Tribulation (27 page)

The thought
that someone was out there performing good works for the benefit of
others made Sam feel good. In fact, he felt the best he’d felt for
a long time. First the hug, now this. His faith in humanity, for
the moment, was restored. He didn’t expect it to last for very long
though. Humanity had a way of disappointing him.

Reassured, he
continued on, finding the interstate easily enough. A battered sign
told him that he was on the Pennsylvania turnpike. He knew from his
map that he was about eighty miles from Harrisburg, the next major
population center. Or former population center. To find a group of
survivors like this in Bedford was unusual. Most had retreated to
the mountains where caves could provide them with reasonably secure
shelter, far from churches. Also the mountains were still a more
likely source of food and water. He’d be very lucky indeed to
encounter a similar group in Harrisburg. More likely, he’d find the
place deserted, a veritable ghost town like most he traveled
through these days, with the only inhabitants being demons from
Hell.

He traveled
through the night, jogging at a constant pace that literally ate up
the miles. He didn’t stop, didn’t need to. Several times though, he
sensed a niggling presence and turned even as he moved. Nothing. He
knew they were out there though. The Devil’s Hand. Tracking him.
They were out of his mind-reach but some other instinct told him
they weren’t that far away, following his tracks that were
impossible to disguise in the ash.

He would have
to face them eventually and even had a plan. Of sorts. It wasn’t
much but it was all he had at this point. He’d deal with it when
the time came. And the time would come - his father would make sure
of that. It was inevitable.

Rather than
obsess over something he had no control over, he concentrated on
his progress. He knew from experience that he averaged about five
miles per hour. It didn’t seem like much and it certainly wasn’t a
strenuous pace but it added up. He could jog for ten hours per
night without resting. That was fifty miles if everything went to
plan and he wasn’t waylaid by demons or forced to detour because of
some road blockage or destruction. At this rate and with a bit of
luck, he’d be in New York within days.

Some hours
into his journey, he ran through a woodland, or what had once been
a woodland. A sign told him it had been known as Buchanan State
Forest. Now it was just a graveyard of skeletal trunks and spiked
branches, standing in rows of silent vigil. Nothing moved within
it. All the animals that had once used it as their habitat and
source of food and shelter had disappeared.

It was eerily
quiet as he ran. Even the breeze had disappeared, the dead trees
sheltering him from the constant warm flow of air. He picked up the
pace. A feeling of disquiet filled him and he knew that he wanted
to be gone from this place as soon as possible. He thought – not
for the first time – that he certainly hadn’t encountered
everything that Hell had to offer. There were other surprises in
store for him, some that he would not be able to prepare for,
including demons he had never seen before. A sense of certainty
came over him that here, within this dead forest, lurked one of
those demons. Something he hadn’t seen before. Something
terrifying, even to him.

He was almost
sprinting by the time he reached the outskirts of it and relief
filled him, glad to be leaving the dreaded place behind. Sam
reduced his speed and jogged on. The interstate wound through the
featureless dead terrain. He couldn’t help thinking about how this
had once looked. He’d seen pictures of states beyond Utah before -
before the Rapture – and nothing would have given him greater
pleasure than to have seen them for himself. To see lush, green
fields and verdant forests overflowing with animals and birds. To
wander through them at his leisure. That wouldn’t happen now.
Couldn’t. Even when Jesus returned, he wouldn’t be around to see
his new Earthly paradise. Wouldn’t get to see these lands and
forests returned to their former glory and then some. That pleasure
would be forever denied him. Instead, he’d spend the rest of
eternity staring at rocks and fire and probably fighting for his
life and soul. Not a pleasant thought.

He stopped when
he reached the outskirts of another forest. He didn’t fancy
spending his resting hours inside it and besides, it was almost
dawn anyway. Finding a thick clump of bushes that were still
partially alive but comprised mostly of ash, he slipped under them.
After getting himself comfortable, he ate a tiny piece of beef
jerky from his pack and had a sip of water to moisten his mouth. It
was all he needed. Then, he settled himself into his meditation
position. He stayed like that for the next three hours or so.

Finally, he
stood and stretched, poking his head above the top of the bush. It
was probably around midday. Nothing stirred. It was eerily quiet.
Unnaturally so. Even the semi-constant sulfur-tainted breeze was
stilled.

Pulling out
worn leather gloves from one pocket, he sat down again and
carefully put them on. Only then did he dig into his pack. His
rummaging produced a clothed wrapped bundle. Gently, he unwrapped
it. It was an old, leather bound bible. The bible had once belonged
to his master, Hikari, and other than his swords and the silver
cross he wore around his neck, it was his most treasured
possession. The gloves made reading it difficult and clumsy but he
really didn’t have an option. It was either that or be subjected to
constant burning pain. His naked flesh against a bible always had
that effect.

He started
reading, picking a page at random, lost in the words and comforted
by messages contained within. So absorbed he was, that he failed to
notice that he was no longer alone. Abruptly, he became aware of
the presence. He was about to react with his normal physical
intensity when he realized who it was. With trembling hands, trying
not to rush and ruin the moment, he gently closed his bible and
re-wrapped it, placing it carefully back in his pack.

Standing, he
moved out of the bushes and scanned around eagerly. She was
standing about ten feet away. He rushed towards her and she opened
her arms to him. They embraced and despite his enthusiasm, he was
careful not to crush her to him too tightly, mostly for fear of
damaging her wings. They kissed quickly, passionately, but all at
once she was pushing him away.

“Don’t,” she
said, moving a step backwards and looking at her feet.

He closed the
gap between them and attempted to draw her to him again. She pushed
his hands away. Frustration and panic filled him in equal
measure.

