Dead Harvest

by Chris F. Holm

  "You all right?" I asked. Though I spoke at just above a whisper, my voice echoed through the tunnel, advertising our position to anyone – or anything – that cared to listen. I could only hope the constant clatter of distant trains was enough to drown out my words before they reached the ears of our pursuers.

  "I stepped on something," Kate replied. "Something alive." She twisted one arm out away from her, examining her elbow. A scrape the size of a silver dollar glistened black under the dim overhead lights.

  "Rat," I said. "He's gone now, though." I nodded to her right, where, beneath a thin protective canopy, the third rail stretched the length of the track, just inches from where she lay. It looked so harmless, so unremarkable, that you couldn't help but doubt the countless admonitions you hear growing up in the city not to touch it. But still, there it sat – a challenge, a dare, a trap for the unwary. As Kate spotted it, she recoiled.

  "That thing's got enough juice in it to animate a train," I said. "I suspect it's got the opposite effect on a person. Be careful getting up."

  I extended a hand, and she took it. With a little more trouble than I'd expected, I hauled her to her feet, doubling over afterward and sucking air as waves of nausea radiated outward from the stab wound in my leg and turned my insides into knots.

  "Jesus, Sam, are you OK?"

  "Yeah," I said, straightening. "Just popped a stitch is all. C'mon, we gotta get moving."

  She looked doubtful. I couldn't blame her – I didn't much believe me myself. But staying here wasn't really an option. So instead she slung an arm around my waist, and we set out down the tunnel, straddling the dead left-hand rail of the track, staying as far away from the third rail as we could manage.

  We'd only gone ten paces when we heard it: a shriek of rending metal, a crash of shattered glass. A horrid slavering filled the tunnel, and one by one behind us, the overhead lights flickered and died. The darkness marched forward, step by step, as light after light gave up the ghost, and what remained was more than a mere absence of light: the darkness was pulsing, malevolent, alive. There was no mistaking what that darkness contained; it was the black fire of pure torment, of a being forever occluded from the nourishing light of grace, and in the face of it, all hope of escape withered and died.

  They were here.

  Without a word, Kate and I released each other from our awkward embrace, and took off down the tunnel at a dead sprint. Blind panic coursed through my borrowed frame. It made me strong. It made me fast. It didn't make me fast enough.

  There were three of them, the bike messenger in the lead, followed by two others. In all my time walking this Earth, I'd never seen a demon so thoroughly warp its host as these three had theirs – nothing human of them remained. The clothes of the bike messenger hung in tatters around his now-massive frame. He galloped just ahead of the darkness on all fours, his flesh as black as the fire that raged in his eyes, as black as the Depths from which he had sprung. In the naming of things, humans have never been so wrong as when they called the brown-skinned "black" – for brown skin is full of warmth, of life, and this creature, black as pitch, was anything but. Its skin glistened and rippled as muscles pushed beyond the breaking point heaved and flexed like the haunches of a prized steed. Gristly streaks of red where the skin had split in deference to the form it now contained marred every swollen joint and twisted limb. Bloodied fingers, more claw now than digit, tore at the ground, propelling the beast forward, while the joints of its hind legs now bent backward, folding under the creature in an awkward, inhuman motion, and then extending in leap after bounding leap. I'm amazed I managed to keep my feet, so transfixed was I with the view over my shoulder. But keep my feet I did, and as I tore my eyes from the horrible visage behind me, I saw something that caused my heart to leap: a glimmer of light maybe a hundred yards ahead, the next station on the line. If we could just make it, just shake these beasts for long enough to disappear into the crowd…

  But it may as well have been a hundred miles. Hot breath prickled at my neck as the liquid darkness engulfed us, and by instinct I pitched forward, snagging Kate on the way down and dragging her to the ground. The one-time bike messenger sailed overhead, one clawed hand swiping diagonally across where I had just stood. But the demon just passed through empty space, and the creature tumbled to the ground, rolling twice before finding its feet. It stood hunched in the center of the tracks, facing us, its chest heaving with every labored breath. A corona of light, pointed like the rays of a star, splayed out around the beast as its massive form eclipsed the light of the station beyond. The creature made a terrible chuffing sound. I suppressed a shiver as I realized that it was laughing.

  "You have fought well, Collector," the demon said. "You have done yourself proud. But you have also caused us a great deal of trouble. I'm afraid you shall receive no mercy this day. Your death will be a slow and painful one."

  Again I heard that awful chuffing sound, this time from behind. I wheeled to find the other two creatures standing guard just behind us, somehow clearly visible despite the darkness that enveloped us, blanketing the walls and rendering indistinct the ground beneath our feet. Both stood on all fours, their sudden heft supported by arms that now rippled with thick ropes of muscle. One lazily stretched a set of leathery wings, which made a sound like rustling leaves in the darkness. The other's flesh had split the length of its back, revealing two rows of bony protuberances – black as its skin and slick with its vessel's blood – that ran the length of its spine before terminating in a ridge of small horns at the bridge of its nose.

