Demon Download

Nation, and what do you got?'

The victims were pounding their heads against the adobe now, blood pouring from the openings of their bodies.

'You said it, dudes, with all a those letters, we got ourselves a whole parcel of DAMNATION!'

That was fun for a while, but became boring very quickly.

'Let me say it again. Duh-Duh-DAMN, Duh-Duh-DAMN, Duh-Duh-DAMN-DAMNATION!'

It just popped their heads and let them fall. Their white wall was splattered red. It looked like Jackson Pollock had been at work with a limited palette. Two flavours of blood—'yassuh massuh, we gots pulmonary an' we gots arterial, plus chocolate chip, pistachio and tuttifrutti'— brain tissue for contrast, and bone bits for texture.

There were four dwellings, three inhabited, between the cruiser and the church. The demon drove straight through them.

'I'm a-comin' Padre Burracho!' It shouted. 'It's the Poisonous Pontiff of Pleasurable Pain here! The Marquiss of Darkniss, Messiah of Desiah! The Grand Duke of Puke, Lord of the Abhorred!'

The houses came apart like ants' nests. Some of the people inside got out of the way quick enough, but there would be time to deal with them later.

'I'm whole with soul and drunk with funk, blast from the past and rave from the grave! Yo, Burracho, are you ready to go steady, are you cruisin' for a bruisin'?'

The cruiser lurched to a halt outside the gates to the well-stocked graveyard, and the demon activated all the onboard weapons systems.

'Ah don' care if'n it rains or freezes, jus' so long as I gots mah plastic Jesus sittin' on the dashboard of mah carrrrr!”

It had been remodelling the cruiser since it moved in. It extruded its newest appendage through the radiator grille. A three foot steel stake, sharp at the end, threaded through with digital nerves, stuck out like a jousting spear, dripping engine fluid.

'This is your wake-up call, Father Drunk! At the third stroke of the irritating beeper, you will be dead! Dead! DEAD!'

The priest's shack was at the other end of the graveyard. The demon lobbed a phosphorus grenade at it. It exploded with a satisfying blossom of white, and rained burning chunks all over the graveyard. They fell through the air like flaming confetti.

“I always cries at weddings!'

The demon honked its horn in the first seventeen notes of 'La Cucuracha,' and drove forwards.

The picket fence went down under the front wheels, and the car leaped up, snapping a gravestone in two like an aspirin.

'I'm strong at the finish 'cause I eats me spinach!'

The priest came out and stood on the front steps of the church, in the centre of the doorless arch.

He carried a life-sized wooden cnicifix with a one-armed, legless marble Christ nailed to it.

O'Pray propped himself up on his Redeemer, and hid behind the Son of God.

'Aw 'c'mon, Burracho-baby, hidin' behind a mammy's boy who's been dead two thousand years. I expected more of ya.'

The demon played 'La Cucuracha' again.

The priest began to pray aloud, in Latin.

'Freakin' A, Father Drunk, freakin' A.'

'…in nomine Patris…'

'Cleanse your soul-ah!'

'…Filii…'

'For the Ayatollah…'

'…et Spiritu Sancti…'

'…of Rock and Roll-ah!'

The demon drove.

V

O'Pray heaved Jesus at the windshield of the possessed vehicle as it covered the distance between gate and steps.

The crucifix spun in the air and came down hard on the hood, denting it deep. The reinforced glass exploded as one arm of the cross smashed through. The statue was shaken loose, and dangled by its one whole arm.

The messiah's face looked up to Heaven, wondering why his Father had forsaken him.

The demon beeped 'La Cucuracha' again.

O'Pray pulled the safety catch and opened up with the Uzi, spraying the cruiser with ScumStoppers as if spraying a patch of stinging grass with Weed-Death.

The miniature shells exploded, pitting the hood, radiator and roof with measle spots of dented, paint-stripped grey metal.

He concentrated his next burst on the engine. Even with a diabolic presence in charge, it was just an automobile. It could be put out of action.

'Ouch, Father Drunk!' It shouted, exaggerated pain in its mocking computer-generated voice. 'That hurts?”

It sounded like the altar's evil twin brother.

The Uzi jammed, and O'Pray struggled with it as the cruiser inched forwards, bumping up over the bottom step.

A round had gone off in the chamber. The gun was ruined, unusable. He unslung it and, in the inevitable futile gesture, hurled it at the cruiser. It bounced uselessly off the roof.

O'Pray retreated into the church.

Perhaps the demon would be unable to trespass on consecrated ground? No, it had got into the graveyard easily enough.

It wasn't the sanctity of the ground under a church that counted, he knew, it was the Faith of the man who stood within its walls.

If this thing were to be warded off, it would not be by some impersonal decree from Rome, it would be by the strength in his own soul, the strength he thought he no longer possessed.

He had stood by and seen injustice wrought in the name of the church. He had seen his woman—his wife, in all but name—die, and abandoned his child. He had bartered away holy water for poor quality whisky.

The demon was right. He was no Warrior of Rome. He was just Father Drunk.

A grenade rolled along the aisle, and exploded with a dull phutt. It was a dud. Or a sneering jest. Lases burned, and smoking beams collapsed.

The car came up the steps and through the doorway, pushing a pillar aside. A chunk of stonemasonry fell, and the entire structure shook.

O'Pray had nothing left to fight with. He stood before his altar, and extended his empty hands.

'Go back, Satan!'

The cruiser squeezed through the rubble, and advanced down the aisle, crushing pews under its ragged wheels.

'Isn't this cosy?' it said, snidely. 'What a shame God had to go home, eh? By the way things are really hottin' up in Hell tonight. We got lots of friends of yours checked in for the big welcoming party. Lots of friends you haven't seen in fifteen-twenty years. A couple of the guys took up residence in eternal burning hellfire and freakin' brimstone because of you, you know. Guys you killed in them thar holy wars. Guys who got