A Deafening Silence In Heaven (19 page)

“I will never betray my sacred trust,” the Harvester said defiantly, still cradling his broken wrist as he shook his head. “I will never take you there.”

The man loomed above him. “I don’t need you to take me there. I already have a ride.”

A deafening sound reverberated from within the confines of the cave, and the Harvester gasped as two glowing orbs ignited in the darkness—the eyes of some unknown beast. The animal emerged, and the Harvester saw that it wasn’t an animal at all but a wheeled vehicle that moved with a life of its own.

“This is Leona,” the man said, addressing the vehicle, its inner workings revving louder as it bounced slightly—excitedly—on its four wheels. “She was hungry, so I told her to have a look around.”

The Harvester did not understand the man’s meaning at first, but then noticed the lifeblood dripping from the front end of the machine, pieces of egg sac hanging in tatters as if from some sort of mechanical mouth.

“No,” he whispered in disbelief.

“Yeah,” the man said matter-of-factly, glancing at the roaring machine with a smile. “Who’da thunk she’d like eggs so much?”

“No!” the Harvester screamed this time, managing to get to his feet and propel himself toward the cave and the vehicle blocking its entrance.

The man lashed out with his leg, tripping the Harvester, and he fell to the ground directly in front of the rumbling—growling—machine. Its front end opened wide to reveal jagged teeth of metal, the smell of burning oil and rot roiling out.

“Like I was saying,” the man said, reaching down and hauling the Harvester up from the ground. “I really don’t need you to take me to the home world.”

He grabbed the Harvester’s uninjured wrist and forced his hand closer to the opening in the front of the vehicle—to the jagged mouth.

“I just need directions.”

•   •   •

The Filthies dragged a struggling Remy across the open ground toward the pit. He dug his boots into the dusty earth, but it did little good as they reached the edge and tossed him in.

Hands still bound behind his back, he landed on his side, the air punched from his lungs with the impact, specks of exploding color dancing before his eyes.

Slowly he recovered, and as his vision cleared, he found himself looking into the face of the dead, torn and bloody, frozen in an expression of absolute horror. Remy struggled to his knees, seeing even more grisly remains scattered about the floor of the large pit that was probably once a swimming pool.

The cries of his people caused him to turn, and he watched as three of Samson’s children—the muscular and bearded Anthony; the oldest of Samson’s brood, Dante; and the young woman whom he’d befriended, Leila—fell in. They landed with as much grace as they were able, lying in the bloodstained dirt collecting themselves.

“Welcome to our pit,” Michael said from above.

Remy glanced up to see the archangel looking down at them. The others of Samson’s brood were positioned at the edge, ready to be tossed down at a moment’s notice.

“Oh yes, we almost forgot.” Michael glanced to his side, motioning for his people to act.

Eight Filthies appeared at the edge of the pit, struggling with the writhing Baarabus. They pushed the demon dog over the side, where he fell with a yelp, nearly landing atop Leila, who was the last to recover.

“As I was saying, welcome to our pit,” Michael repeated. “We find this a much more entertaining way to deal with sinners. . . . Keeps the morale up.”

Remy pushed himself to his feet. Ahead of him, carved out of the walls of the pool, were three barred cells, and inside the cells were things, pacing back and forth and watching them.

Hungrily.

“You bastard,” Remy said with a snarl, gazing up at Michael.

“I’m sorry, Remy,” the archangel said. “If you survive this tribulation, then you will be that much closer to salvation and the new Heaven that is to follow.”

Remy heard the sound of squealing gears, and the rusted gates in front of the cells slowly lifted.

“Shit,” he heard Anthony hiss, and he couldn’t have agreed more.

Six Hellions, the demon dogs that roamed the wastelands of Hell, emerged, sniffing at the air. They were mangy looking, their bodies covered with oozing sores, their eyes wild with madness brought on by suffering.

Madness—it seemed to be a recurring theme in this world, Remy observed.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Baarabus said, gnawing at the ropes that still bound his feet. Even though the large dog was at least part Hellion, Remy doubted it would be shown any mercy.

“How are you doing with those ropes?” Remy asked the beast.

