Rapture (2 page)

He sat on her bed, lost in memories of her. These sentimental thoughts, he realized, were the only reason he was still here. Los Angeles beckoned – a promise made long ago. He was procrastinating, the house his only remaining connection to her.

The only reason he hadn’t left by now was because he wasn’t ready. He needed time to gather supplies and prepare. That was what he kept telling himself, anyway. The real reason, if he was honest with himself, was that he was afraid. This house, the town of Jacob’s Ladder and its immediate surrounds were his whole life. His whole world. He had never left it because of who he was.

He couldn’t put it off any longer though. He needed to go.

He was turning to leave Aimi’s room when he heard it - an inhuman cry uttered by monstrous vocal chords. The hairs at the base of his neck stood upright. Still some distance away but getting closer. Probably already on Main Street. He had seconds, perhaps a minute at best.

Catlike, Sam jumped down the entire length of the stairwell with one leap and landed at the foot of the stairs. He positioned himself in front of the front door, placing his feet carefully to avoid the trap. With one swift movement he withdrew his katana, holding it two-handed in guard position above his head. And then he waited. But not for long.

The demons came for him.

He saw them gather in the street outside, their gray scaly skin almost crimson in the glow of the moon. They were completely without clothes and, as far as Sam could make out, of no discernable gender. Their heads, covered in long mangy hair, appeared almost human but far more skeletal. Teeth sharpened to points gleamed in the darkness, high-pitched screams emerging from the darkened pits of their mouths. Arms much longer than any human’s ended in sharp talons, while horns protruded from heads, knees and elbows on their man-sized bodies.

The first time they had attacked, he hadn’t expected it, even though Hikari had told him what it would be like. A part of him, despite his love and respect for the old man, had refused to believe it. That night he had left the front door open, innocently believing that someone homeless might enter and he could offer them what comfort he had. Instead, the demons had poured in. They had charged into his home, shrieking and wailing, and he had been taken off guard, confused and deeply terrified. Thankfully his training had quickly kicked in and he had rallied, fighting them off in spite of his horror. His weapons, as he had been taught, were never far away.

After that, he didn’t bother closing the door – they would just smash it in any case. He found that the demons (he recognized them as Lemure from pictures his master had shown him) were essentially pretty stupid. If he stood in the doorway, they would surge towards him in a mass of bloodthirsty frenzy. They used no tactics and in fact, in their desire to reach him, would often impede each other. He used this knowledge to his advantage.

The trap in front of the door was a simple enough affair. It was simply a pit he had dug, lined with iron railings and covered with an off-cut of carpet. The demons fell for it every time. Really
fell.

Now the Lemure leapt forward, disturbingly swift for such stupid beings. Three entered the doorway at once, and two immediately fell into the pit, impaling themselves on the spikes beneath. Their bodies turned to ash which momentarily obscured the third from Sam’s view. The rest, he knew, would jump over the trap. If he stayed for another night, the process would begin all over again. It was almost like they had no long term memory - they learnt from what they saw and did in the present, the past a stranger to them.

Jumping through the ashy remains, the third demon was upon Sam in seconds. He didn’t even think. He just reacted as he has been taught. The blade felt light in his hands, almost like it was eager to fight and taste the blood of demons. He knew this shouldn’t be so – his blades, like Hikari’s, were made of iron and much heavier than conventional steel weapons. Only someone with exceptional strength and intense training could handle these incredibly dangerous weapons effectively. Sam had that training; for the last six years he had worked with these weapons, day and night.

The katana in high guard position came down in a straight overhead, lightning fast, splitting the skull of the Lemure like an axe through kindling. It disappeared in a plume of ash. Two more darted in after it, mouths wide and talons outstretched. He switched his grip on the katana to one-handed and drew the wakizashi with the other. Following through with the drawing motion, he slashed the first of the Lemure through the throat with the smaller blade.

