Hellraisers (19 page)

“You think Ostheim would have done any different?” asked Night, kicking at a loose stone. “You think he'd risk it?”

“No way Ostheim would let us die like that,” Pan said, but even Marlow noticed the hesitation there, the uncertainty.

“You're forgetting that this is a war,” said Herc. “We're soldiers, nothing more. Soldiers die.”

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk,” muttered Truck, turning away and walking to the river. Night followed him, treading in his shadow.

“Marlow,” said Charlie, a voice that was broken into a thousand pieces.

“Yeah?”

“This is a dream, right? I'm … I mean, this can't actually be happening.”

“Kid, believe me,” said Herc. “This is about as real as it gets.”

Herc turned to them, running a hand through his graying buzz cut.

“So, looks like we're right back here again,” he said. “Choices.”

“Choices,” said Marlow. “Yeah, okay. You mean choose
that
, choose the same thing that happened to her? No thanks.”

“Did Pan tell you why we do what we do?” he asked after a moment.

“No,” said Marlow. “Just about the Engine, about the—”

“We do what we do because if we didn't, the whole world would look like that.”

He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. Marlow looked at the van, at the pools of blood that were evaporating in the heat. A pocket of dust crumbled free from the dead demon and he jumped like he'd had an electric shock, a wave of nausea rushing over him and leaving him coated in cold sweat.

“What do you mean?” asked Charlie. Herc sighed.

“I don't have time for the whole story. We gotta move, chopper should be inbound.” He chewed his lip, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Our Engine, it's not the only one in existence. There are two that we know of for sure. They have one, Mammon and the Circulus Inferni.”

“Yeah,” said Marlow. “I got that much.”

“The Engines, they were designed by the same person, the same force, whatever you want to call it. They both have the same powers, the ability to grant you any wish. They both ask for the same price in return. But we use them for very, very different purposes.”

Marlow could make out a very soft rumble in the distance, the throb of a helicopter. Herc heard it too, and when he spoke again it was faster, full of impatience.

“Cut a long story short, Mammon recruits his Engineers to cause havoc, to destroy lives, to kill innocents. His goal…” Herc shook his head, his expression full of disgust. “He wants an end to everything, he wants the demons to spill out of the pit and consume the entire world. He wants hell on Earth, literally.”

“And the Engine can do that?” asked Marlow. “How?”

The chopper was getting closer, a pulse of noise that seemed to fill the whole sky. Herc glanced at his watch, then over at Truck.

“Prepare for exfil. Pop a smoke.” He turned back to Marlow. “Yeah, the Engines can do that. Fortunately for us he hasn't worked out how yet. It's our job to make sure that never happens.”

“So, you're basically trying to save the world?” Marlow asked, feeling his eyebrow creep up in disbelief. Herc shrugged.

“Yep, that's us. Goddamned heroes.”

Herc walked to what was left of the van, rummaging around inside the wreck. Truck had set off a canister of red smoke, which curled lazily up into the summer sky. Marlow stared at it, mesmerized for a moment, then turned his attention to Pan.

“Is it true?” he asked. “You do what you do to save the world?”

Pan just scoffed. “This world is already screwed, with or without the Engine. But yeah, it's our job to stop Mammon opening the gates of hell and filling the streets with freaks.”

A shudder ripped through Marlow's body at the thought of it, hundreds of demons, maybe thousands,
tens
of thousands, tearing their way into the world.
We wouldn't stand a chance.
Herc must have found what he was looking for because he walked back over, a small black pouch in his hands.

“You in or out?” he asked.

“You mean, come fight with you?” said Charlie. “Like her? Like these guys?”

Herc nodded. Charlie turned to Marlow, shrugging.

“Gotta be better than school, right?” he said.

“No,” Marlow replied. “No way, Charlie. You got your life on track, you're doing good, you can't give it up.”

It was the truth. Charlie had turned his life around in Victor G.—good grades, the promise of a scholarship. He'd put the bad times behind him, had something positive to look forward to if he didn't screw it up.

“Man, you think I can go back after this?” he said. “After what we've seen?”

