Phillip Simpson - Rapture

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 — especially 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.