“Going as fast as I can,” the dog grumbled.

“Work faster,” Dante ordered. He’d backed over to a section of wall and was frantically rubbing the ropes binding his wrists against its broken and jagged surface.

“This is going to be a slaughter even if we get our hands free,” Anthony stated, his eyes locked on the horrific vision of the Hellions as they stalked from their cages.

“That’s what I’m going to miss the most about you, Anthony, after the hellhounds eat your ass,” Leila said. “Your overflowing optimism.”

Remy noticed a jagged piece of bone sticking up from the dirt and dropped to his knees, angling down to the ground to recover it. All the while he kept his eyes on the beasts, who watched them hungrily.

“Everyone is being so cautious,” Michael called down, his voice raised above the cheers of the Filthies. “The beasts must sense that their latest prey are of a special nature.” The archangel paused for the moment. “But it won’t matter once the first drop of blood is spilled.”

Remy worked frantically with the edge of bone, trying to maneuver it in such a way as to cut through the bindings but not his flesh.

“Almost got it,” Baarabus called out, pulling at the ropes around his front paws.

“I’m free!” Dante announced, pulling his hands out from behind him. Blood oozed from where his wrists and arms had been torn upon the jagged tile wall—and it was like the ringing of a dinner bell.

All six of the Hellions charged, each attempting to beat out the others. Three savagely attacked one another, but the other three made a beeline for the bleeding Dante.

Remy, whose hands were still bound, leapt at one of the dogs as it passed, smashing into it side and knocking it off its feet. The Hellion struggled on the ground, and Remy moved, driving the heel of his boot down onto the dog’s neck once, and then again, feeling something collapse beneath it. The Hell dog thrashed upon the ground, coughing up wads of thick, clotted blood as Remy scurried away from its death throes.

Baarabus freed himself with a piercing howl and leapt into the fray, plowing into the other two animals before they could reach Dante. One of the Hellions immediately attacked, powerful jaws snapping at Baarabus.

The remaining Hellion would not be distracted, launching itself at Dante. The oldest son of Samson stood his ground, swinging his fist and punching the attacking Hell beast. The punch was good, sending bits of broken teeth arcing into the air, but it wasn’t enough to stop the demon dog’s momentum.

The Hellion crashed into Dante like a runaway truck, slamming him backward into the wall of the pit.

The Filthies cheered as the remaining children of Samson gasped.

Enraged by pain, the Hellion did not hesitate, burrowing its snout into Dante’s belly, ripping away his shirt and the skin beneath, exposing his inner workings to the world.

“No!” cried Remy in horror, his screams mingling with those of Dante’s brother and sister down in the pit.

Anthony, still bound, charged at the ravening beast, kicking the Hellion as hard as he could. “C’mon, you son of a bitch. . . . Come on!”

The blows were powerful, and the demon dog stopped its gorging to spin at its aggressor, snapping at him with broken teeth.

Remy watched as Leila ran to her brother’s aid, just as the three Hellions that had been fighting amongst themselves charged over to join the fray.

Baarabus roared, still in the midst of his own battle, blood spurting into the air as he and the Hellion rolled upon the ground, their jaws snapping like triggered bear traps.

Remy realized that it was all up to him, but what could he do? Once again he struggled with his bonds, but they held fast, drawing tighter around his wrists as he bled. Remy was desperate as he sought some sort of answer; they would all be dead in a matter of minutes if he didn’t find a solution.

The beast he had felled thrashed upon the ground as it died, and Remy saw a possible answer in its snapping maw.

Remy dove toward the dying animal, spinning himself around and falling backward toward its vengeful mouth.

He just needed a solution—anything at all would suffice. It didn’t really have to be all that good or smart.

The Hellion bit at Remy’s hand furiously, a high-pitched, gurgling whine of anger escaping the dying beast as it attempted to do as much damage as it was possible of doing before it expired.

Remy cried out as its jaws came down on his hands. He screamed in a mixture of rage and pain, jamming his hands and wrists farther into its maw, choking the Hell animal, as he attempted to rub his bindings against the creature’s teeth.

It might have been stupid and cost him some pain and blood, but it worked.

