by Liam Jackson
"For the moment, that leaves you and Sam. And in order for you to complete the task that lays before you, you must search deep inside your hearts for a measure of faith, for without faith, there is no tomorrow."
Horace paused, giving Michael an opportunity to respond. When the large man didn't, Horace nodded, then continued.
"Be very careful as you approach the well house and move along the shaft below. Things may not always be what they seem in that place. The Veil alters perception, and perception, at some point, can become reality. The Enemy will likely be waiting."
"Oh, Christ! Rules... save the world! More cryptic bullshit," muttered Michael, but the fire was gone from his voice.
Sam tugged at his arm. "Let's go, Michael."
"Yeah, Mikey. Just shut up and get on with it."
Startled, Sam and Michael looked down at Mark. His eyes were open and his wounded chest rose and fell with slow, rhythmic breathing.
He wore a tiny smile. "Knew all along... that Sam was... the heroic type," Mark said. "With your muscles and his brains... you guys can't miss."
Michael turned to Horace with an expression of disbelief and whispered, "That's not possible! Who... what are you?"
Sam bent low and gave Mark a gentle hug. "You hang tight until I get back."
Mark laughed weakly and said, "And where would I go?"
Sam grinned then gave Michael's coat sleeve a sharp tug. "Okay, big guy. We gotta go. Look in my duffel bag and grab a couple of flashlights. I already put fresh batteries in them."
Mike nodded dumbly and leaned inside the station wagon for the duffel bag. When he emerged again, he knelt beside Mark and pressed something into the injured man's hand.
"My wallet," said Michael, as if that explained everything.
"Wallet," repeated a confused Mark. "Why in hell would I want that?"
"My driver's license is inside. It has my address. If I don't... if..."
Mark cut him off with a weak chuckle. "Get the fuck outta here, man. Go do what you have to do, and hurry back. It's cold out here."
Sam stepped closer to Horace and gave the old man a final hug. When he pulled back from the old man, he hesitated then said, "Tell me straight, Horace. You called us here, didn't you?"
"No, Sam. The Veil called you. It was always the Veil."
Sam shook his head and said, "Okay, but why us? I mean, you're carrying all the big guns, so why aren't you closing the Veil?"
Horace looked at Sam with an odd, unreadable expression on his weathered face. "Why, son, I've already told you. Your kind can close it because your kind created it. The Offspring were living bridges, liking the Divine with humanity. The Veil is a replicate, a living monument to that link. It exists because you exist. It's all in the Blood, Sam."
Sam considered the answer for a moment, then nodded and asked, "Won't be seeing you again, will I?"
Horace chuckled and tousled the boy's wild mop of red hair. "You never know, Lucky Sam. You just never know. Now, get going. Time's running out."
Not waiting for a reply, Sam took one of the flashlights from Michael and walked away into the ominous shadows.
CHAPTER 44
The Well House
It's not what it seems. Sam walked twice around the old cinderblock building before coming to a stop in front of the door.
"Not much to look at, is it?" he said. "In the movies, the monsters always hide out in an old, abandoned mine, or a spooky mental hospital. Why can't they hide in a friggin' bowling alley, or maybe a Wal-Mart store? You know, some place with lots of lights?"
Michael laughed, but Sam thought it sounded hollow and nervous. "You ready?"
"Yeah. Stand back and let me go in first," said Mike. "Uh, before we go waltzing in... do you feel anything? You know ... them?"
Sam tried to clear his throat. The stench was incredible, threatening to steal his breath. "I told ya already. This whole area is crawling with them. Most of them won't have any power over us. But some of them, a few... just be careful."
Michael moved the handgun's safety to the Off position. "Yeah, careful. Good plan. I'll try to remember that. Let's go."
Michael pushed open the door and stepped inside with Sam close behind. Beams from both flashlights swung quickly about the room, revealing a shabby, unkempt interior. Huge pipes caked with layers of peeling paint and oxidized iron rose up out of the center of the floor and connected to a multitiered metal basin.