“You really want to die like her?” Marlow said. “Torn to pieces, dragged to wherever she went. Come on, man, it's my fault we're here, I shouldn't have brought you with me. You can't ruin the rest of your life because of me.”

“So what?” he said, squaring up. “You think you deserve this and I don't?”

“
Deserve
it?” Marlow said, not backing down. “Charlie, I got nothing. Kicked out of school, got the police after me. What do I have left? Go live with my mom for the rest of my days, work at the plant slinging cement? You don't understand, man, this is my one shot at doing something good.”

“Don't you dare,” said Charlie, pointing a finger at Marlow. “Every time, dude, every single time, you just dump me, run off without me. Not again. We do this, we do it together.”

Herc was fiddling with the bag, unzipping it and peering inside. He pulled out something long and thin that glinted in the sun. Marlow recognized it straightaway, the sight making him feel sick to his stomach. A hypodermic, probably filled with concentrated alcohol. Charlie was too focused on Marlow to notice.

“Not again, man,” he said. “Not this time.”

“Got to have an answer,” Herc said. The chopper sound was palpable now, a second heartbeat inside Marlow's skin. He looked up to see a black speck against the blue. “Yes or no.”

“Yes,” Charlie said at the same time that Marlow said, “No, not him, just me.”

“Marlow,” said Charlie. “Please. You're my best friend, my only friend. I need you, I need
this.
”

Marlow's stomach was doing somersaults, something fat crawling up and sitting in his throat. The thought of saying goodbye just about snapped his heart in two but he knew there was no other way. He pictured Charlie being chewed into bloody pieces. No way, he couldn't do it.

“Please, dude,” Charlie said. “Let's do this together.”

“No,” said Marlow. He looked at Herc and nodded. “Just me,” he repeated.

Herc stepped up behind Charlie and jabbed the needle into his neck. Charlie yelped, grabbing the wound and staggering back. His expression twisted, his eyes full of disbelief.

“What have you done?” he said to Marlow.

“It's okay, man, it's just alcohol. Just relax, it will be okay.”

He walked to Charlie but the other boy staggered away, looking at Marlow like he'd stabbed him in the back.

“You bastard,” he said, his words starting to slur. “How could you? You were my friend, Marlow, you were my
friend
. You think they're gonna want you when they find out the truth? Find out you're a coward?”

Charlie stumbled, dropping onto his ass, his eyes losing focus. Marlow ran to him, cradling him in his arms, wondering if it was too late to change his mind. The chopper was almost at them, flying low over the river and blasting out a mind-numbing pulse. It hovered over the parking lot, kicking up a tsunami of dust as it spun around and slowly touched down. Pan looked at it, then at Marlow.

“You really gonna take him?” Marlow heard her say.

“Why not?” Herc replied.

“He'll be a nightmare. You won't be able to control him.”

“Funny, Pan,” said Herc, replacing the needle in the pouch, “that's what everyone said about you.”

“He's a hothead. He'll get somebody killed.”

“Yep, they said that about you too.”

“He won't do what he's told. I can tell. He'll do the
opposite
of what he's told.”

Herc turned to look at her. “Pan, can you hear the words coming out of your mouth?”

“He's nothing like me,” she said, glaring at Marlow.

“No, nothing like you,” Herc said, turning to the chopper. The door slid open, revealing the moose-faced guy, Bullwinkle. “Absolutely completely one hundred percent nothing at all like you. Come on.”

Pan grumbled something else and jogged to the helicopter, Truck and Night following her.

“Time to go,” said Herc. “Best say goodbye, you won't see him again.”

Charlie kicked at the ground, trying and failing to stand up. He blinked, gulping for air like he was drowning. His eyes swam in and out of the fugue, latching onto Marlow for a second before drifting away.

“You're a coward,” he said again, slurred almost beyond recognition. “I trusted you.”

“I'm sorry,” Marlow said. “Please, Charlie, I did it for you.”

