Philip Simpson - Tribulation

Problem was, there wasn’t much room for a run-up. Probably five feet. Edging backwards, Sam sighed and adjusted his swords slightly. It would have to do. With a last glance upwards to ensure his movement wasn’t observed by an Astaroth, he sprinted towards the edge and leapt, eerily silent, just another flying shadow moving through the night sky. He made it — but only just. If the distance had been a single foot more, he would’ve eaten the side of the building and tumbled to the ground. The very tip of his leading foot scraped the parapet that marked the boundary of the warehouse roof and then he was over it, desperately rolling to avoid any sound of impact.

At the end of his roll, he froze, listening to see if his intrusion had been noted, nervously watching the ash he had disturbed slowly fluttering about him. When there was no sound or movement forthcoming, he relaxed, exhaling with a long tiny hiss.

He stood up and moved towards the skylight that he had scouted out two nights previously. It was as he’d left it — still slightly ajar, unnoticeable from casual inspection. He eased it open, wincing at the slight noise, his heart fluttering nervously as some ash from the rooftop drifted through the gap.

Unstrapping both swords from back and hip, he placed them on the rooftop before sliding through the gap. About seven feet directly below was an old wooden walkway, probably only used to gain access to these windows and provide some ventilation in the warehouse. He let himself hang by the window ledge before dropping. Bracing his legs, he landed catlike, crouched with arms outstretched. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have made the slightest noise but the walkway was old and it was inevitable that his 6’3’’, 220lb frame would have some effect.

It creaked — a very slight noise, but alarmingly loud in Sam’s ears. He froze again, listening to see if his presence had been noticed this time. Beneath him, he could sense humans moving about. There was certainly no outcry and he could detect no alarm in their minds. He registered curiosity in one person’s mind, but they were looking in the direction of the walkway.

Overly cautious, he remained completely still as the minutes ticked by slowly. The mind below soon lost interest and moved on to other things. He breathed out slowly, silently, in relief and stood upright. Raising himself onto his toes, he reached up and retrieved his swords from the window ledge. With quick, deft movements, he strapped them back on, only then feeling whole. Without his swords, he felt like a part of him was missing and it was only rare moments like this one when he was actually parted from them. Truth to tell, he sometimes felt like they were his only friends.

At a snail’s pace so as to not make any more unnecessary noise, he edged his way towards the walkway railing and peered over. Forty feet below, it was as he remembered. The uncertain, flickering light of a handful of storm lanterns gave the vista more of a welcoming appeal than he would have thought possible, like the light shed by a roaring fireplace in a cabin in the woods. The image was reinforced by the sleeping forms of several humans directly below him, comfortable, warm and relaxed on their filthy mattresses. The main floor of the warehouse was divided up by makeshift barriers, mostly comprised of dirty sheets and blankets. The sleeping area was but one. Other areas were clearly designated as food preparation and storage. From his vantage point, he could see two rumpled and disheveled cooks in dirty aprons sweating over a very large steaming cauldron. Sam could smell the contents but he was careful not to inhale too deeply. One section was obviously an armory; an improvised table had been made and on it rested several weapons, more than one in its component pieces, with at least three men working on them.

But the most interesting and disturbing section from his perspective was the massive cage hulking in one corner of the warehouse. Steel girders, mostly held together and tied by steel cable, rope and in some cases, wields, formed the basic structure. A solid-looking metal door, cannibalized from what had probably been a bank, enabled entry and egress from the structure. Trapped inside the improvised prison were about twenty miserable, emaciated humans. At least half of them lay on the bare floor while the other half stood listlessly at the bars, staring with blank eyes, seemingly unaware of their surroundings. Two armed men stood guard outside.

Sam tore his eyes away from them, aware that he was breathing more heavily. He felt the onset of what he now considered his ‘blood fury’ mode; a time when his irises went from black to red and his anger took complete control of his body. His suppressed it with an effort. The time would come when he would welcome the anger with open arms, but not quite yet.

A part of his mind detached itself from his emotions as he scanned the rest of the area with a practiced warrior’s eye. Not counting the prisoners but including the two guards outside, there were about ten humans currently up and about within the walls of the warehouse. All up, there were probably thirty people he would have to contend with if or when it came to a fight. Too many, even for him.

In order to get to the cage, he’d have to descend through the sleeping area of the warehouse. The walkway ran along the entire inner wall but unfortunately had only one access point. That point was a metal ladder fixed to the side of the wall which just happened to be right next to a mattress that was currently covered by a human occupant. Sneaking through those sleeping forms without being noticed — that was doable. He was rather adept by now at clinging to the shadows, and the uncertain light in the warehouse was an incredible bonus. This, combined with his exceptional senses, meant he had an advantage. Was it enough, though, to balance their strength of numbers? Perhaps. Providing of course that he didn’t wake anyone up. If he could take out the ten humans currently awake without any of the others noticing, he had a chance. If he slipped up, his chances of survival were remote. And that was just against the humans. If some demons decided to join the fray, he truly was doomed.

Inwardly sighing, he crept along the walkway, his footsteps incredibly light, ensuring that he shifted his weight subtly to compensate for the movement of the wood beneath his feet. He made absolutely no sound. When he reached the ladder, Sam paused momentarily to reassess. He looked beneath him. Still no one had noticed him; the sleepers slept on and the others carried on completely oblivious to the danger that floated above them.

He took the ladder two steps at a time, his long legs easily able to stretch the distance. Within moments, Sam was down, hugging the wall and the shadows. The nearest cot was so close he could have stretched out and touched the human occupant. It was a man, lying on his side with his back to him, covered in a grimy blanket.

Sam was about to move again when the man coughed and rolled over. For whatever reason — maybe his sixth sense alerted him, maybe it was a completely random reflex; it hardly mattered — the man opened his eyes, his stare finding Sam as if deliberate. Time seemed to stretch. It was possibly no more than a couple of seconds, but in that time, Sam saw a number of emotions in those eyes: denial, realization and stunned shock. The man’s eyes widened, his mouth began to open. Without realizing that he had moved, Sam was next to him, one of his hands clamped over the stranger’s mouth. His Wakizashi was already out. In a controlled, thrifty movement, the blade moved out and then quickly in, straight through the man’s throat.

Sam held him down until his death throes were finished. It was only then that he looked up — straight into the pupils of the person in the next cot along. He was sitting up, staring with horror at the scene unfolding next to him.