Sam's nose wrinkled in disgust as he again caught the rancid odor of stale cat piss and spoiled meat. The odor of the Enemy. Against the far wall, Sam noticed the broken, disjointed handrails of a staircase. The twisted metal reminded him of a wrung washcloth. What in the hell did that!
Cautiously moving to the edge of the stairwell, Sam peered down. The stairs consisted of steep switchback flights that descended several stories into the ground.
No, it's a single flight, maybe a dozen feet to the floor below. The air seemed to waver, like heat rising from August asphalt and Sam's vision was instantly distorted. No, wait... two flights? Three? Maybe it's a rabbit hole. One bodacious mother of a rabbit hole and the Mad Hatter is waiting for us down there.
Sam rubbed his eyes and laughed. " 'After such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs!'"
Abruptly, Michael was standing beside him. "What did you say?"
"Shhhh! You woke me out of, oh, such a nice dream!"
"Knock it off, Sam! This ain't the time to quote lines from Through the Looking Glass!" Michael said, more sternly than he intended. "You want them to know we're here?"
Sam laughed again, but the sound was cold and hollow.
Alice in Demon Land. Why not ring the doorbell? They already know we're here, so why not announce ourselves? Can I get an amen? Sam laughed at the notion of getting an amen from a lair full of demons.
Oh, God, I'm crackin' up! It's this place. Like Horace said, it's not what it seems.
Aloud, he said, "Let's get real, Mikey. They already know we're here. And we can drop all the vague references. Demons, Mikey. Say it with me. There are walking, taking, eating, breathing, sulfur-shitting demons in this place."
As if to punctuate Sam's assertion, a series of yips and shrieks welled up from the unseen bottom of the stairway. A shape, black as pitch and easily as large as Michael, rose up out of the hole, then disappeared with an ear-piercing shriek.
Looking down into the rabbit hole, Sam said in a quiet, sober tone, "I've been hounded for months, Michael. They've stalked my kid sister, haunted my nightmares and daydreams ... chased me across half the country. I've been running for so long now. Hell, I'm beginning to think that a hot meal is a Twinkie in a microwave and bed is a clean cardboard box. I can't run any longer. They've hurt people, Michael, people that I care about. They've killed babies, for God's sake."
Michael stared at the boy for several seconds. He was shaken by Sam's stoic summary, but found himself unable to disagree with any part of it. Demons. Sam had just given voice to something that he had come to believe over time, but had been afraid to say aloud.
"They'll go on hurting people, Michael, until there's no one left to hurt. I will... not... run!"
For nearly nineteen years, the genetic, supernatural gifts from Sam's ancestry had grown, quietly, unobtrusively. Excepting the occasional minor manifestation, the greater gifts had coursed through his blood in a thread-thin trickle. As Sam reached, the dam burst and the result was chaos.
Michael staggered back as if he'd been punched in the chest by a Buick and his head threatened to explode from the power in Sam's mental probe. He groped blindly at one of the water mains to keep from falling. From the cavern below, garbled snarls intermingled, then erupted into a single, wounded howl.
Seconds passed and gradually the pressure in Michael's head subsided. As his vision and hearing cleared, he looked for and found Sam watching, grinning like the Cheshire Cat from the top of the stairs.
"Son of a... Sam, what did you just do?"
> This time the humor in Sam's green eyes was genuine. "An old Jedi mind trick, Mikey. I just let the bastards know that we're coming down, and it might be a good idea if they didn't screw with us. Don't ask me how I did it. I don't know."
One with the Blood. Michael rubbed the dust from his eyes. "Kid... oh, never mind. Just... never mind."
Sam gave Michael a mock salute and started down the stairs. Michael quickly overtook him and moved into the lead. "If something happens, I want you behind me."
Moments later, Michael and Sam stood on the rocky floor of what looked like a movie set. The old shaft was narrow, not more than a dozen feet across, and large chunks of jagged rock littered the ground at their feet. Iron rails ran along the floor, disappearing in the darkness ahead.
"Cheap rat bastids. They could have at least left the lights on for us," Sam whispered.
"I don't think the bad guys intend to do us any favors," replied Michael as he swept his flashlight along both sides of the tunnel.