Charlie said something else but he was too far gone. Marlow lowered his friend's head gently to the ground, then stood, wishing he could give Herc a different answer. But there was no time. Herc grabbed him by the shoulder, marched him toward the chopper. Strong hands hauled him inside, Herc following and sliding the door shut behind him.

“Plane tanked and ready to go?” Herc yelled to the pilot. The woman nodded, then Herc wiggled a finger in the air and the chopper lifted off, bucking unsteadily. Marlow looked through the filthy port window, seeing Charlie sprawled in the dirt, alone. Then they banked hard and he was gone.

“No going back now,” said Pan, sitting beside him on the bench. “Congratulations on making the stupidest decision of your life.”

“Pan,” said Herc as he crashed down on Marlow's other side. “For once could you please just not be such an evil cow?”

He held out a hand and Marlow shook it limply. Herc squeezed, pumping his arm with enthusiasm.

“Kid, you did the right thing,” he said, grinning. “Welcome to the Hellraisers.”

 

PART II

OLD MAGIC

 

DON'T BARF IN MY JET

The plane shuddered and Marlow stifled his scream with the back of his hand. It was as if there were a demon about to crawl its way out of the fuselage, tear the jet in two, and send them all hurtling to the ground thirty thousand feet below. It lurched again, and this time he let out a screeching cry that was somehow louder than the roar of the engines. He clutched the sink hard enough to make his knuckles crack, offering a prayer to anything or anyone that was listening.

Please don't let us crash, please don't let us crash. Please—

There was a knock on the door of the tiny restroom, a voice from outside.

“Hey, kid, you okay in there?” Herc asked. “You been a while.”

That was an understatement. He'd been locked in here for going on seven hours, pretty much since they'd left the chopper at Linden Airport and bundled into a private jet that was waiting for them on the runway. It had been the first time in his life that he'd been to an airport, let alone on an actual plane, and he'd been giddy with excitement right up until the point they'd accelerated for takeoff and his insides had just about been pulled out his rear end. That hadn't been the worst of it, either—the fact that the whole team had been laughing at him was almost enough to make him open the door and dive into oblivion.

“Don't make me come in there,” Herc said. “Seriously,
don't
—I can smell it from out here.”

“I'm fine,” Marlow shouted back, sniffing the air. True, he'd pretty much unloaded from both ends from sheer terror, but that had been hours ago. “It was … something I ate.”

The plane vibrated again, like they were inside a washing machine at full spin.

“Is it supposed to be doing that?” Marlow asked.

“What that? No, one of the engines has blown up, we're preparing to crash land, that's why I wanted to speak with you.”

“
What?
”

“Calm down, kid,” Herc said, laughing. “Don't crap your shorts. Again. It's just a bit of turbulence.”

The plane dipped and he felt his stomach hover somewhere in his throat. He squeezed off a shot of his inhaler to try to remove it.

“We're not far off,” Herc said. “Got another thirty minutes flying time. Just wanted to let you know. You can come out, we've stopped laughing now.”

Marlow held his clammy head in his hands, wanting to throw up again but knowing there was nothing left to eject. He heard Herc's footsteps retreating and exhaled slowly, trying to control the panic. His heart was a woodpecker trying to hammer out through his ribs. He'd seen a lot of crazy in the last few days but surely nothing was more insane than the idea of being inside a small tube as it burned its way through the sky. He glanced at the walls, just a thin sheet of metal between him and nothing much at all, and he felt his bowels loosen again.

But if they were preparing to land soon, then he needed to get back to the others. There was no way he was going to go down in history as the guy who died in the restroom.

He splashed his face with cold water and stared at his reflection. He didn't like what he saw—not because of the sickly sheen of his skin, the red-veined eyes, like he was a hundred years old. No, he hated it because of what he'd done to Charlie. He never should have left him there, not like that. He wondered if his friend was still there, out cold on the parking lot. What if he'd tried to get away and he'd toppled into the river? His best friend—his
only
friend—might be getting eaten by fish right now, his bloated and unrecognizable corpse found weeks later floating somewhere in Raritan Bay. Of all the cowardly things he'd done in his life, this had to be the worst.