  "And you, my dear," the once-bike-messenger said, addressing Kate. "So young, so petite, and yet so very, very dangerous. I've no doubt you'll find your new accommodations… satisfying. But don't fret; I'm certain that once your Collector is dispatched, we four can find the time for a little entertainment before we consign you to your fate. After all, you are such a pretty little girl…"

  It was then that the winged one leapt. Maybe it was the rustle of its wingbeat; maybe it was just dumb luck. I guess it doesn't matter what it was that tipped me off, but as the winged demon closed the gap between us, its mouth of misshapen teeth open wide, I drew the gun from my pocket, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger.

  The report was deafening, and even through closed lids, the flash of the barrel was painful in its sudden brightness. The winged demon collapsed to the ground, whimpering like a wounded dog, its head a mess of blood and brain and teeth. I fired again. It shuddered and lay still.

  The remaining demons roared in anger, shaking the ground beneath us. Then, as one, they pounced. The bike messenger was fast, I knew, but the horned demon was the closer of the two. I wheeled toward the latter and shot. I was too late, though, too slow – he slapped my arm away, and the bullet zinged off the concrete wall beside me. I heard a howl of pain, and as I tumbled to the ground, I caught a glimpse of the bike messenger lying across the right-hand rail, one clawed hand pressed tight to its ruined ankle. Blood welled red from beneath its fingers, and I felt a surge of savage delight as I realized my shot had not been wasted after all. Then the horned demon was atop me, one crushing hand around my neck, and I saw nothing but the encroaching darkness.

  I clawed at the horned demon's arm with my free hand, but its grip was too powerful to break. I swung wildly at his face with my gun hand, and my heart surged as I heard a crunch of bone, a tortured cry. But the beast just slapped the gun away – it clattered useless to the ground, just out of reach. Suddenly, there were two hands on my neck, and the world began to recede.

  My reality shuddered for a moment, and clarity returned. I realized it wasn't the world that had shuddered – just the demon atop me. Kate had kicked the thing across the face, and was kicking it still. The horned demon raised its hands to avoid the blows, but she just kept on kicking. Blood sprayed from the creature's mouth, sizzling as it spattered against the third rail. The scent of pennies filled the air.

  The demon grabbed her foot and twisted. Kate w
ent down, hard. It was on her in a flash.

  The horned demon straddled her chest and buried one clawed hand in her hair, yanking back her head and regarding her carefully. Hatred burned in pitchblack eyes within the ruined meat of its face. A tongue, red-black and forked, extended from the demon's mouth and dragged across Kate's cheek, as one clawed digit traced a line across her neck – playful, taunting. The beast applied a little pressure, and the tender flesh of her throat furrowed, red blood welling in its wake. Kate shook with evident fear, and clenched shut her eyes as she steeled herself for the inevitable. The creature threw his head back and laughed – a full, throaty, baleful laugh that shook the tunnel around us, and sent showers of dust cascading from the rusted pipes above.

  The bastard never even saw me coming.

  I threw myself at him with everything I had. Considering what he was planning to do to Kate, my everything was a lot. I hit him in a full-on Superman horizontal, wrapping my arms tight around the demon's as the top of my head slammed into its cheekbone. Something in its cheek snapped like tinder, and the fucker went down. Momentum's a bitch, though, and I went down with him. We landed in a heap of bloodied limbs in the center of the tracks – me on top, with the demon kicking and scratching as it struggled to get free.

  I pinned its arms above its head, with no thought but to stop it from gouging. Yellow-gray teeth scraped the flesh of my cheek as it snapped its jaw at me. By instinct, I recoiled. The creature seized the moment, shifting its weight and rolling me over. Cold steel dug into my back as it forced me down onto the rail, and again, its hands closed around my neck. I struggled against its grasp, but only for a moment. Then I slackened, and went still.

  The creature's grip lessened – just a touch. It was all the opening I needed. I threw myself upward like a sit-up from hell, slapping away its hands and shoving the creature backward with all the strength I could muster. It tumbled backward, extending a hand to steady itself as it fell.

  I could've danced a fucking jig.

  Its hand connected with the third rail with a satisfying fwap. The creature convulsed as the voltage racked its body and every muscle tried to clench at once. Thick oily smoke snaked skyward, and pooled beneath the tunnel lights. A stench of salt and meat, sickly sweet, filled my nose, and I knew in that moment I'd never again attend a pig roast, no matter how long I walked this Earth.

  Something happened to its eyes that I'd rather not describe, and then the beast was still. The liquid darkness of the tunnel faded somewhat, its walls and ceiling now no longer obscured from view. And there was something else, as well: a subtle swirling, a shifting of the smoke, which continued to pour off the body but now no longer pooled, instead drifting perceptibly toward the distant light of the station.

  "Kate," I said, as I watched the smoke drift past, "we gotta go."

  She followed my gaze, and then glanced back the way we'd come, worry clouding her delicate features. "Yeah," she replied, "I think you're right."

