The War in Heaven (22 page)

“I shall do my best,” promised Cordon.

“I expect no less,” replied Molock, placing a hand on Cordon’s shoulder. “I did not always hold the trust in you I have now. At one time I considered you a liability; but in the time since, you have earned my trust and my respect. Don’t disappoint me.”

Not much surprised Cordon, but that statement did. It was almost moving. “I shall endeavor to live up to the faith you have in me, my lord.”

Governor Molock departed, leaving Cordon to his plans. He was in control now.

“Fate has smiled upon you this day,” said Rolf.

Cordon nodded approvingly but said nothing. Rolf was right. No longer would he have to deal with an incompetent bureaucracy. Now he could get this task done efficiently, his way. But by the same token, he could not blame the failings of this campaign on someone else should it go badly. That blame would fall on him.

“There are massive enemy forces approaching from the north and the south,” warned the sentries. The warning sparked frenzied activity in the valley below. Abaddon’s children swept out of their resting places amid the cliffs and soared skyward to meet the encroaching demon units. Still, their task was only a delaying action. They would buy the ground forces a few minutes, no more.

“If we only had more time,” lamented Julie, as she prepared to escort the last eight refugees into the misty corridor and freedom. “It felt so wonderful to give to others the gift that had been given to me, the gift of freedom from the torments of Hell.”

The marine sentry at her side nodded but said nothing. It was time to go.

Julie was the last volunteer still here. They had gotten out so many, but there were so many still left to go. Beyond the cordoned off area, a great multitude’s joy turned to horror as they realized that they would not be escaping this place after all.

“You’ve got five or six minutes,” warned the sentry, “go!” Julie led the last eight refugees, hand in hand, into the mists, followed quickly by the last of the marines.

Abaddon turned to the gathered humans that he would have to leave behind, even as his own dark angels began their retreat through the gate. “Please, do not lose hope, never lose hope. I swear to you in the name of the Father, I will return to take you home.”

In the midst of the crowd, Tim Monroe looked on in horror. He had been just a few feet from going over the cliff again when the attack came and the assembly line of agony had been suspended. Then followed the confusion and the realization that freedom might well be at hand. It had been an arduous journey from there to here, wearing the dreadful shackles much of the way. But hearing the rumor that freedom might be at the end of the journey made it worth the shackled trek.

Along the way he had met a pair of marines in full battle gear. Imagine that, real marines in Hell. They had been amazed to encounter one so young as himself, little more than a child, really. Even now after a year in this awful place, he had not yet turned 17. With the help of several small creatures of a kind he had never seen before, his shackles had been sheared away, right there on the spot. It had been a trial of sorts, or so he had been told. These
creatures, Abaddon’s children, had judged him to be worthy of salvation from this place. The marines had told him to come to this place, told him to hurry. Now he was so close, but not close enough. He had gotten lost in the shuffle; and now as just one among the surging crowd, he couldn’t reach the leader of the dark angels.

“Please, take me with you!” he cried. “I’m all ready; they said I could go.” But his voice faded to insignificance amid the growing din of lamenting and pleading voices.

Then even Abaddon retreated into the starry portal, leaving thousands of defenseless humans behind. What was Tim to do? He began to run. Many times as he made his way up the switchback trail to the ridge then onward to the precipice, he had looked down at the narrow canyon. It snaked its way through the rocky plateau to he knew not where. Might there be hiding places out there? He had to find out; it was his only hope.

It was difficult for him to make his way through the still shackled multitudes, but at last he broke free and ran into new territory. In high school he had been on the track team. The 440 was his main event, yet after a year of this place, he had become so weak and dehydrated that he was in no danger of breaking his personal record. Yet, he pushed on ahead of the crowd.

There were no demons overhead yet. Apparently, they had been waylaid by the many small creatures that still flew around the canyon. The canyon made a sharp turn to the left. He lost sight of the other victims, though he could still hear their lamentations bouncing off the nearly vertical canyon walls around him.

A brightly glowing ball of dazzling light rocketed across the sky, hitting the cliff a few hundred yards behind him with a powerful detonation. “A fireball,” he gasped. Yes, he had seen these powerful demonic weapons before. The demons used them to demonstrate their superiority, to remind their slaves of the power they possessed.

Rocks from the canyon wall were blasted away to plunge to the canyon floor in a terrible torrent, forming a barricade of rubble across the canyon floor behind him. Still more lit up the sky, dropping beyond the ridgeline, followed by a series of titanic explosions. The fading voices behind him turned to screams of terror.

His bare feet hurt, as they were brutalized by the maze of rocks that made up the canyon floor. He was running so hard; he had to stop, yet the thought of what lay behind, the fate that could be his again were he not swift enough, gave him incentive to push on.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he pushed onward. At any moment he expected to hear the flapping of wings or feel the sharp talons of a demon digging into his flesh—yet neither became a reality. Through it all he prayed, over and over again, even as he wept.

Still, his endurance was not without its limits. In the end, he found himself kneeling on the ground fighting for his breath. He didn’t have the strength to do this, yet he could do nothing else. It was several minutes before he rose once more and continued his trek, though more slowly.