“What’s wrong?”
he pleaded. “What is it?”

“I had to see
you one more time,” she was whispering now. “I couldn’t stay away,
even though I know I should.”

“What do you
mean?” he was almost shouting, his mind whirling in confusion.

Her eyes met
his. “I’m not allowed to see you anymore,” she said, so quietly he
wasn’t sure that he’d heard correctly. Tears were streaming out of
the corners of her eyes, running down her perfect cheeks.

“What?” he
roared, much more loudly than he’d intended. Aimi took a step
backwards, her eyes suddenly wide with fear. With a physical
effort, he restrained himself. “I don’t understand,” he said,
sounding calmer than he felt.

“It’s because
of what we did,” she said, mournfully. The look of sadness on her
face was killing him. He wanted to make it go away. He would do
anything to make her smile again.

“You mean,
because of our night together?” he asked.

“Exactly,” she
said. “Demons and angels were never meant to … mate. It’s
forbidden. When they sent me to you, I don’t think they imagined
for one second we’d do what we did.”

“But … but it
was so right,” he spluttered. “How can something like our love be
forbidden? How can it be wrong?”

“It doesn’t get
any worse than this. It’s probably the worst crime there is. It was
bad enough when the Grigori started having physical relationships
with mortal women, let alone this.”

“But I’m not
even a full demon,” Sam protested. He didn’t get it. He really
didn’t get it. Why would they do this to him? It wasn’t fair. It
was never fair.

“It doesn’t
matter,” she said. “They’ve made their decision. I can’t see you
ever again. They consider this a huge favor just allowing me to say
my goodbyes in person. In fact, I’m lucky apparently that I’m still
an angel, lucky that I wasn’t cast down into the pit.”

“I wish you
would’ve been,” said Sam hotly. “At least that way, I could see you
when I liked.”

“Don’t say
that, Sam. I know you’re angry but we have to face up to what we’ve
done. I hate it just as much as you but I can’t do anything else.”
She began to sob in misery.

He couldn’t
resist. He pulled her to him. They stayed like that for a long
time, until she stopped crying.

“We’ll find a
way out of this,” he said. “I’ll talk to Gabriel. She’ll
understand. She’ll help.”

Aimi broke his
embrace immediately. “Who do you think told me I couldn’t see you
anymore? It was Gabriel and the other archangels who made this
decision.”

Sam was so
shocked, his legs suddenly felt weak, almost giving way on him. He
stumbled, the betrayal falling heavily upon him. Gabriel. She was
meant to be his ally. Why had she done this to him? Suddenly,
everything his father said was starting to make sense. Could he
really trust those in Heaven?

Aimi put her
tiny arms around him again. “Goodbye, my love. I’ll watch over you.
I’ll never stop watching you or loving you. We’ll always be
together that way.”

“No!” he said,
pleading with her, desperate. He put his arms around her and
squeezed, imagining in his desperation that if he hugged her
tightly, she would never be able to leave him – never be able to
escape. Somehow, she still slipped out of his grasp. Even when she
was human, she’d been hard to hold on to. Before he could move, she
was airborne, her beautiful wings outstretched.

“I love you,
Sam. I will always love you.”

“No!” he
screamed at her. “Don’t leave me. I’ve only just got you back. You
can’t leave. It’s not fair!” But it was too late. She was gone,
lost in the clouds.

For a moment,
he stood completely still, frozen in grief and despair. Then with
anger so intense it made him feel cold, he drew his swords. He
attacked the bush with more fury than he thought he was capable of,
reducing it to scattered twigs. As he hacked at it, a low keening
sound emerged from his throat. There were dead trees in the
distance, the beginnings of the forest he had avoided. He sprinted
towards them, chopping at the first one he reached with strokes so
powerful they almost severed the thick trunks with one blow. The
tree toppled. He ignored it and moved onto the next one and the
next and the next, more effective than the most efficient
lumberjack. As he hewed, he began to sob, the first time he had
truly cried. He’d only cried once before, when Aimi had first been
taken by the Rapture, but this was worse, much worse. Hikari had
told him that demons didn’t possess tear ducts and it was true. As
then, he cried tears of blood, the scarlet liquid once again
streaming down his face.

They ran down
his sweatshirt and jeans, staining them. He didn’t care. He kept
hacking away at the trees. Blisters formed on his hands. The
blisters tore and bled. The blood ran down his hands and on to his
blades so that every time he struck a tree, crimson would splatter
over the dead wood.

His rage was
undiminished, his swords unblunted. It would take more punishment
than this to wreck the edge of his blades. He chopped on, tireless,
fueled by his anger. Hours passed … not that Sam was aware of the
passage of time. Later, much later, he realized that he must have
temporarily lost his mind.

As night fell,
the sound of chopping could still be heard reverberating amongst
the dead trees of the forest.

When he came
to his senses, he was standing in a wasteland of dead wood. It was
dawn. At first, he couldn’t remember what had happened. He blinked
a couple of times against the morning light. His swords were still
in his hands but his hands hurt. He didn’t know why.

Hundreds of
trees lay shattered about him as if a team of lumberjacks had
worked furiously for a week. Sam looked down at his swords. With
trembling hands, he raised them to eye level. Both were blunted and
notched. How did that happen? Swords like his were not damaged
easily. And then it came rushing back to him. Aimi. She was gone
and he had been betrayed. He staggered and fell to one knee.

He didn’t cry
this time. Gradually, as he assimilated the memory, a cold anger
grew in his heart, replacing whatever grief he had felt. He stood
slowly, nodded once to himself and cast around for his backpack.
Eventually he found it, buried under the remains of a thicket he’d
sheltered under the previous day.