He heard the sound of shattering glass. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two more leap through the window in a hail of glassy splinters. One skewered itself on the spikes, but the other – impossibly – must have seen them at the last moment and somehow managed to flip itself over and avoid them.

Sam focused his attention back on the one in front of him. Just in time he brought the wakizashi around to block a talon swipe that would have torn his face off. He thrust with the katana, taking the Lemure through the middle but not before he felt a terrible pain in his side. The Lemure vanished, but his momentary lapse of concentration had cost him. He looked down. There was a line of bloody claw marks on his side. He shrugged - it might slow him down but he certainly wasn’t out of the fight yet.

As the wailing horde of demons surged through the doors and windows, Sam retreated through the lounge. He was reasonably confident the rear porch would be clear. He had set numerous iron traps and spikes and in any case, the stupidity of the demons meant they didn’t think tactically. Forward assault was the only method they seemed to possess.

The demons continued to force him back. His swords became a blur of motion as he cut and thrust faster than the eye could follow, a whirlwind attack. The demons went down in great numbers but for every one he cut down, two more replaced it. Talons left bloody tracks on his face and his legs, and the wound in his side oozed blood, but still he fought. He had never known them to arrive in such force before. Perhaps, somehow, they knew he was leaving and were doing their utmost to prevent it.

Eventually he reached the relative safety of the back door and ran through, slamming it shut behind him. A pair of demon hands darted through at the last moment and wedged themselves into the gap. Sam forced it closed with all his strength, severing the taloned hands in the process, then placed the locking board against it.

Outside, he took a moment to get his breath, ignoring the pounding and screams from inside. He had boarded up the windows on this side of the house for this exact reason – to contain and trap the hunting demons. Even as he recalled this, the frames began shaking and quivering with blows from taloned hands. The demons would throw themselves at the door and the windows for some time before breaking through. They were too idiotic to just go around the back. Hopefully, that would give him enough time to get away.

Hopefully.

Not for the first time, he doubted his tactics. At least travelling in the daylight would have been demon-free. But like the demons, he felt more comfortable at night. He would be able to move faster. In any case, even if he had left during the day, as soon as night fell he would have been caught in the open with no where to run. At least this way, he had a head start. That was the plan.

He sensed something then. He wondered if it was his very essence that enabled him to sense these creatures before he saw them, or whether it was something he had learnt through his training. Regardless of the reason, he’d stopped doubting this ability days ago. He knew something was coming, something that took his breath away with fear. It was close, and it wasn’t a Lemure, but something much, much worse. Even the near presence of it was enough for him to almost gag in terror. He had a sudden urge to get away, to run, to hide. Using his training, he fought against his fear and managed to control both it and the adrenaline surging through him. His mind cleared.

Then the house shook from a massive impact. He heard it too – a great tearing noise and glass and timber shattering. Whatever it was, it was coming through the house. And it was in a hurry.

Sheathing both swords, Sam turned and fled, battling his way through dead and dying vegetation, ignoring the clouds of ash disturbed by his flailing arms. He reached the fence marking the end of their property and leapt over it just as his house exploded.

There was a blaze of light, a reverberating blast. Shards of timber from his house whistled past his ear. Every nerve in his body urged him to run, run as fast as he could and keep on running. Instead, he forced his body to turn calmly, ignoring its screaming protests.

He wished he hadn’t.

Striding across the burning wreckage of his family home was a creature from the very darkest pits of Hell. Judging from the relative size of the Lemure who were dancing around its feet like excited puppies, it was at least ten feet tall. It was roughly human-shaped but had four arms instead of two, each hand equipped with foot long talons. Five foot-long black blades were clutched in each claw. Massive wings arched above its back like sails. It was clad in some sort of metallic black armour, glinting ruby red against the backdrop of the burning house, and the head, fully enclosed by a black winged helm, turned this way and that before rotating in his direction. It stopped dead. Sam knew with absolute certainty that it was looking directly at him.