It worked.

Remy pulled his lacerated and bleeding hands from the monster’s mouth, painfully flexing his fingers. Some of the bones were broken—for now—he knew that they would heal, given time.

But now he had friends to help.

Hands free, Remy charged across the dirt, screaming as loudly as he could at the four Hellions that were now circling Anthony and Leila. Remy knew that he didn’t have a moment to lose. His eyes scanned the ground for something, anything, that he might use to distract them.

A severed head was the best he could do at the moment. He reached down at a run and scooped it up. He continued to scream as he ran at them, throwing the head with all his force, striking one of the Hellions in the side of its face.

All the beasts reacted to the intrusion, fixing their eyes upon Remy, who did not slow as he came at them. The Hellions appeared thrown by his aggression, backing up as he continued at them unabated. One became braver than the others, charging to meet Remy’s advance. Remy stopped abruptly, reaching out to grab hold of the Hellion’s head in his hands and drive both thumbs into its eye sockets, rupturing the moist orbs within its skull with gratifying pops.

The sightless Hellion lashed out, jaws snapping at the air as it ran off in the opposite direction, driven to the brink of madness by the intensity of its injuries. One of the remaining four temporarily out of the way, Remy stalked toward the others, which now crouched low to the ground, realizing that this adversary would not be as easy as past prey had been. He saw that Leila and Anthony had managed to get to the other side of the pit and continued to work on their bonds. They were safe for the moment.

“Who’s next?” Remy growled, trying to keep their attention. “C’mon, you sons of bitches, I’m waiting.” Then he reacted purely on instinct, remembering himself as a soldier of Heaven, not the ragged being he had become, reaching down within himself, to where the divine fire resided—the Heavenly power of the Seraphim—and attempting to draw it to the surface.

The pain was excruciating, unlike anything that he’d ever experienced before. The fire—the power of God that roiled at the core of his being—was no longer as he remembered.

It was changed, different. There was a darkness to it now, an anger that threatened to destroy him as it surged up excitedly from the lower depths of his person.

A madness.

It was the power that had defined him as Seraphim, and it had been driven insane by what had happened to this world. Remy fell to the ground; it was as if his legs had been cut out from beneath him.

He heard his name called from somewhere seemingly miles away, but did not—could not—answer. The angry power was filling him up, threatening to drown him—consume him—for it wanted very much to be free.

And wanted to be in control.

Leila watched as Remy fell. One moment he was standing up to the Hellions, a badass beyond words, and the next he was taking a nap in the dirt.

“Hurry up!” she screamed to her brother, who, having finally freed his own hands, was working on her ropes.

“Remy!” she cried out as her hands were set free. “Get the fuck up!”

But she could only watch in growing horror as the three Hellions circled his twitching form on the ground.

Easy prey.

•   •   •

The blood of his Hellion adversary filled his mouth in gushing gouts that burned like fire. Baarabus allowed the blood to flow onto his face and down his throat as he chewed and swallowed the large bite of flesh that he had torn from his enemy’s throat.

“How’s that feel?” Baarabous growled, spitting a bloody wad into the dying Hellion’s face. “Yeah, I thought so.”

The Hellion’s legs gave way beneath the demonic animal, and it collapsed to the ground in a twitching heap, a deep pool of crimson spreading out from beneath its head.

Baarabus looked up to see the three remaining Hellions move in for the kill on an apparently unconscious Remy, as Leila and Anthony looked on in horror. He leapt over the corpse of his foe, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt as he bounded toward the angel called Remy Chandler.

My Remy,
said a soft, loving voice from somewhere inside his mind.

“Fuck you,” the demon dog grumbled, savoring the taste of his enemy’s blood, still inside his mouth. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”

•   •   •

The Fossil watched from the edge of the pit, not quite sure what he was about to see. At first it looked to be a total slaughter, the Hellions taking down his comrades with little difficulty. But then things changed; his friends were not about to lie down and become food for the rabid Hell beasts.

“Are you watching?” the archangel asked, a twisted smile on his ugly, scarred features. “This is God’s justice. . . . This is how His love shall be shown to those chosen for the new Heaven.”