Philip Simpson - Tribulation

“Do you know where he’s been all this time?”

Sam shook his head. “No. He’s going to tell me later. I have to go to a briefing in the command center later.”

She shrugged. “Fine. Some of your stuff is still in the locker down the back there. I suppose you want to wash some of the ash off you. After that, we can go and get some food and talk about old times.” Sam could hardly bear to see what approximated a smile on Grace’s face these days. At least she was trying though. There was no doubt, however, that their once strong relationship was now strained. They hadn’t seen each other for months, almost like they had been avoiding contact. Often when Sam returned from a mission, she’d be gone, conveniently out on patrol. Her time in Hell had taken its toll. She would never really forgive him for taking so long to rescue her and he’d never really be able to forgive himself either.

Sam took her advice. He found his old towel and some soap in the locker. The shower cubicle was big enough to hold ten soldiers, making Sam experience an odd feeling of exposure as he soaped himself down. It was very pleasant to have a shower though. He hadn’t had one in weeks and it was good to wash away the accumulated grime, dirt and ash and blood. If only it could do the same for his guilt.

These days, this place was the closest he had to home. A base of operations, though he hadn’t been here since he deposited Grace there years before. Like Grace, the commander, Colonel Wheat, knew of his half-demonic nature. Now that Adam had arrived, they were the only three on the base that did. Both Sam and Colonel Wheat wanted to keep it that way, too. It worked to the benefit of both of them. Sam often had some survivors in tow, like now, or good intel that the Colonel could use in future operations. Sam liked to work alone in any case. He didn’t plan to give the Colonel too many details in case the man insisted that they mount a proper operation. The Colonel would’ve argued (Sam had to admit — probably rightly), that this nest of demon worshippers was too big and too well established for just one man — or half man — to take out by himself. In this case, he’d almost been right, too.

Sam stayed under the warm deluge for several minutes, luxuriating in so much water. He didn’t have to worry about using too much. The base was sitting on top of a massive underground spring of unpolluted water. That was one of the reasons why this place had been a prize worth keeping when so many other bases had been lost or abandoned almost without a fight. The top brass realized that the survival of those who had been left behind depended on a secure base with access to plentiful resources. Beightler Armory provided that. Not only that, but it was well stocked with weapons. The only thing it really lacked was more soldiers but new recruits, just like the ones that Sam had rescued, were coming in every other day.

Regretfully, he dragged himself from out of the shower and toweled himself off. As he was finishing off, Grace came in and leaned causally against the door frame. He was slightly shocked by such behavior but then, Grace had seen him naked before. That had been accidental. This was deliberate. He tried to cover himself up but thought he detected admiration in her gaze as it wandered over his sleek hard body, lingering on the various scars that he’d accumulated over the years. There was not an ounce of fat on him. Periodic access to food, relentless training and activity had ensured that his body was comprised only of lean muscle.

“So how many?” she asked, dragging her eyes back to his face.

“About a dozen,” he managed to reply, instinctively knowing what she was talking about.

“Where were they?”

“Caged like animals. Some demon worshippers had them. Using them like cattle.”

Grace nodded grimly. Sam saw her fist clench. They shared a common hatred against demon worshippers. He’d taken her out on a mission once where they’d uncovered a similar but smaller nest. Sam hadn’t much enjoyed her expression as she’d killed every one of them she could. She’d smiled when she did it too.

He turned his back on her and finished drying himself off, then dressed quickly. Lastly, he toweled his hair dry, enjoying the pleasant sensation of having his hair exposed and clean. He put his hood back up and then strapped on his swords.

Grace watched him the whole time, but stayed silent, probably thinking about demon worshippers and what she’d like to do to them.

“Ready?” she asked eventually. Sam nodded and followed her out of the barracks and over to the mess hall, a good five minute walk away. They walked in silence which was absolutely fine with Sam. He really didn’t feel like talking.

The mess hall was not too dissimilar to a barracks building, but about twice the size. Inside, about thirty or so people sat at tables scattered about the large open space. Sam heard his stomach growl when he caught a whiff of the food bubbling in the large pots at the serving counter. Although he didn’t need much food, eating — like having a hot shower — was one of those rare pleasures that he looked forward to.

Currently, there were only a couple of people queuing up to be served. The cook, dressed in what had once been a white apron but now looked as grey as the ash outside, was stirring a pot without enthusiasm. Ignoring the stares from the other diners, he and Grace marched up to the counter, grabbed a tray and a plate each and received two boiled potatoes and a ladle of stew. It didn’t look like much, but as they took their places at an unoccupied table, Sam felt his mouth watering.

Without preamble, he tucked into his food. The potatoes were overcooked and dry and the stew lacked flavor. To Sam, it was delicious. Sometimes, he found himself craving rice but he knew that it was a crop that was just too thirsty, needing a great deal of water to grow — probably more than the base command could justify. The meat was unrecognizable but Sam suspected it was goat, given that most of the meat on the base was. Grace only picked at hers but then again, she’d probably eaten it every day since he’d been gone.

He finished and wiped his mouth carefully with a napkin, thinking about seconds. Grace’s was almost untouched and he eyed it greedily. When she saw what he was looking at, she pushed her plate at him with a tiny grimace that could’ve been the hint of a smile.

She waited patiently while he shoveled it into his face. “So. What do you think Adam and the Commander want to see you about?” she asked when he had finished for the second time.

Sam shrugged. “No idea. Adam seems to think it’s important. Why don’t you come and find out for yourself?”

She sneered at him. “Me? I’m not important around here. What makes you think I’d be allowed in some important meeting. Most of the time, people forget that I actually exist.”

“I don’t,” said Sam quietly, unable to meet her eye, looking down at his almost empty plate.

She muttered something under her breath that even Sam, with his exceptional hearing, couldn’t quite make out, but he got the impression that this appeased her slightly.

“So, have you heard about the church services?” she asked finally.

Sam shook his head, the last mouthful of food crammed into his mouth making it impossible to speak.

“You knew there was a chapel on the base, didn’t you?”

Sam nodded. Of course he knew. The church hadn’t been desecrated, so it was useless to the demons. Presumably, either demon worshippers or other agents had missed the one on this base — probably because the base had never been taken. He’d been there a few times but hadn’t dared enter the place or even the grounds for that matter. He wouldn’t take the risk. It was the first church he’d come across which still had the power to hurt him. And that was the sort of pain you didn’t forget in a hurry.