Sam started down the dimly lit corridor behind Michael, who turned and tapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah?"
"And please... if you feel another urge to let 'em know we're here... don't. You nearly blew off the top of my head."
Sam said, "Agreed. Let's get on with it. I can't handle the stench much longer."
Michael released his hold on Sam and started down the tunnel. He called out over his shoulder, "Stay behind me. I don't want you in the way if some—" A vicious snarl echoed through the tunnel, stopping Michael in mid-sentence.
Sam stared down the tunnel for several seconds, probing with his senses. After several seconds, he whispered, "We're close to the Veil. This path... it runs due east for maybe fifty yards then curves to the... the... right. South, just like Horace said. There's a demon on the path, blocking our way. Not like the others. Stronger. Much stronger. Wait! Oh, Christ. I know this one!"
"What do you mean, 'you know this one'?" Michael demanded.
"He's come after me before. The first time, Horace bailed me out. The second time, Mark and I were hiding in an old building in Knoxville. It tried to sniff us out but... never mind. Leave him to me, Michael. I have to deal with this one."
"Just how do you propose to do that, Sam? No disrespect intended, but I really don't think that's a good idea. If he gets in the way, I'm gonna cap his ass. Just stay—"
"It won't work. You can't kill him with a gun," said Sam. "You have to let me handle it. Your job comes later, at the Veil. I... I'd trade with you if I could."
Misunderstanding Sam's terse statement, Mike said, "What do you mean it can't be killed with a gun? How do you know?"
Sam paused on the tracks and shook his head. "I can't tell you how I know, just like you can't tell me how your 'silent alarm' works. You've just gotta trust me, Mike. I know what I'm taking about. There is one thing, though..."
"Yeah? What's that?"
Sam said, "I need you to watch my back while I deal with old Trench Coat." Actually, his True name is... Drammach. How did I know that?
"Just keep the others off me, but let me deal with Drammach." Sam started down the tunnel.
"Others? What others? Wait up, Sam! We need a plan!"
Sam shook his head and kept walking. "Already got one."
"Fine!" said Michael. "You wanna let me in on it?"
Sam kept walking. "Already did."
"Damn it, I'm serious! What's your plan?"
"Keep the others off of me. It's okay to shoot them if you just gotta shoot something, but leave Drammach to me."
"Oh, that's a good plan. Why didn't I think of that?"
So maybe it isn't exactly a masterpiece of tactical planning, but it's good enough. It has to be. Sam slowed his pace as they neared the sharp curve. Stepping off the path, he pressed close to the wall along the right side. Less than ten feet of rock now separated him from the demon.
The stench was nearly unbearable and he could feel the foul, corrupt Power emanating from Drammach. Sam braced himself for the familiar wave of vertigo that he knew was coming. He placed one hand on the wall of the tunnel and took several quick, shallow breaths. The dizziness came and went, almost without notice.
Surprised but pleased, Sam closed his eyes once more and attuned his senses. After a moment, he turned to Michael and whispered, "It's just like the O.K. Corral, Mikey. Drammach is waiting for us to make the first move. There's at least two others with him. Not as strong, but plenty strong enough. And... there's something else, something huge. It's here and it's not. I... I don't really understand...."
Sam mopped the sweat from his forehead with his coat sleeve. "Screw it. Are you ready?"
Michael's eyes grew wide and he said, "Ready for what? What are you gonna do?"
Sam grinned. "I don't know. Let's find out."
Before Michael could react, Sam stepped away from the wall, and out into the middle of the path. Drammach stood some forty steps away, glaring and stretching his long arms. He was flanked by two lesser demons, not as large in stature, but equally hideous.
Sam had seen a mental picture of Drammach, but nothing prepared him for the monster that stood before him. The word came unbidden to his mind, Fury. Drammach is a Fury... whatever that is.
Instinctively, he knew that, though compact, the Demon was incredibly powerful. In appearance, Drammach most closely resembled some great two-legged hyena, all neck and teeth, with short pointed ears that lay flat against the sides of its skull. His eyes were stagnant pools of indigo. Drammach's arms and chest were thick with corded muscle, while his waist and legs were narrow and spindly.
