“ He springs up like a flower and withers away; like a fleeting shadow, he does not endure.”
Sam had been set up. He knew this, even as he regained his senses. Joshua had set him up and he had fallen for it like some boy eager for his first dance at the prom.
He sat up. Too quickly it seemed, because a wave of nausea passed over him, forcing him to lie down again as he opened his eyes. He was back in the church where he’d started out. This was good and bad at the same time: good that he was no longer in Hell, bad that he was in a desecrated church, at the mercy of any demon who decided to come through the portal.
He took a breath, waited for the dizziness to pass and then sat up again. This time it wasn’t so bad. Belatedly he realized two things. The first was Grace lying next to him. The second was Yeth. The great Hellhound appeared to be standing guard nearby. It must have been Yeth that had brought Sam and Grace back to Earth. There was no other explanation.
The Hellhound was immediately aware that Sam was awake.
Healed now, yes? asked Yeth.
Sam nodded, not even considering for a second that the demon might not be able to interpret the gesture. Apparently it could because Sam’s response seemed to satisfy it. Go now.
Sam nodded again. Yeth began to open a portal to Hell. Before it could disappear completely, Sam called its name.
“Yeth?”Almost translucent, the beast turned towards him. “Thank you,” he said.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought Yeth had nodded towards him, mirroring his earlier gestures. Moments later, the Hellhound was gone.
Sam turned his attention to Grace. The wounds on her face and body were still dribbling blood — ugly, red and inflamed. Thankfully, she was still breathing. Satisfied for the moment, he stood shakily and began his usual physical inventory. His body seemed ok. Weak but ok. Bones and any other injuries had healed. He didn’t know how long Yeth had watched over them, but it must have been some time.
He found an old priest’s robe that seemed to be relatively clean and not abused or desecrated and wrapped her in it. Lifting her up in his arms, he carried her outside. It was daytime and he squinted against the slightly painful light. After being in Hell, light like this always came as a shock.
He found an abandoned house nearby. It was too close to the church but he didn’t have any other choice. This town had long been deserted. Hopefully, whatever demons had visited in the past, had long since given up on finding any victims here. Hopefully.
Inside, he located a bedroom and deposited her gently on the floor. The bed was covered in a filthy, ashen bedspread. He stripped it off; underneath, the sheets looked passable. He picked Grace up again and laid her on the bed. Her clothes were nothing but burnt strips of cloth, barely concealing her modesty. He removed them, embarrassed, knowing that both Grace and Aimi would understand in the circumstances. Preserving her modesty was the least of Grace’s problems. Her wounds needed to be checked and dressed.
Swiftly he did just this. He tore strips of clean sheet off the bed, then using some of the precious water from his drink bottle in his pack, he soaked the strips and cleaned the wounds as best he could. The small but effective medical kit came out next. Some of her wounds were deep. With quick, precise movements, he sewed them up, thankful for the times when Hikari had made him practice on pig-skin. Next, he sterilized the wounds with alcohol and dressed them with an antiseptic ointment, before finally wrapping the worst of them in makeshift sheet bandages.
Only then did he cover her with the top sheet, making sure she looked comfortable. If and when she woke — he hoped it would be the latter — she would be hungry. Even if she wasn’t, he’d have to force her. The beef jerky and other small supplies wouldn’t do. She’d need something a little more substantial.
He realized with a start that he’d have to go hunting, and it wasn’t just for himself. His food needs were rather basic. He only needed to hunt occasionally and usually it was more for something to do than from any pressing hunger. Unfortunately, there was only one thing on the menu.
With one last look to ensure she was resting comfortably, he moved out into the sitting room, closed his eyes and concentrated. He could sense them. They were around. They were always around. He focused on their tiny little minds, stroking their desires and their needs. He pictured a piece of cooked flesh in this very room, imagined what it smelt like, what it tasted like. In their minds, it suddenly existed.
There was a flurry of movement and his eyes flew open. Several furry little bodies were scurrying around his, desperately seeking what his mind had told them existed. He had no idea where they’d come from, but then, rats had an ability to sneak through the tiniest of holes. Both swords came out and moved with precise strokes. Five movements of his wrists and arms. Five bodies dead and dying at his feet. Kicking away the others that still swirled around him, he picked up the small bodies and took them outside. They’d have to be thoroughly cleaned, gutted and roasted before they were even close to being edible, and there was still the constant threat of disease but he’d just have to risk it. He may be immune to human diseases, but Grace certainly wasn’t.
And he hoped she liked rat, because that’s all there was.
It was still daylight outside and he felt his eyes watering as he worked. Sunlight, while not actually dangerous too him, was more of a nuisance. As a boy, he’d spent much more time in the daylight and it hadn’t done him any harm. It was just that he had become a creature of the night during the last few years. He liked the night and the moon and the strength it brought him. During the day, he just felt exposed.
He’d been meaning to get sunglasses for some time, just for this sort of eventuality — when circumstances dictated that he must be out in daylight. It would have made preparing the rat meat easier. He supposed he could have waited until night fall, but it was important to get some food into Grace. Her body, whilst not emaciated, was certainly thin. Some food may help her get her strength back more quickly.
He reflected that Hell probably sustained her like it did him, without the need for food or water. Actually, there was no probably about it. He couldn’t imagine that Bone demon hand-feeding her like some infant. Regardless, she’d been there for months. Months without food or water. Months of continual torture, both mental and physical. So it wasn’t just Grace’s physical needs he was worried about. Meeting those may help in the long run but it was her mental state he was more concerned about. Prolonged exposure to the conditions in Hell was enough to snap even the strongest mind.
The rats were plump and well fed, having gorged themselves on the multitude of huge locusts that infested the area. He used a small stainless steel knife he’d picked up from a camping store to gut and skin them. He wasn’t about to use either of his precious weapons on such a mundane task.
Sam hunted around and finally found two fairly straight dead branches. He spitted four of the five rats and then cleaned them as best as he could with his limited water consignment. Next, to conserve his dwindling gas supply on his camping stove, he lit a fire, finding a position that was reasonably sheltered from the wind behind the house, gathering arm loads of dead wood and ringing it with large stones. Being bone dry, the wood took only the slightest effort to light, and he took special care to ensure it would not spread. Given that it hadn’t rained for months, it would be foolhardy to allow even one spark or burning ember to escape. Any survivors in the area had enough to deal with without running for their lives from a raging forest fire.
He let the flames burn down until only glowing coals remained, then put some more rocks into it and let them heat up. He’d used this method before. During some overnight training expeditions in Utah as a youth, he and Hikari had sometimes cooked just like this. Just the act of preparation brought back fond recollections of him and the times they spent together. He wondered for a moment whether his old master was happy. He assumed so. Who wouldn’t be up there in Heaven? he thought sourly. Probably drinking ambrosia and nibbling the most delicate and delicious foods. While he sat on a rock and cooked rat. That was fair. The contrast made him smile for a moment.
He quickly went back inside to check on Grace. She hadn’t moved and seemed alright. Her bandages displayed some blood soaking, but not as bad as he had expected. In the kitchen he found some plates and a small pot that were clean but for a layer of dust. He wiped them as best he could with a rag and then returned to his fire. The stones were scalding hot by now. Turning them over, he placed the spitted rat’s skewers on them. They sizzled immediately, sending the delicious aroma of frying meat into the air. It may have been rat, but it still smelt good to
