Hellgate London - Exodus Part 16

Wiping his mouth on his burned sleeve, Warren glanced up at the building. Flames had claimed the upper stories and even set the nearby buildings on fire. The snow must have r.e.t.a.r.ded the fire, though, because none of the buildings had burned to the ground. But they were blackened hulks.

Warren wondered how many of the Cabalists had survived. Then he doubted any of them had. Since there were no other bodies lying in the alley where he'd fallen, he a.s.sumed that none of them had been able to fight free.

But why didn't the hound-demons track me down and make certain I was dead?

Three guys about his age wandered into the alley. Judging from the bags over their backs, they were scavenging.

"Hey," the one in front said. "Are you all right?"

"No," Warren replied, but he thought,Do I look all right? because he knew he didn't. "What happened to you?" another asked.

"Guy's been burnt all to b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l," the third stated. "That's what happened to him."

"I need...help," Warren said. "Please." He didn't like asking other people for help. It meant admitting weakness. In his experience, people tended to take advantage of others when weakness was shown.

The lead guy shook his head. "Not me. I'm out. Got all I can do trying to take care of my girlfriend and her kid. The last thing I need to do is take on a gimp. Sorry, mate."

Warren wanted to say "please" again, but his pride wouldn't let him. He just stared at the three. Silently, the trio turned and walked away.

Feeling humiliated and hurt, Warren ducked his head. He thought tears might come because he felt so bad. But he hadn't cried since the night his mother had died. He hadn't asked anyone for help since that night, either.

But the tears didn't come. He didn't know if it was because of his willpower or because his face was so badly damaged that his tear ducts wouldn't work.

After a while, when he realized no help would be forthcoming, he pushed away from the building, oriented himself, and started home. There was nothing else to do.

Warren was surprised when he reached his apartment building. Even though it was nine blocks away, even though the way was made harder by the acc.u.mulated snow and ice, he'd kept putting one foot in front of the other until he stood before the building. His breath kept coming in gray wisps and he followed it.

The loft was a four-story walkup, though.

He paused in the foyer at the staircase, wis.h.i.+ng he could simply sit down and rest. But he was afraid to.

He was certain that if he sat down he'd never be able to get up and get going again. He also wasn't sure if he was going to die. He hadn't perished so far.

He wished that someone-Kelli, George, or Dorothy-would come out and find him. He could accept their help without losing too much of himself. They were his flat mates. They were supposed to look out for each other.

Taking a deep breath, hearing it whistle through his burnt sinus cavities, he headed up the stairs. Every movement brought renewed pain that throbbed through his body.

Finally, he reached the landing and lurched toward his flat. Taking the key from his pocket, he opened the lock and went in.

The familiar clutter was almost heartbreaking. Everything seemed almost normal, like he could just open his eyes and wake from the nightmare. Coals burned in the heating stove in the corner, filling the room with warmth that would have been pleasant if he hadn't been so burned.

Kelli stood in the kitchen area dressed in a short night-s.h.i.+rt. When she saw Warren, she screamed and stepped back.

"It's...okay," Warren said hoa.r.s.ely. His voice was worse. Speaking took greater effort. Blood from cracked flesh dripped down his burns to the wooden floor. "It's...just...me."

"Warren?" Kelli took her hands down from her mouth and stared at him. But she didn't approach or try to help.

"Yeah." Warren swallowed. "I had...some trouble." "You need a doctor."

"I...know. Don't...have one." Dizziness swelled through his head. He had to look around to make sure he wasn't falling over. "I'm just...gonna go...lie down." He turned and lurched across the floor to the ladder that led up to the loft area.

Climbing up took a long time. Warren couldn't bring himself to ask Kelli for help. "Are you going to die?" Kelli asked.

"I don't...think so." Warren answered while he'd paused to rest halfway up the ladder. "What happened to you?"

Warren ignored her. Kelli had always been dense and selfish. He climbed to the top of the ladder and swung off. He barely made it to his bedroom area before he collapsed on the bed.

