Philip Simpson - Tribulation

Sam froze. Despite everything, he hadn’t really thought of this. Hadn’t thought it through. Maybe he was avoiding it as something too terrible to contemplate. But as soon as Gabriel said it, he knew. When he died he would go to Hell. Not Heaven. Hell. It was where he belonged.

Gabriel saw the realization dawn in his face. She reached out and touched his arm in what he knew was intended as a sympathetic gesture. Angrily, he shook it off.

“Yes, Hell. Then you will be at his mercy and his command. That must be his intention. Where he failed to convince you with coercion and lies, he will succeed with brute force.”

Sam knew that was exactly his father’s intention. He wouldn’t waste such a valuable resource as the Devil’s Hand on him otherwise. But he wouldn’t go down without a fight. Surely, there must be a way to defeat them?

“How can I win?” he asked, pleased that his voice did not betray him.

Gabriel looked away. If Sam knew her at all, she appeared conflicted. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. There will be a price to pay for this knowledge but I think you deserve to know. To end them, to end the Devil’s Hand once and for all, you must face them and destroy each one in Hell.”

Sam was surprised. “Is that all? Doesn’t sound too difficult.”

“Your arrogance is unbecoming,” she said, scowling at him. Sam didn’t care. Gabriel’s approval was the last thing on his mind. “The Devil’s Hand is notoriously difficult to find, their location a closely guarded secret. And even if you did find them, you will be fighting them on their own turf. As a unit. In Hell, they never fight alone.”

Sam nodded but said nothing. A thought had just occurred to him but he wasn’t about to share it with Gabriel.

“And what of your father?” she asked. “What did he tell you?”

Something told Sam it was best not to mention Aimi in the conversation. He had a feeling that in the manipulation stakes, both Heaven and Hell were guilty. “Nothing really. Just his usual mocking. Told me to expect a surprise.” The Devil’s Hand and their unusual powers presumably. Well, Sam hoped so in any case. He didn’t need any more surprises at this stage.

Gabriel appeared satisfied with this response. “I see.”

“What am I supposed to do now? Any particular instructions or advice?”

“Just keep doing what you are doing. In New York, you will find many desperate souls. Help them when you can. Destroy those who deserve it. Prepare the way for Him, for your Savior.”

“And what about Aimi?”

Gabriel smiled her knowing smile. “You will see her again.”

“When?” he demanded.

Gabriel’s smile evaporated. “Do not demand things of me, demon spawn. You will see her in good time. Now, I must be off. I will see you again soon, Samael.”

Once again, Sam said nothing, just watched her as she took off, disappearing through the cloud cover that was even now brightening with the advance of daylight. He hadn’t appreciated her tone. Demon spawn indeed. Something had nettled her. And he suspected that he knew what. Gabriel was unaccustomed to demands being made from her. Especially from a half-human, half-demon hybrid. Aimi seemed to be a sore point as well. He wondered what was really going on behind the scenes. It certainly appeared that he was being toyed with a little. Heaven was using Aimi to keep him on side, while his father was trying to kill him to ensure that he was trapped in Hell at his side.

Life used to be quite simple, really, but had gotten rather complex of late. All he used to have to think about was survival but now, now things were altogether different. What’s more, he was sick of being manipulated.

He jogged on. Dawn was coming and he needed some place to rest. At least that was straightforward.

It turned out that finding a place to rest for the day wasn’t all that simple after all. At the next town — the map told him he was probably in Bedford — he picked the first reasonably intact house he came to, figuring one house was no different than any other to rest for the day. He was wrong. He should have grasped the waves from their minds, but their thoughts were so weak they hardly registered.

Kicking open the door, he was standing amongst them before he even knew they were there, cowering amongst the shadows. Humans. Just starting to stir having survived the night. Probably about to go out scavenging for the day.

He heard some stifled screams and his hands went to his swords without thinking. In a backroom somewhere, someone was sobbing. He was in a darkened room. Windows bordered up and covered with curtains. Huddled in corners on filthy mattresses were several Humans. Sam could smell rotting flesh and he knew without a doubt, that some, if not all of them had the plague.

It was a surprise they were still alive. Not only had they survived the plague and starvation, but the demons had not taken them. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously but nothing immediately pointed to demon worship. Striding over to one of the cowering figures, he pulled her to her feet. It was a young woman, no more than fifteen but so skinny and malnourished that she weighed probably half what Aimi did — and she was tiny.

The girl tried to push his hands away from her but she was as weak as a baby. He turned her wrist over. Nothing. No mark. No tattoo. She wasn’t a demon worshipper. More roughly than he intended, he checked two more. No mark. They were clean.

“What… what do you want?” asked a man, standing shakily. He was probably Sam’s age but looked ten years older.

Sam held his hands up, palms facing outwards. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just looking for a place to rest.”

“Perhaps, you would like to look elsewhere,” said the man. He flinched every time Sam looked at him. “I’m not being rude but we don’t have enough for ourselves, let alone someone else. Besides, many of us are sick.”

Sam smiled, trying to reassure the obviously terrified youth. “It’s ok. I don’t want any of your food but I do have a question for you.”

“What is it?” asked the man, sinking to the floor. Even standing seemed to be too much of an effort for him.

“How have you survived? Why haven’t the demons taken you?”

The man on the floor signed wearily. He looked at the others before replying. Sam could see that he was considering lying but then decided against it. “We have a generator. Underneath the house. There’s a deep well under there as well. We grow a bit of food using hydroponics. Some food. It’s never enough.”

“And what about the demons?” asked Sam.

The man shrugged. “They don’t bother us. We haven’t seen one in months.”

Sam thought this was strange and yet he wanted to trust these people. They didn’t seem to have done anything wrong, their only crime being left behind to endure the Tribulation. And he liked the fact that they were survivors. That they had managed to start the process of civilization again in this small town. It gave him hope — hope for the rest of humanity that remained.

On a whim, he unstrapped his backpack and began to rummage around, aware that the people in the room were cringing back in terror, expecting the worse. He pulled out two small vials and some disposable needles. He tossed them to the man who caught them with a nervous flutter.

“What’s this?” the youth stammered.

“Antibiotics,” said Sam. “It’ll get rid of the plague. Should be enough to treat everyone if you use it sparingly. Try not to eat too many rats.” Before he’d left, the Colonel had made him stock up on as much antibiotics as he could carry. If rumors were to be believed, New York was rife with the disease.

The man stood again, tears streaming out of his eyes. “I don’t know who you are, stranger, or why you are helping us, but I thank you,” he said. “I thank you on behalf of all of us here. What can we do for you in return?”