Over the years, Sam had committed to memory every demon in Hikari’s well thumbed copy of Demonology. Hikari regarded the book as essential research for Sam’s coming battle, and had made him study the book endlessly so that Sam would know instantly who or what he was fighting and how to combat it. The book was from the 17
^th
century and all of the illustrations were heavily stylized and detailed but simplistic by today’s standards. However, there was one picture in the book that matched what was before him. There was no way he could fail to recognise the similarities.

It was an Astaroth. A blood demon. A lesser prince of hell.

Sam did then what he had started doing and should’ve kept on doing. He ran.

Heart beating wildly, he darted through his neighbour’s garden, following the path that in spring had bordered a multitude of flowering plants. Now, it meandered through a graveyard of skeletal plants submerged in a white blanket of ash. His neighbours, devout members of the local church, had disappeared along with many of the other 800 odd residents of Jacob’s Ladder during the Rapture. He was sure they wouldn’t mind him using their house in this manner. In fact, where they’d gone, he doubted whether they’d care about that at all, or the fact that he’d helped himself to all the food in their cupboards.

It was an escape route that he had plotted and practised on numerous occasions. The path led up to the back porch of his neighbour’s earthquake-damaged house. Without pausing, he charged straight through the back door, confident that his senses would alert him to the presence of any more demons. He leapt over a fallen internal wall, sidestepped the divider into the lounge and did a neat forwards somersault through the broken front window. He landed on his feet, already running, sprinting off the front porch and onto the road.

Sam risked a glimpse behind him and smiled weakly to himself at what he saw. Nothing. They weren’t following him yet. More importantly, the Astaroth had not yet made an appearance. He could do this. He was going to do it – he was going to get away.

As soon as this thought entered his mind, it was interrupted by a demonic presence to his left. A cluster of Lemure surged out of what had once been the local coffee house, screaming as they advanced. Sam sprinted around a wrecked SUV to give himself some breathing room, drawing both swords.

He swung around to his left, still at full stretch. Whether by good luck or by displaying a higher than usual level of intelligence, three of the Lemure hadn’t fallen for the ploy. They met him on the other side of the SUV, running as hard as he was. Sam didn’t even pause. He struck high then low and spun around to deliver a double blow to the third Lemure. All three turned to ash in his wake.

He kept sprinting, skirting around the wrecks in the middle of Main Street, heading east. It was opposite to the direction he wanted to head in but he would double back later in order to confuse his pursuers.

Sensing that the demons were falling behind, Sam slowed to a fast jog. He could keep this pace up for hours if he needed to. Before the Rapture, he had often run into the Rockies and back before the sun had even sneaked up over the horizon. Night-time was when he always trained, away from prying eyes. Hikari had told him that his night vision was much better than any other humans, something he had suspected when he realized he could see almost perfectly in all but the most absolute darkness.

It was just as well because now the only light came from the moon, which was hardly a great source of illumination… Normally, street lights, the frontages of residential homes, the odd shop open for a late night and the occasional car would provide ample light for the average resident. It was odd running through the small town like this, guided only by the malevolent red glow from above.

Disturbingly, despite his injuries, Sam felt even stronger right at that moment, almost as if the moon was energising him. He looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of a star in the now cloudless sky. There were none. Had been none since the Rapture. The stars, once beautiful and sparkling in the clear country air, had all fallen. Where they had landed, Sam had no idea.

Suddenly a shadow fell across the moon, a strong wind buffeting him from above. He’d recognised the presence of the Astaroth but he was far, far too late. Too late and too slow. Cursing himself for his lack of concentration, Sam attempted to roll but felt something lift him off his feet with a powerful jolt. It was the Astaroth alright. Clearly, those wings weren’t for show, he thought wryly as the Astaroth slowly gained height. Luck had been on his side though. Instead of those mighty talons piercing his skin, they had merely jagged his backpack.