He stopped knocking. Silence, then a hesitant voice.
“Go away.”
“I’m human,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help.” It was probably pointless but he had to try.
“Go away,” said the voice again, more firmly this time.
“I have some food,” he said. It was true — he did have some food — but not really enough to share. A part of him, a selfish part that was probably his demonic side, wanted to leave them to their fate. There was another piece of him, however, that Hikari and Aimi had nurtured over the years, that told him that this was not the right thing to do.
He heard whispering behind the door again. There was a scrape as a series of bolts were being drawn and then the door opened a crack. An eye and part of a dirty face peered out at him.
“What sort of food?”
The person — Sam couldn’t be sure whether it was male or female — was clearly terrified. Only the thought of food had made them take this desperate move.
Sam shrugged. “Beans, mostly. Here, I’ll show you.”
The eye watched him closely as he drew the katana out of its sheath. Careful not to make any sudden moves, he laid the sword gently on the ground and took off his backpack, unsnapping the clasps and tilting the pack towards the door so the contents could be seen.
The door opened a fraction wider. “I can’t see,” said the voice. “Put the pack down and step away.”
It made sense. It was very gloomy in the terminal and the inside of Sam’s pack was probably even gloomier. He could see clearly but the human probably couldn’t. Sam knew it was probably a bad move, but he did as he was asked.
As soon as he was a few metres away, the door opened wide enough for a gaunt, dirty human to emerge. It was male, probably no older than Sam and vaguely recognisable as one of the teenage boys from town. The boy darted out, grabbed the pack with one grubby hand, and was about to carry his prize back into the room when Sam moved.
Understandably, the teenager had clearly underestimated Sam’s speed — the innate demonic reflexes honed by years of training. No human could possibly match them …
Sam grasped the pack and there was a brief tussle for possession before the human boy capitulated, aware that he couldn’t compete with such strength. He let go and attempted to scurry back through the door. Before the boy could slam it shut, Sam scooped up his katana with his free hand and wedged his foot into the opening. The heavy door crashed into Sam’s toes but he hardly noticed the impact.
He pushed the door open, sending the boy sprawling back into a windowless, dimly lit room. It was a storage room by the look of it — racks and shelves were piled with bags and other assorted travel items. A small kerosene lantern cast flickering, uncertain light over the scene. It was more than enough for Sam to see clearly. Behind a makeshift wall of luggage, three figures huddled together, casting fearful glances in Sam’s direction.
The boy scampered to his feet, leapt the mountain of luggage and joined the other terrified figures.
“Please don’t hurt us,” said one of them — a woman. Probably the boy’s mother. Other than the boy, she was the biggest of the four. The other two were clearly children. One of them started to sob.
Sam said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak. These people would’ve taken his food and left him to starve. He felt anger well up inside him like smouldering embers that had just been rekindled.
“I know you,” said the boy, a look of recognition sweeping over his face. He stood more upright and moved away from his mother.
Sam nodded, but still said nothing.
“You’re that freak,” the boy said. “The one that lives with Aimi and that little Japanese man on Main Street.”
Sam recognized him then. He was a senior at high school. The same age as him. He’d met him before, even saved his life — not that the boy ever thanked him. Sam racked his memory for the boy’s name.
“So, you remember me then, do you, Jake?” he asked in a low voice.
Jake’s eyes widened fractionally. His eyes flickered to the katana still in Sam’s hand and then to the wakizashi tucked in his waist. Sam could guess what was going through the other boy’s mind. He had just called a well-armed intruder a freak. Not only that, but he was unarmed himself with his mother and two younger siblings to protect. Given the past relationship the two boys had had, it was not a good move. Not a good move at all.
Jake attempted a nervous smile which came out more as a grimace and not even close to the reassuring gesture he’d intended.
“I do remember you,” said Jake, his voice a hoarse whisper. “But … but, aren’t you one of them? You’re a demon.” The boy was almost pleading with him, like he wanted Sam to disagree with him and tell him it wasn’t so.
Sam smiled. Some of the teenage boys in the town had always had their suspicions. He expected this. He’d been treated this way all his life. Distrust, hatred — it was all the same to him now. He wondered why he even bothered to help those who renounced him, but then the faces of Hikari and Aimi — especially Aimi — flashed into his mind and he knew why. He did it for their sake, for the sake of those he loved.
“Only half,” he replied, pulling down his hood to show them his horns.
The mother gasped, gathering the two small children closer to her bosom. Jake seemed to shrink within himself and unconsciously shuffled closer to his family.
“What are you going to do with us?”asked the mother. She was trying to put on a brave face, but Sam could tell she was almost paralysed with fear. Like Jake and the children, she was terribly thin. Her clothes were ripped and torn in places and her hair and the bits of skin that Sam could see were covered in filth. They had obviously been here some time.
Not a bad choice, he mused. The room was relatively secure — it seemed to have resisted the attacks of the Lemure so far — and he could see large half-filled water containers and piles of vending machine wrappers in one corner.
“I’m going to help you,” said Sam, “and give you the food you would’ve taken if I’d let you.”
He dropped his pack, put down his katana again and pulled out five cans of beans — nearly half his remaining supply — and stacked them neatly in front of him. He still had his stash in Devil’s Garden but was unsure how long that would last. This was meant to be his reserve and was probably the difference between crossing the Rockies in reasonable condition and starvation. But — and he had to keep telling himself this — it was the right thing to do.
The four humans eyed the food greedily. As soon as he turned his back, they would pounce on it like hungry jackals.
Sam secured his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He picked up the katana with the toe of his shoe, flicked it into the air, caught it and sheathed it all in one movement. It was part theatrics and part warning, but he could see from their wide eyes that it had made the required impact.
No-one moved, no-one talked. For a moment, Sam had a vision of how this scene would look in a painting: the huddled, pathetic figures in the corner confronted by the tall, menacing demon warrior in dim, flickering light. Then a wave of sorrow passed over him. His anger was completely gone, washed away by this new emotion. These people were harmless and desperate, lack of belief their only sin. The woman’s husband was gone and her family had lost their father. They had hardly any food, little water and lived under the constant nightly threat of being taken by demons. No wonder they tried to steal his food.
“Come with me,” he said.
It was an impulsive move and he knew it was a stupid thing to do. These people would slow him down and there was no way he could possibly protect them all at night, but he couldn’t leave them here. The door would only protect them for so long. Eventually, they would run out of supplies and have to go elsewhere. The demons would get them and it would be his fault if he stood here and did nothing.
Jake and his mother shared a look. The mother shook her head. Jake made a snorting noise under his breath. “Go with a demon? I don’t think so.”
The warm, early evening breeze felt good against his face. He pulled down his hood and let the wind ruffle his already unkempt black locks. Aimi used to brush it back from his forehead for him. He missed her touch.
Wafers of ash fluttered against his face but he wiped them off, uncaring. He sniffed the air. It smelt of