  I snatched the gun up from the ground and extended Kate a hand. She took it, and we trotted side by side down the tunnel, leaving the husks of the two demons in our wake. But then we paused, spotting the third, the former bike messenger, propped against the tunnel wall ahead, its head thrown back in obvious pain, its brow damp with sweat. It sat, eyes closed, with one knee tight to its chest, and its other leg extended, the latter terminating in a bloody, glistening stump. A few feet away lay a mangled foot, connected only to the leg by a trail of blood. The gunshot, so far as I had seen, hadn't taken off the foot. As I watched the stump pulse and split like some nightmare egg, loosing fresh claws that kneaded the chill, damp air gingerly as if testing it, I realized the demon had removed the ruined appendage itself.

  The creature pushed backward with its good leg, and its back slid haltingly up the wall. It stood there a moment, its weight supported by its undamaged foot, the new one scratching tentatively at the concrete floor below, and then it took one lurching step forward, its eyes opening at last.

  "I cannot let you pass," said the demon. Once more, the dark enveloped us, radiating outward from the demon, but that darkness was fragile, somehow, barely there – like tissue paper. The creature took another lurching step, wincing as it did. It stood in the center of the tunnel now, the smoke from its fallen comrade now streaming overhead. A sudden breeze ruffled its tattered clothes.

  "You're in no shape for this," I said, not unkindly. "Just let us go."

  "I fear we've come too far for that."

  "I don't believe that's true. You got a name?"

  "I am but a foot soldier. We have no use for names."

  From far behind us shone the rheumy glare of a subway car's lights. Kate shot me a worried look. I ignored her.

  "You were an angel once – before the Fall. You had a name then, didn't you?"

  Another shuffling step, another wince. Behind us, the train pressed ever closer.

  "Yes."

  "Then tell me, angel, what is your name?" I asked.

  The creature swallowed hard. Its eyes closed in pain and concentration, and when it opened them again, I saw that the black flames they contained had dwindled to a flicker. "Veloch," it said.

  "Veloch, I need you to listen to me. This girl is an innocent; her soul is unmarred. She's been set up – by who, I don't know. Whoever it is, they clearly want a war. If you take her, a war's exactly what they'll get. You and I both know what we've seen so far is nothing compared to what would happen if the Adversary were to lay claim to a pure soul."

  The demon took another limping step forward. "Even if what you say is true, I have my orders. What is it you want from me?" Its voice was hoarse and weak, his words nearly lost to the rumble of the coming train.

  "I want you to trust me," I said. "I want you to trust me because I need your help."

  The creature snorted. "You want me to trust you? Why would I, when your kind, unlike mine, is not bound by your word?" It took another step forward. It stood only paces away now, wrapped in a shroud of guttering darkness that did little to repel the lights of the approaching train. Kate stood panicked and sweating beside me, looking continually from the demon to the train and back again. She clearly realized, as I did, there was no way we could beat the train to the station, no matter how fast we ran, and the thought seemed to imbue her with a kind of twitchy desperation that radiated off of her just as surely as the demon radiated darkness. Still, I remained calm. Maybe I'd resigned myself to the fact that we might not get out of this tunnel alive. Maybe I just didn't care. Or maybe I'd just found a little faith.

  "I'm not asking you to trust my kind," I said, tucking the gun into my jeans and stepping toward Veloch, arms raised. "I'm asking you to trust me." I grabbed it by the wrist and pressed its hand tight to my breastbone. Behind me, Kate quailed, and a thin cry escaped her lips, while further back, the train inexorably approached.

  The creature flexed its hand, and thick claws pierced my chest, but still I didn't flinch. Its borrowed eyes searched my face for any sign of duplicity, its own features twisted with suspicion. And then, suddenly, Veloch released me, the suspicion draining from its face.

  "You speak the truth, so far as you believe. I shall help you in your quest."

  "Thank you," I said.

  "If I find that I have trusted you in error, I assure you, you will pay – and the girl as well."

  "Of course."

  "Tell me, Collector, what made you so sure that I would choose this path? After all, my fate is sealed – redemption, for me, is forever out of reach."

  "Maybe. Maybe not. But it's not too late to try. Besides, if you sealed your fate, you did so by choosing to rebel – by choosing freedom over the bonds of servitude. It was a choice that, by all rights, wasn't yours to make, but you made it nonetheless. I guess I had to hope you'd make another."

  "Uh, guys?" Kate said, voice tight with tension. "If we're all on the same side now, could we maybe move this somewhere else?"

  "The girl is right – you must g
o. You and I are wellmet, Collector."

  I grabbed Kate by the arm and dragged her toward the station. The lights of the train were nearly upon us. But when Kate saw Veloch standing fast, she stopped.

  "Wait," Kate said. "You're not coming?"

  "No, child – not today. Perhaps someday we will meet again. I hope for your sake we do not. Now, go!"

  At that last, Veloch roared, and Kate was shaken into action. We sprinted toward the station, while behind us, the train hurtled ever closer.

  The tunnel shook with the force of the train, now just thirty yards behind us. Veloch's roar only seemed to build, swallowing the noise of the train whole until nothing remained but the demon's cry.

  Twenty yards, ten.

  I sprinted with all I had, Kate keeping pace by my side. Though I dared not look back, the shadow of Veloch that the subway's lights cast through the tunnel seemed, impossibly, to grow, until only the faintest trickle of illumination slid past.

  Far too late, a screech of brakes.