He thought he heard Kelli asking him questions and thought she might even have followed him up. Ignoring her, unable to stay conscious any longer, he was easy prey for the pain that struck again and again within him.

Do you still live, human?

The words echoed in the fever haze that filled Warren's dreams. He knew the voice belonged to Merihim. He also knew he would never forget the demon. You should be dead,the voice went on.

I'm not.Warren took a savage pride in that. All his life, no one had expectations of him. Other than to fail. Now he had failed to die. He found that humorous. But if this had been real, not a dream, if the demon had truly been talking to him, he knew he would have been scared.

I've marked you,Merihim said.You can't escape me. But I want to see what you're capable of. So I will let you live. For now.

The threat woke Warren because it seemed so real. He had to wake and make certain the demon wasn't in his bedroom.

Feverish and dry-mouthed, he rolled from the bed and reached for a bottle of water. Someone had taken all his reserves from beside his bed. He knew his roommates had done it.

Movement on the wall caught his attention. He peered into the mirror hanging there. Although the room was dark with the windows covered, he could still see plainly. Maybe it was the trick he'd learned back with the Cabalists.

The ghastly image that peered back at him from the mirror was his own, but he wouldn't have recognized it if it hadn't been framed in the mirror. The right side of his face was thick, crusty blackened meat that was pulling away from his cheekbone. His hair was singed close to his skull. Swelling half-closed his right eye. As he blinked, blood trickled down the side of his face.

Gazing down at his ruined hand, he saw white bone showing through at the knuckles. His fingers were thick as sausages from the swelling and black as coal. His chocolate-brown skin looked pale around the burned patches. He couldn't close his fist.

Panic set in then, clawing and screaming through his heart, spraying his nerves with adrenaline. Even if he lived, he'd never be the same again. He was going to be a monstrosity. He s.h.i.+vered and shook, feeling too weak to stand as his heart pounded wildly. Footsteps sounded behind him.

Warren turned as Kelli pulled the curtain back. She looked shocked. "You're still alive?" she asked.

"Where...is my water?" Warren asked. "We didn't think you'd need it."

He got angry then and took two stumbling steps toward her. "You had...no right...taking my water." "We didn't want it to go to waste. We thought you were dead."

"I'm not." Warren focused on her, reaching for that power that had dwelt within him for so long. It felt stronger and more sure than he'd ever felt before. "Bring me...my water."

Kelli vanished immediately and returned with a liter of water.

Warren struggled with the cap and finally got it off. His lips felt crusty and thick as he drank. He looked at her, focusing everything inside him on her. "You will...take care...of me. Do you...understand? You will...make sure I...have food and...water."

"I will," she said.

Warren drank more water. Nausea swam in his stomach. He retreated to the bed, hoping to keep the water down. His body needed it. He closed his eyes and hoped he didn't die. But he wasn't convinced he wanted to live as he was, either. He had to heal, but he didn't want to live scarred and incomplete.

Eighteen.

THE ENGLISHCOAST ENGLAND.

So these are friends of yours?"

Simon glanced over at Leah Creasey seated on a rock only a short distance from him and thought about that question. Were they friends? He wasn't sure. He was cleaning weapons, getting the blood and ichors clear of the actions.

Leah was eating a self-heat can of soup and a freeze-dried roast beef sandwich. Simon had eaten one of the sandwiches and felt certain that the plastic wrap it had come in had possessed more taste.

"I know a couple of them," Simon admitted. "Giselle."

"Her best of all."

Leah watched the Templars. They'd separated themselves from Simon and Leah. At first Simon hadn't known how to feel about that, then he'd decided he felt fine about it. He didn't owe them anything, and they didn't owe him anything.

"How well did you know her?" Leah asked.

Simon knew the interest at that point was purely feminine curiosity, which almost-for just the moment-made everything seem normal and natural. Like they hadn't just buried seven people in a shallow grave.

"Not that well," Simon said. "Not like that."

Leah appeared to relax a little. "Why is she so mad at you?" "It's a long story."

Glancing meaningfully toward the east where the sun was painting a golden nimbus at the horizon, Leah said, "I think we have time for a long story. From what I gather from your friends, we're not going to be traveling during the day."

