It took Warren an hour to get to his feet. He knew that because he timed himself, peering through the heatcracked crystal of his watch. It was 10:43 in the morning.
Conserving his strength, Warren leaned back against the wall and took a few deep breaths. He hadn’t been able to use his arm. He still couldn’t. It hung numb and useless against his side.
More burns covered his other arm, chest, stomach, and legs. From the stiffness that froze his features in places, he guessed that his face had been burned as well. The smell of burned hair filled his nostrils and made him sick for a moment. He threw up, but it was only a thin, sour gruel.
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 retarded 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 assumed 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 bloody hell,” 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 accumulated 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, wishing 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-shirt. When she saw Warren, she screamed and stepped back.
“It’s…okay,” Warren said hoarsely. 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
