and falling steadily, and already he could see the color returning to her cheeks. His eyes stopped as they trailed down her neck.
Her bare neck.
He rose to his full height, and closed his eyes. He could fee
l the pendant’s trail leading away into the woods to the north. Towards the Hellfont.
“Kevin, you need to prepare as best you can.” Ithuriel opened his eyes and stared down at the Blessed. “I must go, but I will return as quickly as I can.”
Kevin’s eyes bulged. “What? You just got back. Look at you!” He pointed down towards the gurneys. “Look at us! We’ve got more out there like this, bruised and battered, and a handful that won’t be helping us at all anymore!”
Choices. Ithuriel felt like he had none, even with free will thrust upon him. If he stayed in case Abaddon managed to find him here, he might only make matters worse for Haven. He was a Malakhi, but he knew he couldn’t fight off the Destroyer again in this condition.
And the girl? The Grigori had taken her, and the fact that he had no idea why scared him. All he had was the gut feeling that if they managed to keep her, it meant even worse than just the loss of Haven.
They couldn’t have her. He couldn’t let them.
“Prepare as best you can.” He turned away, and headed for the door, his stomach knotted.
Sometimes choices were the same as having no choice at all.
EPISODE FOUR
Lilith’s mind reached out in the gathering darkness, racing out past the Hellfont, seeking miles to the south. She had to see her, had to see that dark hair and those fierce, calculating eyes. She had to see the power that pumped through her daughter’s blood, couldn’t help herself.
She had to see Emma.
At first she had been content to sit in the Hellfont, watching the Grigori plans for this world play out, but soon she tired of it. The ledge was so close now, her toes so near the edge. Emma arriving would change everything, and Lilith could barely contain herself at the thought.
Agonized cries sounded at the base of the spire, screams and pleading shrieks battering uselessly against the walls. Flames rose from the cracked, scorched earth, as her mind passed over the broken remnants of the city, over the seemingly endless lines of crushed, ruined vehicles strewn over the highway.
Ash & Flame: Season One Page 12