They weren't. Giselle had already informed Simon of that. The demons hunted at night and at day, but with the sun out they could see farther and movement was more easily detected. She wanted to use the night as cover while they traveled.

"I used to be one of them," Simon said.

"You don't look like the type for one of those tin can suits." Simon grimaced. "That's armor. Made from palladium alloy." "Never heard of it."

"It's a precious metal. Hard to come by. Even harder to work on a forge." "You made your own body armor?"

"My father-" Simon's voice broke unexpectedly. He concentrated on cleaning a Grappler until he had control of his voice again. "My father helped me forge it. That's how it's done. That's how it always has to be done. And it's not body armor. Not like Kevlar or anything like that." He nodded at the Templar. "When you're inside that armor, you're more like a tank. It's very high-tech."

"It's computerized? I figured that out from watching it work. And since there aren't any eye slits, I got the idea they'd either been trained by blind monks or there was some kind of imaging system."

"An imaging system. A head's-up display. Way more technical than anything the military has." Simon couldn't help noticing the pride in his voice when he said that. "And magic."

Leah arched her brows. "Did you just say *magic'?" "Yeah."

"As in scientific wizardry?"

"No, as in an energy field that can't be accessed through physical science." Simon looked at her, suddenly realizing that so much of the rest of the world was just like Leah. They were trapped in a war and had no concept of what it was all about. "You saw those creatures we fought."

"The aliens, yes." "They're not aliens."

Frowning, looking a little troubled, Leah said, "The reporters on the tri-dee said they were aliens." "That's because the media doesn't know what else to make of them."

Leah held her soup bowl in her hands. "Then what are they?" "Demons."

She took a deep breath. "Like...fromh.e.l.l?"

"I don't know where they're from. Just some other place." Simon shook his head. He was tired and bruised, and sad and angry in a way he'd never felt before. His father was dead. The thought kept beating the inside of his skull like a hammer striking an anvil. "The books I studied never named their home. Maybe it is a place called h.e.l.l. Maybe h.e.l.l was just the name people gave to the place after the demons first started appearing."

"Whoa! Books?"

Simon took a deep breath and tried to be patient. "Where I come from-" "Where do you come from?"

"London. All my life."

"You were in South Africa."

Simon nodded. "I went there to work. To get away from here." He paused. "Until this happened, until the demons returned, I didn't believe in them, either." "What about the books?"

"There are books on demons. The ones we fought back there? They were Darksp.a.w.n. Very hard to kill. But they're just shock troops for the more dangerous ones."

"There are more dangerous ones?"

"A lot more dangerous," Simon said. "Where are these books?"

Giselle interrupted from behind Simon. She'd come up on him without him noticing.

"If you think back far enough, Simon," Giselle said sharply, "I'm sure you'll recall that we aren't supposed to talk to outsiders about our mission."

Feeling guilty, Simon focused on the woman. He felt his rage roiling inside him, seeking to explode.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but things aren't quite the way they were a few days ago. The big secret is out."My father is dead.

"But not all of our secrets are." The smooth faceplate of the helmet reflected Simon's irresolute features. "And we prefer it to stay that way. You and your little friend should consider quieting down and getting some sleep. Otherwise we're going to leave you to fend for yourselves."

Simon hated being chastised. Especially when he knew he had it coming. But that was also the only reason he didn't argue. Reluctantly, he nodded. He knew Giselle would do exactly what she threatened to do.

Giselle walked away.

"Wow. She can suck the fun right out of a room, can't she?" Leah asked. "She's just doing her job."

"So was Louis XVI's headsman. But the peasants still held him accountable when they revolted." "Don't blame her."

Leah let out a breath. "Okay. I'll work on that. But why is she so hard on you?" "Because," Simon said, "I betrayed them."

"How?"

"Almost two years ago, I abandoned them. I quit believing in everything I was being told, hated the way I had to live my life, and decided to do things the way I wanted to." "That's how you ended up in South Africa?"

"Yes. It's also how I wasn't here when they needed me."