Philip Simpson - Tribulation

Fortunately, the interstate became increasingly blocked with cars as he got closer to Manhattan. This suited Sam perfectly. He’d never been trained in Parkour — the French style of urban movement — but he’d read about it when he was younger. The definition of it kind of summed up how he liked to move, aided by his natural athleticism and otherworldly strength and dexterity. It was something he’d had a great deal of experience with over the years. Urban landscapes scattered with the remnants of human debris weren’t exactly hard to come by these days.

The piles of cars posed an irresistible challenge to Sam, an obstacle almost purposely designed for him. It was the closest thing to what Sam defined as fun. He doubted whether the Devil’s Hand would view it like that. Hell probably never ran courses on navigating urban settings.

He raced through the cars with a will, somersaulting, rolling and leaping with a grace and power no human could match. He made good time, sensing the Devil’s Hand falling behind even though they’d discovered his trail.

As he neared New York, the smoke became more apparent. Several buildings at least must have been on fire. But that paled into insignificance when he began crossing a bridge, thankfully largely intact other than some twisted girders, interspersed with a few cracks big enough to fall through. A sign told him that he was still on interstate 78. If memory served, the bridge was the New Jersey Turnpike extension. The vaguely familiar stench should have warned him, but he didn’t really think about it, largely immune to the smells this post-apocalyptic world could throw at him.

He was about ten feet onto the bridge when he suddenly became aware of what was under him. The source of the odor was the water — the salt water that was Newark Bay, the body of water between him and Jersey City. It was water no longer. It was the color of blood — and not just that either. The smell finally registered. Corruption. It didn’t just look like blood — it was blood, blood that was in the process of putrefaction.

Sam stopped running. Stopped moving completely. Probably stopped breathing for all he knew, and just stared in stunned silence. It was one of the worst things he had seen since the Rapture. What’s more, it was a terribly depressing and disappointing sight. He’d read about the ocean as a boy and had always looked forward to the experience, given that he’d been brought up in Utah. Even when he was in California, the opportunity to see the sea had never presented itself. Something had always come up. He’d built it up in his mind though as an experience to look forward to, something to savor. Those things were very rare for him these days.

The disappointment was almost crushing. He should’ve expected it though. The book of Revelations had predicted that the sea, or at least a third of it, would turn to blood. Poison. He had dared to hope that the Bible might be wrong in this regard, but like everything else so far, it was like reading from a script. Everything the Bible said would happen, was happening. Why should this be any different?

It completely ruined his entrance into New York. The earlier excitement he’d felt was gone. Despondent, he began to jog again. The road took him past Liberty State Park and it was here that he got his first good look at Manhattan. As he’d suspected, it was on fire, the flames clearly visible in the darkness — but only in very specific areas. To his eye, they almost looked deliberate. It didn’t make much sense either. Anything flammable should by rights have burnt by now. There couldn’t be much left other than brick, concrete and stone — luckily the exact same materials many buildings in New York were comprised of. Some buildings lights were on, too which could be construed in any number of ways. Sam didn’t like to hazard a guess as to what was going on in the city at this early stage.

It didn’t help his mood much that the view was also marred by the outlook onto the Hudson River. It too, was blood red. The Statue of Liberty — another sight he’d been looking forward to — fared no better. Lit by the crimson moon which was only now making an appearance from behind a cloud, Sam could clearly see from his vantage point that it was scarred with scorch marks, filthy and battered. The uplifted arm carrying the torch had either broken off or been deliberately destroyed. Either way, the once proud lady painted a rather bleak picture.

Sam tore his gaze away from the horrible view, desperately trying to find something positive to look upon. Across the Hudson River, he could just make out Brooklyn. No lights were visible but Sam could make out a large number of shapes clustered at the docks. Ships. Sam would have expected many of the residents of New York to have used the ships to escape the city after the Rapture. Clearly not. Maybe things in the city weren’t that bad? Maybe many of the residents had decided to stay?

Overall, his first impression was that New York was depressingly similar to most other cities he’d encountered. Even Liberty Park was a burnt and blackened ruin. Hardly the welcome to New York he was hoping for.

He trotted on, leaping cars and other wreckage, but the fun had gone out of it. He navigated the street by instinct, his mind on other things. The interstate took him through downtown Jersey City. His eyes and other senses told him that few if any humans were resident. Even demons were conspicuous by their absence. But they were out there alright — not just the Devil’s Hand either. Plenty of demons in fact. Just because he couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there.

It wasn’t until he was at the entrance to the Holland tunnel that he realized where they were. Concealed in the darkness, hidden under tons of rock and bloody water. Lemure. In their thousands.

Sam paused and considered. It wasn’t the only way into New York but it was probably the one where he would be less exposed. He also needed to investigate the tunnel thoroughly for Colonel Wheat’s benefit. They were only Lemure after all. Stupid creatures. The lowest, weakest demon of all. But in great numbers, they still posed a threat to him — if he was cornered, for instance. And what better way to corner him than in a tunnel?

He sighed, resigned to a course of action. If it didn’t work out, he could always backtrack. Cautiously, wrapping his concealment glamor around himself more tightly than he’d ever done before, he entered the tunnel. He could sense that the Lemure weren’t at the entrance — they were further in, concealed within the darkened recesses of the tunnel, interspersed amongst the jumble of cars.

He stuck to the sides, moving without sound, edging his way deeper into the tunnel. He was about a hundred feet in when he saw his first Lemure. He froze, watching the creature carefully, waiting for any indication that he’d been spotted. He saw no such indication. In fact, the Lemure didn’t move at all, appearing as frozen as he was, its blood red eyes staring at nothing. In the darkness, he gradually became aware of how many there were, increasing in numbers further in. He’d been right. There were potentially thousands of them in the tunnel. They all looked like they were in the same state as the first one, locked in some sort of upright coma.

This just might be easier than he first suspected. He moved on, hugging the tunnel wall, keeping his distance from the creatures. Even though they appeared to be in some sort of stasis, it probably wouldn’t do to disturb them. If he disturbed one, he disturbed them all. Then it would get hairy.

He knew from studying his map that the tunnel was over two and a half miles long — perhaps the longest two and a half miles he would ever have to walk. He’d got lucky though. The fact that the creatures were in this state was definitely a bonus. If they had been fully awake, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to get past all of them. He crept on and had traveled maybe a third of that distance when his luck began to change for the worse.