"Oh, yeah," Sam muttered. "I remember you, you bastard. You've chased me across half the goddamned country... you even stalked Kat just to get at me."
The soldiers at Drammach's side were mirror images, though much taller, closer in height to Michael's six feet, four inches. The most obvious difference was the coloration. Whereas Drammach was covered in coarse brindle hair, the soldiers were hairless with ash-gray skin, the color of spoiled meat. Sam stepped forward. Drammach held his ground.
The Fury tilted back its head and issued a series of coarse, hacking noises and Sam realized it was laughing. When Drammach finally spoke, Sam winced and clasped his hands over his ears. The sound was physically painful, like the noise of a hundred dying cats.
"Yes, you have caused me much time and trouble, you naughty child. You weren't supposed to make it this far, but you always escaped me. I think I wi' have to punish the naughty child. Maybe I do yer sister when I am through wi' you. Maybe I do her first. Would you like that, you bad, bad child? I wi' have her from behind, from on top, from every hole in her young, tender body. Then I'll eat her heart. You want to watch, don't you? You want to watch me fuck your baby sister. Maybe you want to help me. Yes, you do, naughty child." Drammach stroked himself obscenely as he taunted Sam. "Maybe Drammach fuck you, instead."
Michael was rooted to the floor of the cavern, his mouth gaped open in astonishment. Sam watched him from the corner of his eye and wondered if the man would snap out of it. In a fraction of a second, Sam had his answer.
The demon-soldier to Sam's left snarled, then charged with fangs bared. It was Sam's turn to freeze. He had never seen anything move so fast. The air seemed to ripple as if the demon left a wake in its path.
Sam flinched as an explosion went off near his right ear. The creature spun about and dropped to the floor of the tunnel. Drammach roared and the second soldier launched itself across the floor. Sam covered his ears as he saw Michael fire again. The bullet missed its mark and the demon slammed into the boy, pinning him against the tunnel wall.
Sam felt a sharp pop in his chest as the air was driven from his lungs. Sharp claws raked across both eyes, opening bloody furrows across his brow and cheeks. Michael wrapped an arm around the creature's throat and squeezed with all of his considerable strength. The demon seemed oblivious to Michael's efforts.
It's over. We're all dead. I came all this way, just to fail.
Kat, Mom, Dad, Charlie... Joriel... all dead now. Because I've failed. The words floated through his mind. One with the Blood. With his remaining breath, Sam screamed, "Nooooo!"
Both Michael and the demon were hurled across the width of the tunnel, landing in a tangle of flailing arms and legs. Sam dropped to a knee and struggled to draw air into his bruised lungs. Each breath ignited a fire in his chest and he could feel the grinding of torn cartilage and broken bone with each movement. Through teary eyes, Sam watched Drammach's slow deliberate advance.
Step, shuffle... step, shuffle...
Drammach flinched as two shots rang out in rapid succession. Sam watched Michael wriggle out from under the twitching body of the dying lesser demon. The big cop was a crimson mess, bleeding from a dozen wounds to his face and arms. He raised the gun with both hands and centered the front sight on Drammach's doglike snout. The demon snarled a challenge as if inviting, daring Michael to pull the trigger.
"Wait!" Sam managed. "You can't kill him that way."
Michael hesitated and Drammach turned his attention back to Sam. "Cannot kill Drammach, naughty child!"
Step, shuffle... thirty yards... step, shuffle... twenty-five yards...
"Okay, I asked for this," Sam whispered as his panic started to grow. "Now what?"
You know what to do. Reach! "Joriel!"
Step, shuffle... twenty yards...
"Sam? Do something, Sam!" said Michael.
Joriel! Where've you been? I've been worried sick! The melodic tinkling of wind chimes filled Sam's head.
Aw... that's sweet. But later. Right now you need to focus on Drammach.
Step, shuffle... fifteen yards... Drammach's eyes darted back and forth between Sam and Michael in anticipation of some last desperate gambit.
"How do I stop him?" Sam asked Joriel.
