Philip Simpson - Tribulation

The rough, sibilant voice sounded in his head. Sensed it. Felt your need.

Unconsciously, Sam had reached out to his familiar. A familiar was what magicians of old had once referred to the animals that served them. He didn’t know how else to categorize their relationship, but Sam knew one thing for sure. Since Yeth had come along, he certainly felt less lonely.

Go now.

“Sure. You go now. Again — thank you.” Sam stretched up and patted Yeth on the head, the great demon lowering his mighty skull obligingly so Sam could reach. Sam’s hand was completely unharmed by the demon’s flaming aura. Funny how he still spoke aloud to the demon, even when it was unnecessary. He could easily communicate the same way that Yeth communicated with him, but it somehow just felt better this way. More normal. Like he was speaking to another person.

Sam was about to say more, when the sound of gunfire intruded. Sam hadn’t noticed before, but now that the warehouse was all but silent, the gunfire was horrendously loud. Sparks flew off Yeth’s hide, barely troubling the demon. Instinctively, he knew that the rounds being fired were iron. Experience had taught him that Hellhounds were almost immune to physical damage — even from iron. Sam would not be so lucky.

Swiftly, he took shelter behind Yeth and peered cautiously around one of the Hellhound’s great forelegs. Above the level of his eyes, on the catwalk that Sam had used to gain entry to this place, stood a man. In his hands was a machinegun, spitting out round after round in the direction ogrin f Sam and the Hellhound. Clearly, they hadn’t accounted for all the demon worshippers.

Sam was still formulating a plan when return fire echoed from nearby. The man on the catwalk undulated under a barrage of bullets, screaming. He slumped against the railing and plunged to the floor, landing with an ominous thud.

Somewhat mystified, Sam glanced in the direction of the return fire. A young African-American woman — if Sam had to guess, he would’ve said she was in her teens but it was hard to tell under all the accumulated grime — was holding another machine gun in her hand. She looked shocked but determined, staring with grim intent at the place where the man on the catwalk had just been. Sam could see that her finger was still pressed against the trigger but no more bullets emerged. The magazine was empty.

Slowly so as to not startle her, Sam moved towards her. With gentle hands, he put weight on the barrel of the gun, lowering it so it pointed at the floor. Suddenly, she became aware of him.

“I killed him,” she stammered. “I had to kill him. He was like all the rest. He deserved to die.”

Sam nodded, trying to kill her calm. “Yes,” he said. “They all deserved to die for what they did.”

She nodded back vigorously and then looked down at what she was holding in her hands. Her expression changed to one of confusion as if unsure how she came to be holding the gun. It seemed she had just reacted when the opportunity to avenge herself against her captives had arisen. The cage was already open. All she’d had to do was pick up a discarded weapon near a burning corpse, point and shoot. It was almost instinctive.

Sam knew the effects of shock when he saw it. It was important to distract her, keep her busy and not dwell on the horrible reality of what had gone on here. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Olivia,” came the weak response.

“Well, Olivia. I want you to help me here. In fact, I need your help. I want you to help me organize the others. We have to put these fires out, and then I want you to take a couple of the more able and find all the weapons, food and water you can get your hands on. Do you think you can do that?”

Olivia nodded ever so slightly.

“Good,” said Sam. “Come with me.”

Concerned about the impression and effect Yeth would have on these already traumatized survivors, Sam turned back to Yeth, but the demon was one step ahead of him. Conscious of his master’s will, Yeth was already on the way out. Trailing sparks and fire, Yeth departed, heading through the still burning remains of the wall it had smashed through. Soon enough, he would find a desecrated church he could use to return to Hell. Given what he knew about the growing nature of their relationship, Sam felt sorry for any demon that got in Yeth’s way.

Sam guided Olivia towards the cage. Not nearly so brave as the girl, the other survivors were only now moving hesitantly towards the bars. Sam was suddenly aware that his hood was down; anyone perceptive could easily see the horns jutting out of the messy black locks. Thankfully, Olivia wasn’t really that aware of what was going on and hadn’t noticed. He put his hood back up quickly, breathing a prayer of thanks that no one in the cage had spotted them. It would make his job of rescuing these people basically impossible if they knew he was a demon, even partly.

There were a good dozen people inside the cage, mostly young. That kind of made sense to Sam. Most survivors he found these days were young, possibly because they were fitter and stronger than older people. And possibly because they only had themselves to worry about. Sam very rarely saw parents with youngish children. Family groups like that were mostly long gone now, either taken to Hell, converted to worship of Satan or preyed upon by their fellow humans. The youngest children — those completely innocent — had been taken with the Rapture. Children over a certain age, usually around five, were often left behind if they were non-believers. Escaping pursuit whilst caring for young children was basically impossible. And as for feeding them, well, a young person alone only had one mouth to feed.

A little over half were female and there seemed to be a variety of ethnicities, although it was hard to be exact given they all seemed to be covered in filth. Without exception, despair filled their eyes. Even now, with salvation at hand, they seemed listless and defeated as if the will to live had deserted them. Sam couldn’t blame them. He had some idea of what they’d been through and they didn’t have his resources to draw upon. Some of them displayed tell-tale signs of disease — especially the bubonic plague which seemed to be the most prevalent out of all the diseases at the moment. A few had more advanced signs of it: their hands, especially fingers, were turning black. Sam would have to get them urgent treatment when he got them to safety. Left untreated, the disease was almost always fatal within three to five days.

He took a breath and began to speak, conscious that time was once again against him. It was only a matter of time before other demons came to investigate what was going on here. Sam was also under no illusions that one or more of the demon worshippers had escaped and raised the alarm.

“I want you all to listen to me. Your lives depend on doing exactly what I say. At present, you are free and alive. Try to stay that way. I want you and you and you,” he said, stabbing fingers randomly at some of the less feeble looking survivors, “to go with Olivia and find whatever food and water you can find. Get some bags or backpacks to store it in.” Sam had given up the thought of putting out the fires. They were spreading and would soon be uncontrollable. They simply did not have time. He had to prioritize. He was also having second thoughts about putting Olivia in charge. The look in her eye told him everything he needed to know. At present, she wasn’t capable of anything much.

“You three,” he said, pointing at two sturdier men and a woman, “come with me. We’re going to find as many weapons as we can carry. The rest of you, get yourselves ready to travel. We’ll be leaving in five minutes.” That was all the remainder was capable of from the look of them. Some of them were so weak and malnourished, they were struggling to stand.