Then there was a sound coming from the rocks ahead of him. He stopped. All he heard was the wind blowing through the canyon. But wait, he heard it again. He advanced cautiously. It sounded like an animal of some sort. It sounded almost like a faint cry of pain. But he had never seen animals of any sort in Hell, not once in the year he had been here. He peered behind the rocks to see an amazing sight. There, on the sand, was one of the tiny creatures that had come with the rescue party. But this one was not in good condition. Apparently it had been injured during the battle. There was dried blood in its fur, and its wing on the same side was sliced open. From the faint trail of blood, it was obvious that it had been trying to reach something, but what?

Tim looked in the direction it had been moving to see a cave about three feet up on the canyon wall. The creature had been trying to reach it,
but it lacked the strength. It appeared to be a very small cave indeed. Tim wondered if he might be able to squeeze through its narrow entrance. Time was running out. Demons would surely search this canyon to regain any lost souls that might have slipped through their grasp. He had to try, but he hesitated. He knelt down before the small being.

“Hey there,” he said softly.

He was surprised when it lifted its head to look at him with weary eyes. It looked so sad, so helpless.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I promise.”

He knew it was a bad idea to reach out to a wounded animal, especially one as powerful as this tiny one, but his love for animals allowed him to do nothing else. Gently, he picked it up in his hand. It didn’t resist, it just whimpered softly.

“You poor thing,” he said softly, stroking its fur. “I’ll try to help you, I promise.”

He gently set the creature upon a ledge near the mouth of the cave, yet it seemed to lack the strength to move any farther. He then climbed up to the cave and peered in. It was round and narrow indeed. About 8 or 10 feet back, it made a turn to the left. Beyond that, he could not tell in which direction it went, or if it went any farther at all.

Then there came a new sound echoing from the canyon walls—the sound of demon wings. They were coming. This was his only hope. He would enter the cave feet first. There might not be any place in there to turn around, and he wanted to be able to scan his surroundings when he exited the cavern. He slipped his feet in and began to crawl backward. It wasn’t easy. He reached out and picked up the tiny being in one hand, even as he struggled through the narrow opening.

He had barely disappeared into the shadows when three winged demons swept through the canyon. He went undetected. He continued
crawling backward on his belly. At first the tunnel narrowed, then it turned and widened, much to his relief. Within another minute, he had slipped around the bend in the tunnel and out of sight from the entrance. About another 15 feet back, he found a small elongated room, roughly 4 feet high, 5 feet wide, and 8 feet long. He stopped to rest, placing the small creature at his side.

“We’ll be safe here, I hope,” he said.

It responded with a purr, almost reminiscent of a cat. He and his companion just laid there in the dark for about 20 minutes.

Then he heard noise beyond the cave. There were voices, demon voices. They spoke a language that he didn’t even pretend to understand. The light faded; one of them was standing at the entrance. Then another light, a bright beam, like that of a powerful flashlight illuminated the tunnel, yet he and the little creature remained in shadows. A small stone, then another bounced off of the rocks around him, but neither hit him. There was a scratching sound, as if something was trying to crawl into the tunnel. Again, the beam of light shown. This time it seemed more focused, nearer. The demon was at least partway into the tunnel, though from the scratching of his claws and the grunting sound he made, it was clear that he could go no farther.

Through it all, Tim remained completely still, not even daring to breathe. Even the tiny creature remained totally quiet.

A moment later the scratching sounds ceased, and daylight once more shown into the tunnel; the demon had withdrawn. The voices continued for a few more minutes, though farther away. Then the voices stopped entirely, followed by a fading sound of flapping wings.

It was over an hour before Tim even moved. He was not about to stick his head out of the tunnel. Did they suspect he was here, or had it been a more or less routine check? He couldn’t be sure.

By now, his eyes had adapted to the darkness well enough that he could see the rocky walls and his tiny companion quite clearly. He found a more
comfortable position. He had no intention of leaving the cave. Here, he was relatively safe. As far as he was concerned, he could stay here forever.

He examined his small companion more carefully, he didn’t look too good. He was breathing, but in small labored gasps. Tim’s heart went out to his newfound friend, his only friend.

“Come on, you can make it, I know you can,” he whispered softly, stroking its fur. “I don’t want to be alone here, I need you. You’re my only friend. Please, don’t die.”

The creature didn’t respond. Tim knew that it probably didn’t have much of a chance. If there was only something that he could do for it. He kept his eyes on it for a long time, expecting each breath to be its last, yet it hung on. Eventually, the creature’s eyes grew just too heavy to keep open. In the absence of pain, he curled up and partook of a blessing forbidden him for nearly a year—sleep.

Cordon was on the ground now, surveying the damage done by a hundred fireballs. It was wasted firepower. They had not hit the enemy, for the rebels had withdrawn five minutes before the first one had hit its target. But that wasn’t what concerned him now. He wanted to know from where the rebels had gated out. With the help of his lieutenants, the information was extracted quickly from the humans who remained. As he had figured, those who had been rejected were more than willing to tell all that they knew.